Superhero (7 page)

He lay back down.

He was quiet for a long time. A really long time.

“Can you not say this was a terrible mistake?” I said, half joking. “Because it was fucking amazing for me. And if you hated it, I’d prefer to remain blissfully ignorant of that fact.”

“It was great,” he said, but he sounded off.

Still, I could pretend the other shoe wasn’t about to drop for a few more seconds when he shifted around and pulled me into a hug.

“We shouldn’t have done it, though,” Owen said softly. And I knew his hug for what it was—a consolation prize. “You know how important you are to me, Jordan, and it was really, really nice, but… I can’t be with you like this. Us fooling around is not fair to you, and it’s not fair to Emily.”

I felt a lump in my throat. The glow of the best—and first—sex of my life was fading, and it was a hard fall. I had to face the cold reality of what I’d done. “It’s my fault. I pushed you into it, and I promised you I never would. God, I suck. I’m a terrible person.”

“
No
. I’m the one who had the stupid idea to talk about sex. And I could have said no. I wanted you to do it. I was horny and selfish. I’m sorry.”

“Right. So we abort this story arc.” My voice cracked.

He squeezed me hard and kissed my cheek. “I love you, Jordy.”

I’d told Owen that I loved him before, but at that moment, I couldn’t say it. Because what I meant by it and what he meant by it were two different things. And right now the gulf between them was so big and so awful that I couldn’t stand it.

The reality sank in. I would never have Owen like that again. An intense, burning pain spread through my chest. It was so strong it took my breath away.

“It hurts,” I whispered.

“I’m sorry, Jordan.” He hugged me tighter. I could feel his tears on my cheek, but I had none of my own to give.

W
HAT
had happened with Owen made me more determined than ever to come out. I was tired of sitting on the hillside waiting for the alien mother ship to return. That is to say, I was sick to death of pining for Owen. And having tasted him like that and then having it taken away, was almost too much to stand.

I am not a brooder by nature. I like to be happy. I wanted to find someone who could make me stop wanting Owen so damned much. I wanted to find someone to have sex with. I wanted to find someone who wanted me back, because not being wanted hurt like a son of a bitch.

The thing is, when you think about coming out someday, you think about what it will be like once people know, but you don’t think about how you actually get to that point. I mean, did I ask to speak over the P.A. system and make an announcement? Write an editorial for the school paper? Post it on my Facebook? I was only friends with six people from school, and Owen and Emily were two of them.

I was still trying to figure it out when it just happened. I went into the bathroom between classes and ran into a Hallmark moment. There was a little freshman guy in there. I’d seen him before but only from a distance. He was like five-four and probably ninety pounds. He wore his hair long in front, and it was dyed blond. He had an earring in his left ear. There was no doubt that he was gay.

There were three football players in the john, too, and they circled this kid. They all froze when I walked in. The football players looked at me. I looked at them. The freshman was trying to look defiant, but he sort of pleaded at me with his eyes.

It was a what-would-Owen-do moment. I could have turned around and walked out. If I’d never been friends with Owen, if I hadn’t been thinking about coming out, if the anti-bullying thing had never happened, I probably would have just ducked my head and saved my own skin. But I didn’t. I faced them full-on and folded my arms over my chest.

“Problem?” I said, giving each of the football players a hard stare.

Now here’s the thing. You need to understand what it was like being friends with Owen Nelson. From second grade on, I’d been Owen’s wing man. Where Owen is, there I am also. We sit together at lunch every single fucking day, hang out in the halls, sit next to each other in our shared classes. Now it’s Emily and I, on Owen’s right and left, like freaking dueling disciples. That’s who I am at school—Jordan-Carson-Owen’s-best-friend.

I have no illusion that, on my own, I would have been popular. I was a little too dorky, a little too artsy, and a little too gay, even if hardly anyone recognized what that “gay” was. I dressed better than most. I liked my hip-rider jeans and big studded belts. I wore T-shirts, like most guys, but I liked them a bit short (sometimes I ripped off the bottom) and a bit wild and graphic-artish in design. I put product in my hair. My most prized possession, though, was my underwear collection.

Here’s how that happened: my Aunt Beth visited for New Year’s a few years ago when I was a freshman. She took me clothes shopping in Madison, in the hipper, on-campus shops. She helped me pick out some really rad stuff (well, mostly I picked it out, and she agreed to pay for it). I got kind of lost in this one men’s underwear department which had things I’d never seen before outside the pages of
GQ
—Calvin Klein, Andrew Christian, and Ginch Gonch. I was in love. Aunt Beth thought they were “super cute,” especially once I tried on some jeans and showed her how the high briefs stuck up above the low riders. She bought me six pairs. And ever since then, she keeps an eye out for the most colorful, coolest ones in the new lines and sends me a care package a few times a year. I’ve got ones with motorcycles on them, big hearts over the crotch, red stars, cowboy designs, tubas, you name it. It’s like she switched from Matchbox to Ginch Gonch with hardly a break in stride. Instead of collecting Hummel figures, like most women, Aunt Beth collects gay underwear for her nephew.

Does Aunt Beth
know
I’m gay? I’m pretty sure, even though I never said the words. But in Wisconsin the look I rocked might have been thought hip-hop, if you were so straight you didn’t know any better.

Anyway, what I’m trying to say is that, even if I wasn’t as obvious as the little freshman guy, I was far from normal for Jefferson, Wisconsin. I probably would have gotten a lot of shit over the years if it weren’t for the fact that I was in the golden light cast by Owen Nelson. As it was, most people seemed to think I was kind of cool. And if they didn’t, they knew better than to risk Owen’s disfavor by saying so.

Maybe that was why the three football players didn’t punch me out that day.

“Well?” I said, when no answer was forthcoming. “What are you guys doing?”

“None of your business, Carson. We were just talking to the faggot here,” one of them said. He pushed the freshman’s shoulder with a hard finger jab. The kid was sent back a few steps, but he stopped and held his ground.

“I see. You’re giving a kid half your size shit because he’s gay,” I said, stating it as a fact. “Why does this sound familiar? Oh, yes, suspension, probation, emergency assembly…. It’s all coming back to me now.”

The guy who pushed the kid looked at me. He got a guilty flush.

“Shut up, Carson. We weren’t going to hurt him,” he said, half-sarcastic, half-defensive. “
Much
,” he added. His friends found that supremely amusing and laughed.

I stepped between two of the jocks and turned, putting my back to the kid, getting between them. I was a little scared, but mostly I was pissed off. Really pissed off. I mean, had they learned
nothing
from Raymond Toleman? My hands were shaking.

“It would be a shame to waste this display of enlightenment in the bathroom. Why don’t we take this to the central lobby where your profoundly witty hate-crime banter can be heard by all?” I snapped scathingly.

“Fuck you, Carson,” the jock spat out. “It’s none of your goddamn business.”

“It is my goddamn business,” I said, “because I’m gay.”

And just like that, I came out at Jefferson High.

The football players gaped at me. I could see the dawning realization of how huge this was wash over their faces. They looked at each other, and with a nod from one of them, started to leave.

“Carson…. Fuck, you are so screwed,” one of them muttered as he left.

My knees started to fail me. That had really not been the life-affirming moment I’d hoped it would be.

“Are you okay?” the freshman said, touching my arm. He was looking at me like I was Batman and Aquaman and Sandman all rolled into one. Whereas actually, I felt about as powerful as my mom’s green Jell-O mold.

“Oh my God,” I said. “I just fucking came out.”

“Sorry,” he said, grimacing.

I shook my head. “I need to tell Owen.”

Owen

I
WAS
taking a shower after PE when I started to get a whiff that something was wrong. There was a lot of whispering going on, and guys were staring at me. I felt my face burn, but I took my time, kept getting dressed.

I’m ashamed to admit it, but I had a moment of fear that what Jordan and I had done a few weeks ago had gotten out. I knew that wasn’t likely. I mean, it’s not like a sex tape was going to end up on the Internet, and I knew Jordan wouldn’t tell anyone. But that was immediately where my mind went. I’d felt so guilty and confused since it had happened. In fact, it was hard to stop thinking about it.

Second thought—something about Emily. Third thought—something about the wrestling team.

Never let them see you sweat. I tied my shoes with great care, then grabbed my backpack from my locker.

By the time I left, three of our best wrestlers were waiting for me in the hall along with a couple of football players I knew vaguely. They straightened up the minute I appeared. They didn’t look happy.

“Owen, over here.” It was Vince Baker, the second-ranked wrestler on our team. We’d always been rivals but also friends, or so I’d thought. He nodded his head toward an area under the stairs that was a little more private. I went over.

“What?” I asked, adjusting my backpack and trying to look like I wasn’t worried.

Vince looked around to see if anyone was listening. “Your pal, Jordan, just told Mike and Rob here that he’s gay.”

The football players nodded their agreement. Their faces were grim. It snapped into focus in an instant. That’s what this was about. Jordan had outted himself by telling
Mike
and
Rob
? What had he been thinking?

“We’re telling you because we respect you, man,” Mike said. “You should know what’s coming down.”

I felt a chill of fear, but I stood taller. “So? It’s not exactly news to me.”

“You knew?” Vince said in disbelief.

I gave a put-upon sigh and stared at him. “Jordan and I have been best friends since second grade. What do you think? Yeah, I knew he’s gay. That’s his business, nobody else’s.”

Vince grew red. He looked like he was trying to figure out what to say, like it was just incomprehensible. “You realize that the guys are not going to be happy about the fact that you hang out with a gay guy all the time. Are you gay?”

“Being friends with a gay person does not make you gay,” I said, faking boredom.

“Answer the fucking question, Owen,” Vince insisted loudly.

I thought about what Jordy and I had done. Why had I done it? Now I had it on my conscience. I’d had sex with Jordan—
and I really liked it
. Even if I hadn’t touched him or kissed him, even if I’d promised myself that it would never happen again, was I really any different than Jordan?

No, I thought. Jordan knows he’s gay. He’s always known it. I wasn’t like that. I liked girls. Besides, Jordan had no reason to be ashamed of what we’d done, and I didn’t either. It was nobody’s business. But I was also sweating, my heart pounding.

“I’m not gay,” I said firmly. “What do you think, Vince? You know I’ve been dating Emily for over a year. You think I’m just playing with her? You think I would do that?”

Vince breathed out a sigh, though whether it was relief or disbelief, I didn’t know. But I was starting to find my bearings. I went on.

“And you also know that I’m very involved with the anti-bullying club.” I pointed down at my T-shirt, which had BULLY in a “not” sign on the front. “I don’t have a problem with people being gay. I don’t have a problem with Jordan being gay. And if you want to be a bigoted asshole,”—I shot a glare at Mike and Rob—“you can go talk to some skinhead who gives a damn.”

Somebody in the hallway cheered. I didn’t turn to see who.

Vince was not that bad, really, but he was macho up to his eyebrows like a lot of wrestlers.

“I don’t give a shit if Jordan Carson is a fairy,” he said, low, as if he didn’t want to be overheard. “He can wear a fucking tutu for all I care. But you’re our number one wrestler. Do you think guys are gonna want you crawling all over their asses if there’s even a suspicion that you might be gay?”

I moved into a spread leg stance and folded my arms over my chest. I narrowed my eyes. “I don’t like repeating myself,” I said, threateningly.

By now, we’d attracted three more wrestling guys who’d been walking by and noticed us and a few more football players. It was becoming a freaking pep rally.

“Yeah, well… you’re not gay,” Vince admitted. “But hanging out with a fruit all the time is going to make everyone wonder, and the team doesn’t need that shit. It’s bad for morale.”

I tilted my head and looked at him. He was talking about
Jordan
. Big mistake. Suddenly, I was practically growling. “I want to be crystal clear on this, Vince. Are you calling my best friend a
fruit
?”

He licked his lips nervously and didn’t say anything.

“And while you’re at it,” I continued, “explain how it is that
you
think you can tell
me
who I can and cannot be friends with?”

Vince flinched a little. “You should dump Carson,” he said, but he muttered it, like it was just his opinion.

“Yeah? Is that the kind of friend you are?” I asked him. I looked around at the other wrestlers. “You’d just drop someone because other people tell you to? Because I’m not like that. I don’t let my family down, I don’t let the team down, and I don’t let my friends down.”