Chapter Nine
PROTESTORS BLOCKADE HICKORY LIbrARY
A DOZEN PROTESTERS BLOCKED THE ENTRANCE TO HICKORY LIbrARY YESTERDAY IN RESPONSE TO A RECENT STORY-TIME EVENT, BOOK BANS, AND CONTROVERSY REGARDING PORN CONSUMPTION IN THE LIbrARY.
DECLAN TURNER, ONE OF THE PROTESTORS, TOLD THE PERT CITY TIMES, “WE JUST WANT TO KEEP CHILDREN SAFE. WE DON’T SUPPORT DRAG QUEENS READING TO KIDS. WE ALSO DON’T SUPPORT PORN IN THE LIbrARY. THIS IS COMMON SENSE TO US, BUT WE’RE LIVING IN STRANGE TIMES.”
DRAG STORY TIMES HAVE BECOME SOMEWHAT POPULAR EVENTS AMONG LIbrARIES, BOOKSTORES, AND SCHOOLS, BUT HAVE BEEN CRITICIZED BY MANY CONSERVATIVES AND RIGHT-WING MEDIA ACROSS THE COUNTRY. ANTI-LGBTQ+ THREATS HAVE BEEN REPORTED AT SOME PROTESTS, AS WELL AS VIOLENT CONFRONTATIONS.
“THERE WAS NO VIOLENCE,” TURNER REPORTED. “IT WAS A PEACEFUL PROTEST.”
A GROUP OF ANTI-PROTESTORS FORMED THROUGHOUT THE DAY.
JUDE WALKER, ONE OF THE ANTI-PROTESTORS, STATED, “THESE PEOPLE CLAIM THEY WANT TO KEEP CHILDREN SAFE, BUT I SAW THEM SCREAMING AT PARENTS AND KIDS TRYING TO GO TO THE LIbrARY. THEY SHOUTED OBSCENITIES AT LIbrARY STAFF AND AT US. THE HYPOCRISY IS DUMBFOUNDING.”
TURNER DENIES THESE CLAIMS, STATING, “WE’RE JUST CONCERNED CITIZENS WHO BELIEVE SEXUALIZED CONTENT SHOULDN’T BE AROUND CHILDREN.”
“DRAG QUEENS AREN’T INHERENTLY SEXUAL,” ALEX HASTE, A DRAG PERFORMER, SHARED.
“DRAG HAS ROOTS IN SHAKESPEARE. WE’RE NOT TALKING ABOUT BURLESQUE HERE; WE’RE TALKING ABOUT A STORYTELLER WEARING A COSTUME.
IT’S THEATER. THE REASON DRAG IS DEEMED SEXUAL BY SOME IS BECAUSE FLOUTING GENDER NORMS IS PERCEIVED AS SEXUALLY DEVIANT, BUT THERE ISN’T NECESSARILY ANYTHING SEXUAL ABOUT DRAG. ”
WHEN ASKED ABOUT THE STORY-TIME EVENT THAT SPURRED THIS PROTEST, RHONDA WHEELER, LIbrARY CEO, TOLD THE PERT CITY TIMES, “WE HAVE NEVER HOSTED A DRAG STORY TIME. THERE SEEMS TO BE SOME CONFUSION FROM THE PROTESTORS. NO SUCH EVENT HAS TAKEN PLACE AT THAT LIbrARY.”
WHEN ASKED WHETHER THE LIbrARY WOULD HOST SUCH AN EVENT, SHE SAID, “IT’S POSSIBLE. OUR LIbrARY SUPPORTS INCLUSIVE PROGRAMMING, OFFERING A WIDE RANGE FOR CHILDREN AND ADULTS. OUR AIM IS TO SUPPORT LITERACY AND COMMUNITY. AT THIS TIME, HOWEVER, WE HAVE NEVER HOSTED A DRAG STORY TIME.”
THE PROTESTERS REFUSED TO LEAVE THE ENTRANCE AFTER POLICE ISSUED A DISPERSAL ORDER, ACCORDING TO HASTE. “THEY DIDN’T MAKE ARRESTS, THOUGH,” HASTE STATED. “THEY DIDN’T MAKE THE MOB OF PEOPLE MOVE. SHAME ON OUR POLICE. A GROUP OF FANATICS SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO CONTROL WHO ENTERS OUR LIbrARIES.”
The Pert City Times shared a link to the article on Facebook. That’s where I found it. I scroll down and click to see who’s shared it, and eventually find myself on the Liberty Lately Facebook page. They shared the article with the comment: BIAS LIBERAL MEDIA STRIKES AGAIN!
I scroll down and see that Douglas, an old friend of Ben’s and one of my nude-photo suspects, has liked this article.
I narrow my eyes. That doesn’t bode well for him as someone on my list.
I click his profile.
I deleted all of Ben’s friends off social media when we broke up, except for Doug.
I wasn’t close with any of Ben’s friends.
I felt out of place and timid around them.
They were all Ben’s age or older, and they rarely had other girls around.
A group of them rented a house together.
Sometimes I’d visit with Ben. The house always had an assortment of bongs on the coffee table, dirty dishes piled in the sink, and it smelled musty, like unwashed clothes.
There were posters of Fight Club and The Godfather on the walls.
I’ve never been inside a dirtier bathroom.
The sink was encrusted in different colors of facial hair stubble.
The floor, shower, and walls were coated in a thick layer of grime.
I remember discreetly asking Ben for us to go back to our house rather than have to face peeing in that bathroom.
In the fraught and harrowing instances when I did resort to using their toilet, I hovered over it and held my breath.
Whenever we were at that house, I sat quietly next to Ben.
His friends often commented that I was shy.
So I’d smile and make a remark here or there, but mostly I was mute.
His friends were loud and aggressive, and when they drank, our visits almost always ended in a physical fight.
They all made uncomfortable, sexual comments about women.
I often felt insecure and unsafe around them.
I never had a real conversation with any of them, except for one time with Douglas.
It was around midnight on a weekday. Ben had fallen asleep on their couch. The other guys had retreated to their bedrooms. Doug and I were the only ones left awake.
He asked, “Do you want to watch Sleeping Beauty?”
I said, “Like, the princess cartoon?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Have you seen it?”
At this time, Doug was a gruff almost-thirty-year-old man. He hadn’t changed or showered since finishing his workday in construction. He was wearing a high-visibility vest, he had mud on his face, and black dirt was embedded beneath his fingernails.
I said, “I’ve seen it, yeah. Have you?”
At first, I thought maybe he was making fun of me. I thought he was asking me if I wanted to watch a children’s cartoon because I was nineteen.
He said, “Yeah. It was me and my sister’s favorite growing up. I’ve seen it like, a thousand times. I like Merryweather best.”
I said, “Who is Merryweather?”
He was already trying to get the movie on the TV. “You don’t know who Merryweather is? She’s one of Aurora’s fairy godmothers. She’s the one who wears blue. She’s hilarious.”
He grinned as the movie started playing.
His eyes were bright, and his face looked animated, innocent.
I remember thinking I could tell what he looked like when he was a little boy.
He was in his late twenties, he was still young, but he smoked and drank a lot.
He had a receding hairline, a physically taxing job, and he looked tired, worn-out, and old.
That night, I could see his features soften, his skin become smooth, and his facial hair disappear.
I said, “I always liked The Lion King best.”
“Oh yeah, that’s a good one too,” he said.
As the movie progressed, I noticed his face dimmed. By the halfway point, his eyes were watery. He looked like he might cry.
I asked, “Are you okay?”
He rubbed his eyes. “Yeah. I’m just thinking about my sister.”
I asked, “Why is that making you sad?”
“We don’t really talk anymore.” He wasn’t looking at me.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I said.
He asked, “Do you have siblings?”
I said, “No. I always wanted one, though.”
“When I was a kid, I always didn’t want one.” He was still rubbing his eyes. I could tell he was trying to hide that he was crying.
I asked, “What happened between you and your sister?”
“She doesn’t like that I drink,” he said.
At the time, I was naive and didn’t understand that likely meant he had a drinking problem. I thought his sister must be oddly puritanical or anti-alcohol.
“I should probably stop drinking,” he added.
I said, “Yeah, why not? If that would help you stay close with your sister. Who needs to drink, anyway? I don’t even like drinking, honestly. And if it makes you feel sad not to talk to your sister, why not quit?”
“You’re right,” he said. He was looking at me now. His eyes were wet. I don’t know if I’d ever made direct eye contact with him before. He said, “I’m glad Ben’s dating you. It’s nice having you around.”
Doug still drank throughout my relationship with Ben. I remember he got a DUI the year before we broke up, and I’ve seen from his social media that he still drinks. There are cans of beer in the background of his pictures. Photos of him out with a pint on the table.
The night we watched Sleeping Beauty endeared him to me, but Douglas still isn’t someone I would trust with a naked picture of me.
I can feel sympathy for someone and still not trust them.
I open his profile. I scroll down through his posts. He mostly reposts political memes mocking liberal politicians. There are a few photos of him with friends, drinking.
I keep scrolling until I see Ben’s face. I pause.
It’s a picture of the two of them in the back seat of a car. They have cigarettes hanging from their mouths. They’re both grinning. The picture is captioned: BENNY BOY.
After Ben and I broke up, I couldn’t look at pictures of him for a long time.
I tried to ignore my feelings about him, quash them down, and forge ahead.
I’ve always thought of myself as the villain in Ben’s story, and I do still think I made mistakes, but now that I’m letting myself really think about him, I realize he made mistakes too.
I used to think that if I weren’t gay, Ben and I would still be together, but I don’t think so anymore.
Ben wasn’t the uncomplicated victim I thought he was.
I was too young for him. We weren’t equals.
When we got together, he inundated me with attention and compliments.
It was manipulative. I tried to play the part of his girlfriend and to be who he wanted me to be.
A coy, shy, helpless girl. It’s clear he didn’t really know me.
I disappeared in our relationship. How did he not notice?
I was really young and inexperienced, but he wasn’t.
I feel sympathy for him, and I regret that I hurt him, but if I’d faced my feelings about this earlier, when he was alive, maybe he’d say that he regretted things too.
“That is suspicious that he follows Liberty Lately,” Joy says. “He probably took a screenshot of your nude and sent it to Declan.”
“Yeah, that’s what I’m thinking too,” I say.
“What an asshole. What are you going to do?”
“I’m going to call him out on it,” I say. “I’m going to contact him.”
“And say what?”
“Fuck you.”
She laughs. “What’s the point of doing that?”