Chapter Thirty
Larenz
“Larenz, have you ever brought up what I wrote in that paper for Dr. Darder’s class?”
I was minutes away from my first debate for student body president when B.D.
phoned me. Dressed in my only suit, dark blue with matching dark blue tie against a white button-down, I took B.D.
’s phone call in the backstage area of the student union theater auditorium.
I picked up thinking he wanted to wish me luck with the debate, as I was going to do the same with him just a couple hours away from a Sweet Sixteen game against an underdog college team from Virginia.
“Where are you? And why are you calling me for something so random? Diego and I are about to do our first debate.”
“Interesting. Did you take your pass yet with Diego? Since I’m traveling?”
“Stop being stupid.”
“So I’m stupid? A dumb jock?”
“Not at all, B.D.”
“Have you sucked Diego recently?”
“No. Diego and I are not like that.”
Which was true at that time. Diego and I had decided it would be too awkward for us being public running mates and private blow buddies during the rigorous student government campaign. I had already chilled it once B.D. and I started seeing each other.
“Why would your mind go there? Right now, of all times?”
I could hear B.D.’s heavy breathing through the phone and told him to calm down and tell me what was going on.
“Because Coach pulled me aside here at the arena just a few minutes ago,” he said. “He told me about an email he received with word-for-word quotes from the paper I wrote for Dr. Darder’s class during winter intersession.”
“What? How? That was months ago. What did your coach say?”
“He asked point blank if I’m gay. Why wasn’t I dating Macy anymore? If I’m dating a man on campus? That if I am gay, it would be a distraction from the team and our run for the championship.”
“That’s fucked up. Why would someone share your paper with your coach?”
“I don’t know. He’s threatening to bench me and not let me start today. Yeah, it’s fucked up. Homophobic son of a bitch.”
“Well, I’ve never said anything about us, B.D. Even if I wanted to talk to someone about us, I wouldn’t. I’ve always kept whatever we’re doing between us.”
“You’re my guy. It’s more than a whatever.”
“I know you’ve said I’m your guy.”
“You are my guy,” B.D. said and I heard him curse out loud. “You sure you haven’t said anything to anyone. Not even Diego?”
“No reason to.”
“I mean, Diego is your little friend.”
“I’ve told you he is just a friend and my student government running mate. Diego and I have got bigger things on our minds than your paper and your sexuality.”
I realized I should have not belittled his feelings.
Terrible as it was, I was equally frustrated B.D.
was on the phone with me about this, just minutes before my debate and before his Sweet Sixteen game.
As his guy, I hated he was feeling pressured from his coach about his sexuality and potentially being outed.
I hated even more that his coach was leveraging it to stop B.D. from playing.
“You and that mouth. That’s fucked up, Larenz.”
“I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Then how did you mean it?”
One of the stagehands handed me one of those campus mailing envelopes with dozens of signatures on it, with the last one being my name.
I reached inside and pulled out a manila folder as I continued talking with B.D.
backstage. I noticed the large digital clock counting down.
Just eight more minutes until Diego and I took to the main stage against our opponents, two white guys who were part of the large Missouri Greek life community.
Diego and I thought our coalition of Black, Latino, LGBTQ, and residence life student organizations could hold up against the united front of white fraternities and sororities that would inevitably network to defeat student government candidates from minoritized communities over the years.
“Fuck,” I said.
“What’s up, Larenz?”
“Someone’s just sent me a copy of your paper and highlighted the sections your coach talked with you about.”
“Fuck.”
“With a note with those old-fashioned cut-out letters telling me to drop out of the student government presidential race.”
“Fuck. I’m sorry, Larenz. I know how much being president means to you and your campus life career.”
“I’m sorry for you, too, B.D.,” I said. “I know how much making it to the NCAA Finals means to you and your NBA aspirations. I know going public about this part of your life isn’t on your bingo card right now.”
“It ain’t. It’s fucked up.”
In the silence, I knew we were both thinking about how any decisions we made could impact our separate goals and any possibilities of a future together. Quickly, I decided something.
“Well, I’m out and proud. I can deal with the scrutiny of being an out, gay, and Black student body president.”
“Well, la-de-fucking-da. So easy for you, Larenz.”
“It could be easy for you, too,” I said. “But I know now is not the time. I want you to put your game and the NBA first.”
“What do you mean?”
“Go to your coach. Look him in the eye and deny it. Play your game. If you need to take a break from me to be with Macy or any other woman on campus, just to keep up appearances, especially while you’re in March Madness, I’m okay with that.”
“Larenz. You’re my guy. I care about you.”
“I care about you, too,” I said.
“This is such a big fucking sacrifice to offer just because I am not ready or comfortable being myself.”
“Look, I know what’s at stake for you,” I said. “I can deal. I’ve been dealing with being the nerdy, Black, gay campus poster boy since I got to Missouri.”
“Now I know why I love and care for you like I do,” B.D. said. “It takes a strong person to be out like you in the face of rejection and ridicule.”
“Love?”
Why did the “love” word have to come up now?
When we were in the middle of a high-pressure decision to take a break for B.D.
’s sake? I saw the digital clock ticking down.
Three minutes until debate time. I’d have to let B.D.
go both for my presidential aspirations and for his current and future career goals.
“I love you, too. Go back to Macy if it helps you for now.”
“I ain’t tell you this, but Macy’s been fucking around with my nigga Jalon lately,” B.D. said. That part of the equation, I hadn’t been privy to. “At least that’s what I’ve been hearing. Neither she nor Jalon have said anything to me about it yet.”
“If Macy liked you once, she’ll like you once again,” I said, looking at the clock ticking down until debate time. “You’re the kind of guy anyone would take back if given the chance.”
“Will you?”
“This is temporary. Go back to Macy. Come back to me when everything has blown over.”
“You sure about this, Larenz?”
“It’s temporary. As long as you promise you’ll come back to me.”
“Promise.”