Read Online Quite an Undertaking - Devon's Story by Barbara Clanton - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Barbara Clanton
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butterscotches out of the jar, but that made sense because Grandma wasn’t there anymore.
I picked up my favorite glass snow globe from Grandma’s collection. I shook it and watched the snow swirl around the skyline of Manhattan. Missy brought it back from New York City when she went to a journalism conference last summer. Once all the snow settled on the bottom, I put the snow globe back and picked up a picture of Grandma and Grandpa standing in front of their Christmas tree. They looked young and confident, but there was a better word to describe them. Peaceful. I hoped they were at peace up in heaven. I wiped the dust off the top of the picture of my dad and Uncle Joe as young boys. They looked so dorky in their old-fashioned clothes. Grandma even had an old elementary school picture of me and one of Missy. I hated my picture. Mom had gotten tired of brushing the knots out of my long hair and cut it short into a page boy. The bangs were the biggest reason I hated the picture. Once I got into middle school, I informed my mother I was going to grow out my hair. When she didn’t protest at my first real rebellious act, it knocked the wind out of my sails. After that, Missy helped me find a good style that I liked, one that framed my face nicely, as she put it.
I put my school picture back on the dusty shelf, and before my sorrow overtook me, I fled to my room. I didn’t want my mom to see me crying in Grandma’s room. I plopped onto my bed and faced the wall. I pulled my knees up into a fetal position and pulled Seymour tight to my chest. I cried mostly about Grandma, but I think I also cried about the frustrating afternoon I’d spent with Rebecca and her friends. I made a promise to myself that I’d never be in a situation where I’d have to hang out with Jessie ever again. Of course, as soon as I made that promise, I knew that if Rebecca asked me to hang out with them again, I’d do it. Who was I kidding?
I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to find out if Rebecca was gay like me. How in the world did you find out something like that? It’s not like I could come right out and ask her. Could I? What if I did find out she was gay? How could I tell her I liked her? How could I tell her that I loved French now because I got to see her every day? How could I tell her that what I felt for her was six-thousand times more intense than what I’d felt for Marcy Berger? I had no idea.
A WEEK AFTER that stupid trip to the mall with Rebecca and Jessie, I waited in the backseat of Travis’s car as he and Gail went into the P & C food store to get beer. Travis had his older brother’s ID and since they looked alike, most people didn’t look at him twice. We were going to go to Bruster Park to hang out with the regular Friday night crowd because that’s where everybody went on Friday. In fact, I was going back there on Saturday night with Rebecca. Well, I was going there to hang out with Rebecca, Jessie, and Natalie. I never should have made that ridiculous vow about not hanging out with Jessie because I broke it immediately.
Last Sunday when I talked to Missy on the phone, I asked her how you told somebody you liked them.
She asked, “You mean like like?”
I felt myself blush and was glad she couldn’t see me over the phone. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said, “do you have any classes with them?”
“French.”
Them. Again, Missy didn’t say “him.” I knew she was leaving it up to me to come out to her, but I didn’t know how. The only person I had ever come out to was myself, and even though I wanted desperately to tell my secret to at least one other person in the world, I didn’t know if I could handle the rejection or hostility that could happen when you come out. I’d read horror stories on the Internet about people getting beaten up or thrown out of their houses. At sixteen, I didn’t want to get thrown out of my house. Where would I go?
“Okay,” Missy said, “do you sit
I picked up my favorite glass snow globe from Grandma’s collection. I shook it and watched the snow swirl around the skyline of Manhattan. Missy brought it back from New York City when she went to a journalism conference last summer. Once all the snow settled on the bottom, I put the snow globe back and picked up a picture of Grandma and Grandpa standing in front of their Christmas tree. They looked young and confident, but there was a better word to describe them. Peaceful. I hoped they were at peace up in heaven. I wiped the dust off the top of the picture of my dad and Uncle Joe as young boys. They looked so dorky in their old-fashioned clothes. Grandma even had an old elementary school picture of me and one of Missy. I hated my picture. Mom had gotten tired of brushing the knots out of my long hair and cut it short into a page boy. The bangs were the biggest reason I hated the picture. Once I got into middle school, I informed my mother I was going to grow out my hair. When she didn’t protest at my first real rebellious act, it knocked the wind out of my sails. After that, Missy helped me find a good style that I liked, one that framed my face nicely, as she put it.
I put my school picture back on the dusty shelf, and before my sorrow overtook me, I fled to my room. I didn’t want my mom to see me crying in Grandma’s room. I plopped onto my bed and faced the wall. I pulled my knees up into a fetal position and pulled Seymour tight to my chest. I cried mostly about Grandma, but I think I also cried about the frustrating afternoon I’d spent with Rebecca and her friends. I made a promise to myself that I’d never be in a situation where I’d have to hang out with Jessie ever again. Of course, as soon as I made that promise, I knew that if Rebecca asked me to hang out with them again, I’d do it. Who was I kidding?
I couldn’t for the life of me figure out how to find out if Rebecca was gay like me. How in the world did you find out something like that? It’s not like I could come right out and ask her. Could I? What if I did find out she was gay? How could I tell her I liked her? How could I tell her that I loved French now because I got to see her every day? How could I tell her that what I felt for her was six-thousand times more intense than what I’d felt for Marcy Berger? I had no idea.
A WEEK AFTER that stupid trip to the mall with Rebecca and Jessie, I waited in the backseat of Travis’s car as he and Gail went into the P & C food store to get beer. Travis had his older brother’s ID and since they looked alike, most people didn’t look at him twice. We were going to go to Bruster Park to hang out with the regular Friday night crowd because that’s where everybody went on Friday. In fact, I was going back there on Saturday night with Rebecca. Well, I was going there to hang out with Rebecca, Jessie, and Natalie. I never should have made that ridiculous vow about not hanging out with Jessie because I broke it immediately.
Last Sunday when I talked to Missy on the phone, I asked her how you told somebody you liked them.
She asked, “You mean like like?”
I felt myself blush and was glad she couldn’t see me over the phone. “Yeah.”
“Okay,” she said, “do you have any classes with them?”
“French.”
Them. Again, Missy didn’t say “him.” I knew she was leaving it up to me to come out to her, but I didn’t know how. The only person I had ever come out to was myself, and even though I wanted desperately to tell my secret to at least one other person in the world, I didn’t know if I could handle the rejection or hostility that could happen when you come out. I’d read horror stories on the Internet about people getting beaten up or thrown out of their houses. At sixteen, I didn’t want to get thrown out of my house. Where would I go?
“Okay,” Missy said, “do you sit
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