Chapter 20
CODE GOLD, I message Tony. I’m in bed as the morning sun bursts through the blinds.
He responds, Don’t joke I haven’t had my cereal yet
Who would joke gold? I write. CODE GOLD
It doesn’t take long to drive the few blocks to the swamp at the dead end.
I step around the gnarly tree to the spot where I can’t see any houses but I can still see the street.
It’s a cool morning and the air is fresh.
Last night I was living in the moment, but today I’ve returned to living in the panic.
Is it normal to want to kiss your friends?
Maybe Elijah and I are pioneers of a new masculinity, unconcerned with homophobic social norms. My mind is racing as I try to make sense of my feelings.
True to the rules we set for Code Gold when we were tweens, Tony rounds the corner on his bike with the emergency lights flashing.
He’s wearing the camo backpack that’s forever stored under his bed.
He dismounts without a word, hides the bike in a giant bush, and joins me sitting in the damp dirt near the water.
He takes out two room-temperature cans of soda, a bag of chips and a bag of gummy worms, and a compass.
He gives me a long stare. “You moving again?”
“It’s something else. Something I think could be good.”
His eyes flare and he opens the chips. His hand hangs over the bag, waiting out of respect.
“Jumping straight in,” I say, and take a handful of chips.
“It’s a school day.”
“You ever look at another guy and admire them so much you want to be them?”
“Ash Ketchum and George Washington.” He bites a chip, chews, and swallows. “Continue.”
I talk through my chips. “You ever not sure if you want to be them or be with them?”
“Define with .”
“You ever watch gay porn?”
He looks into the middle distance, considering. He shakes his head. “The thought has not crossed my mind.”
“Hm.” I smack a mosquito on my arm. Tony has stopped eating but looks away so I have the option of letting the conversation pass.
I find this both touching and funny. I scratch my mosquito bite and say, “Last night I saw one with two guys sitting on a couch casually getting off. It was nice—like, no big deal.”
“Good for them!”
I hold up a hand. “I’m not trying to say anything about me and you.”
He holds up a hand too. “There are no sparks between us.”
“I agree.”
“It’s all about sparks. From what I’ve read.”
“But doesn’t everyone question their sexuality?”
“Not by watching gay porn.”
“Then how do they do it?”
“They don’t.”
I’m itchy all over. The humidity is too high and my skin is too dry.
“It seems like something worth thinking about,” I say.
“I know I liked doing stuff with Christy. It was terrifying sometimes, but all of life is terrifying. From what I understand, a guy who’s gay wouldn’t like doing stuff with a girl.
But did I only like it because that’s what the world told me to like?
How am I supposed to know what I actually like? ”
He spreads his hands in front of us as though we’re looking at all the facts laid out on a table. “The internet says everything is a spectrum.”
“Right.”
He holds up a finger. “But not for cis men.”
I motion at the invisible table. “Where does it say that?”
“Bro. It’s cool if you’re gay.”
“It is! It would be. It might be.”
“A guy at my job is gay.”
“I don’t see the relevance.”
“I’m an idiot but I’m not a jerk.”
I lean back against the tree. “I don’t think I’m gay. I don’t think so. Wouldn’t I know?”
He leans back too. “That’s a good question.”
“Would you know?” I ask.
“I would know.”
“There are so many things I don’t know. Why would this be any different?”
“I think it’s different,” he says.
“How do you know you’re straight?”
“Because I know.”
“Because everyone is assumed straight until proven otherwise?”
“I have never thought otherwise.”
“But what if nothing were assumed and you were allowed to determine for yourself?”
Tony opens the gummy worms, carefully removes a single worm, and places it in his mouth. “I will do some research.”
“Do you want me to send you the video?”
He looks me in the eyes and says, solemnly, “Yes.”
“Because I can’t imagine anyone not liking this video,” I say. “And I don’t even know if it’s the guys’ gender that mattered. It could have been, like, the general vibe.”
“This pornographic short film will serve as our control group! That’s science.”
“You have to watch until the end.”
He laughs. “Is there a twist?”
“Kind of.”
Ten emotions cross his face. “I am…curious.”
“Okay.” I stand up. “I have to pick you up in like fifteen minutes.”
“I brought my toothbrush so I can brush on the bike ride home.”
We give each other a fist bump and he puts on his helmet and pedals away.
I sit in my car and send him the video, certain he’ll understand once he sees it.
Then I open a document and write about the conversation, how it felt as if he was being kind by offering me the opportunity to avoid talking about my sexuality.
I pause at those words: my sexuality. As a straight guy, I have never been asked to think about my sexuality.
Straight male sexuality is one-size-fits-all.
I’m getting into custom-made sexuality now, bespoke sexuality. It’s luxurious.
When I pick up Tony a few minutes later, though, his face is grim.
“Preliminary review suggests I am not moved by this pornographic film.” He delivers the news like the death toll of a natural disaster. “I posted it on an all-male message board and the consensus is that this is not for straight men.”
Obviously, Andi is the person I should’ve spoken to first. If I wanted the perspective of anonymous men on the internet, I could’ve put my head in a toilet.
But I guess I wanted the approval of a straight guy, I’m surprised to realize.
I want to be normal. Though why would I consider the norm straight men?
What if my sexuality isn’t a liability that prevents me from becoming the American everyman, but an invitation to see the world in a new way, my own way?
We drive without talking. Tony watches videos of expressionless men explaining the history of Christian persecution, the perfect technology for pants, and how to eat more efficiently. Then he returns to his post and scrolls through the comments.
He puts his phone down as we pull up to Andi’s house. “There appears to be some gray area if your girlfriend makes you watch gay porn.”
Who are these guys who make these proclamations? “I don’t have a girlfriend.”
Tony wheezes. “What?”
Andi hops in the back. “What?”
Tony turns around. “Sean and Christy broke up.”
“You didn’t tell me this!”
“It just happened two nights ago.”
“That’s not just .”
Tony switches the radio to party music.
“How do you know this is good news?” I say.
“This is amazing news. I support all your life choices, Sean O’Brien, but that woman sent chills down my spine.”
“I did like that about her,” Andi says wistfully.
Tony gasps. “Did you break up because of the video?”
“Huh? No.”
Andi leans forward. “What video?”
Tell Andi everything, I think. And I close my eyes. But not in front of Tony.
I turn up the party music and drive. I’m sad that the friend I’ve known my whole life doesn’t understand me.
I’m also sad that I’m not confident enough to exist without the immediate approval of everyone around me.
I’m a child, a baby. I keep thinking this as we park at school, as I read the morning announcements and try to get Mrs.?Farmer to laugh, which she does but it doesn’t help.
There is some inconsolable part of me begging everyone to make it better.
I must be spiraling, because when I find my jean jacket in my locker I decide to wear it over my denim shirt and jeans. In case that helps?
Walking into Studio Art, I’m thinking about the first time we moved into a house with two bedrooms. Mom said I was old enough to sleep in my own bed, but we didn’t own a second mattress yet, so she gave me the one we had.
I lay awake watching the window on the slim chance an imaginary monster decided to become real.
When I peeked into Mom’s room, she was asleep on the carpeted floor wearing her winter coat.
Her mouth was open and she was snoring. The next morning as she poured her coffee, she looked the happiest I’d ever seen her.
She’d finally gotten a little space from me.
That was the beginning of me realizing the effect I had on people.
“Hell no,” Andi calls from our table. “Immediate veto on this triple denim atrocity.”
“Two denims is a Canadian tuxedo,” I say, dropping my backpack beside Andi. “But three? I’m operating outside of what we have language for. Three denims is living in the future.”
They shake their head. “There are ways to protest our culturally defunct high school, but this ain’t it.”
“This is no protest,” I declare, trying desperately to silly my way back into myself. “I’m not against anything. I’m for myself.”
I may be screaming inside.
We open our sketchbooks to our drawings of pears. Mine look like deflated balloons. Andi’s look like the pears in front of us and like the saddest and most lonely bowl of fruit I’ve ever seen.
“Who wronged those pears?” I ask.
“Ha!” They grin. “I did.”
My body warms and relaxes. “Can I run something by you?”
“Nah.”
I laugh, I think genuinely. “Cis guys can be attracted to people of different genders, right?”
Andi doesn’t put down their pencil. “Is this a serious question?”
“Like would it be weird if I dated Christy, which I did, and then wanted to kiss someone who wasn’t a girl?”
“No, obviously.” Truly a joy for this to be the thought I’m shamed for. “Gender is a fiction.” They put a hand up like, wait . “Or, it’s a fiction for me. Other people know what’s true for them.”
“That makes sense. I think I’m fine being a guy as long as it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Ha.”
“Is it possible to be super excited about being a guy? Are other cis guys out there hugging their dicks every night like it’s their favorite body part?”