Behind You (8 page)

“Give me a break, Dad. Cut the liberal crap. You mean white boys, but you would never say that, because it would be politically incorrect, wouldn't it?”

My father shook his head and stared at me like he was trying to figure out who I was.

Marion got up and went over to the sink. She stood there with her back to us as though she'd forgotten what she'd gone there for.

“Maybe it's a good thing, honey. Maybe it means less sadness in the house.”

“I don't understand you,” my father said. “I thought I did, but I don't.”

“I understand
you
even less,” I said. “And I'm not dating him. He's . . . he's a friend.”

“Well,” Marion said. “It's good to hear you're making some friends. I don't want you going all the way to Brooklyn, though.”

“I'm meeting him downtown today.” I took another bite of pancake. “Don't worry—I won't be crossing that dangerous bridge into an outer borough.”

“Don't be sarcastic,” my father said. “I still think we need to talk about you seeing someone.”

I stood up. “How about family therapy? I'm game for that. How about I get a chance to talk about why I was too scared to bring my black boyfriend home to parents who swear they're not racist. How about we talk about him dying without you ever meeting him because somewhere along the way, I got the message that it wasn't okay—”

“Bring this new friend home,” Marion said. “No one's stopping you.”

I didn't take my eyes off my father. “That's not the point, is it?”

“It's all something we need to talk about,” he said.

I shook my head. “We never will,” I said.

My parents were silent. They knew it was true.

“IT'S FUNNY. THERE'S THIS PART OF ME THAT ALWAYS KINDA felt alone, you know?”

We're in a coffee shop on the corner of Waverly and Sixth Avenue. There are people all around us—men and men together, women and men, parents and kids, women and women.

“I used to come here with Miah,” Ellie said, leading me to a table in the back. We sat down and a waiter put two menus in front of us. The place was quieter than it seemed it ought to be. I looked up and saw that the ceilings were covered with a purple foamy material that must have absorbed a lot of the sound.

“How'd you guys find it—I mean, I come to the Village a lot and I never even noticed this place.”

Ellie looked at me. “We were walking once. God, it all feels like such a long time ago. And we passed this couple—interracial—older, like in their thirties or something. And the guy says to Miah, ‘Yo, take your honey . . .' and he told us about this place. We just smiled. It was like this bonding moment or something. And then we came here. All kinds of people mixed up all kinds of ways. Black, white, gay, straight. It doesn't make any kind of difference here.”

I looked around, nodding. It was easy to imagine Miah here with Ellie, the two of them at a quiet table, drinking cappuccinos and talking about their lives. Nobody looking at them, judging them, hating them just because . . .

I stared down at the menu, my eyes starting to burn. Maybe it was the big memory of Miah. Maybe it was thinking about how good that must have felt, to be out and open and not caring about the rest of the world. When the waiter returned, we both ordered and I started messing with a napkin, tearing it into tiny pieces. I couldn't look at Ellie for some reason. The word
gay
seemed so loud, so everywhere at once.

“Something about coming here,” Ellie said. “It made me so sure of Miah. So sure that I loved him. That everything would be okay.” Her voice cracked a bit and she got quiet again.

Outside, snow was blowing—not a whole lot, and it probably wouldn't stick, but enough to let us know that winter was definitely here.

“You're lucky,” I said. “I mean, to have had a chance to feel so sure about something. There's not one single part of me I've ever been a hundred percent sure about.”

“Hmmm.” Ellie looked at me. “Nothing?”

“Ball, I guess. I wasn't always sure of my game, but I always loved playing ball.” I opened my palm and stared at it. “The way the ball feels in my hand. The way a shot slides into a basket. Running full court and getting underneath the backboard in time—all of that's always felt . . . felt real. Solid. But show me a ballplayer that's out there going pro saying, ‘My boyfriend Bob and me . . .' ”

Ellie smiled. Our food came.

“Don't exist,” I said after the waiter left. “I don't exist.”

“I thought you said you didn't have a boyfriend?” Ellie looked at me, frowning.

“I
don't
. That's what I'm saying. I don't exist—gay ballplayers don't exist.”

“That's crazy, Carlton. You're going to stop being who you are because—”

“Yep.”

“But that's not . . . that's not
living
.”

“I know.”

“And just because people aren't
out,
doesn't mean they don't exist.”

I didn't say anything. If someone had said to me,
Carlton, are you straight or gay? Tell me now because you might be dead tomorrow,
I would say,
I'm gay
—even though I've never kissed another guy or been in love with anybody.

“I
am
gay,” I said, not looking at Ellie. I watched the syrup sink into my pancakes, watched the way the orange slices beside the pancakes lay still as glass.

“I know,” Ellie said.

When I looked up, she was smiling again.

We stared at each other for a long time. I felt myself choking up. Felt like Ellie had just saved my life somehow. I wanted to holler, to reach across the table and lift her up. But my breath was coming too fast and my body felt heavy and light all at once, so I just sat there, staring at her.

“We'd make a nice couple—aesthetically, don't you think?” Ellie said.

I laughed and the air felt the tiniest bit lighter.

“Seriously, Carlton. You're beautiful—you could have guys dropping for you all over the place.”

I took a bite of my pancakes, shook my head.

“I think I'm some kind of romantic. I would love to fall in love and feel like that's it—that's the be-all, end-all, forever amen.”

Ellie's fork froze. When she looked at me, I don't know if I was surprised to see her eyes were watery. She blinked but didn't say anything.

“I know that's what you guys had,” I said quickly.

“I just wonder . . . you know—if you can have it more than once. I mean, I'm not looking and I don't know if I'll ever be looking. I wasn't even looking when I found Miah.” She laughed. “But . . . who knows. Who knows anything.”

“I can't even imagine your world.”

Ellie smiled.

“Yeah,” she said. “That's what I like—you don't even try to.”

“Miah loved you like crazy—you know that, right?”

Ellie stared down at her plate and nodded. “Most days,” she said.

“All days.”

“Most days I know it was all days. But some days . . .” She looked up at me and laughed a little bit. “Some days, I think—”

“Well, those days you're wrong.”

“I know. I mean, most of me knows.”

“Your food's getting cold.”

She started eating. I watched her for a while.

“It never even crossed my mind to go uptown and see you,” I said. “But I'm sure as hell glad you crossed that street.”

“Like I said before, don't thank me—thank Nelia.”

I started eating again. “You. Nelia. Whoever. I'm glad it happened.”

“Yeah.” Ellie looked over at me and smiled. Miah was right—it was one of the prettiest smiles I'd ever seen—real, deep, sincere, like her face and heart were wide-open.

“You want to catch a movie later?”

Ellie nodded. “Definitely.”

“We'll get the paper and see what's playing, cool?”

“Way cool with me.”

It was Saturday morning still. The rest of the day was ours. The rest of our life was ours. Winter was coming and it was cold outside. But we were sitting inside a restaurant that was quiet and warm. The food was good. The company was good. Maybe one day I'd have myself someone to be in love with. But even if I didn't right now, the world was ours. And here me and Ellie were, sitting across from each other. Smiling.

IN THE SECOND QUARTER, TRINITY SNATCHES THE BALL FROM our weak point guard—who should be sitting on the bench, but isn't because his daddy gives big money to Percy—and scores. I curse and the ref calls a foul on me because you ain't supposed to be cursing on the court. Our team's down by ten points and looking to lose yet another game. It's my third foul, so the coach pulls me off the floor. I curse again, but not so anybody can hear it, take the bench, feeling the sweat rolling off me, and put the towel over my head so I can't see how bad we're doing.

“Gotta learn to watch that mouth, Kennedy,” the coach says to me.

“Yeah, whatever,” I say from under the towel.

“And that attitude.”

I don't say
whatever
again, but I'm thinking it hard enough for the whole gym to feel it. It's full tonight because this game is only the fourth one in the season and even though we already lost the first two out of three, people still feeling hopeful about Percy. I hear the crowd cheering and look out from underneath my towel to see Percy score from midcourt. Even more surprised to see that it's our weak point guard actually doing something for the team.

The game goes back and forth for a while and I don't look at the coach because I don't want him to see how much I'm hurting to get back in the game.

“Keep yourself warm,” Coach says, throwing me my sweats. “No use cramping up.”

I pull the sweats on. Percy scores two more baskets and then gets fouled. After a while the score's tied.

“Go on out,” Coach says to me. He pulls the point guard out and we slap hands on the way on and off the court. His hand is sweaty and he's got this big grin on his face like he's done a whole lot.

The crowd starts cheering when they see I'm back. Since Miah's been gone, I'm the big scorer on the team. He'd get out here and pull down twenty, thirty, sometimes even forty points a game. Most games, I go home with about twenty. Coach says if my attitude was a little better, I'd probably pull down a whole lot more.

It's Percy's ball and the forward shoots it my way. I take it up court and slip a layout in easily. The crowd starts going crazy, cheering and stomping and whistling. Even though I'm still bent about that foul, I feel myself starting to grin. I flip the crowd a peace sign and they go even crazier.

We score a few more baskets and then even
I'm
feeling the love in the room. I look over at Coach and he's got this big smile on his face. Like he's thinking what I'm thinking—
Hey, y'all—we're the Percy Panthers. And we're BACK!

 

Outside, there's like a trillion stars in the sky and the night's colder than anything. I pull my hood over my head and lift my knapsack higher on my shoulder, ready to make a quick trek to the subway, when I hear somebody calling my name. I turn and see Ellie coming up to me—Ellie and Carlton.

I give Carlton a look as I slap his hand. We hug real quick. I'm feeling good, so I even give Ellie a quick hug.

“You went
off
,” Carlton says to me.

“Forty-two points, yo!” We slap hands again, both of us grinning. “Most I ever scored in one game.”

“You keep going like that—”

“Yeah,” I say before he can even finish. “Put Percy on the map finally. How's Tech doing?”

“We doing okay,” Carlton says.

“They're doing more than okay,” Ellie says. “Won their last four games.”

I look from one to the other, then back again, and raise my eyebrows.

Carlton smiles. “Nah, man,” he says. “It's not like that. We're friends.”

Ellie looks confused for a minute, then she smiles.

“Oh,” I say. “That's what they calling it these days.”

People start pouring out of Percy, moving around us, slapping my hand and telling me what a good game I had.

“Yo—thanks for coming, but I gotta get out of this cold.”

Ellie looks at me. “Maybe you can come and get a bite with us or something. We're going to the diner around the corner. Nothing big.”

Carlton starts jumping up and down, his hands in his pockets. “You know—a little warm-up before we head across that bridge.”

“Nah, man,” I say. “I'm not into that third-wheel thing. You know how ‘friends' be acting.”

Ellie rolls her eyes. “It's not like that, Kennedy.”

“True that,” Carlton says, grinning. “I'm gay, man. Can you handle that?”

I look at him, then take a step back. “Hey, it ain't nothing. You know. It takes all kinds and all.” Then after a minute, I say, “Damn. For real, man?”

Carlton nods. “And no offense, Kennedy, but you're not my type.”

I stand there a minute, trying to let stuff sink in.

“I mean, it don't mean anything to me, but—like, for real,
gay
?”

Carlton just looks at me.

“Damn,” I say again. “Whatever. That's
your
thing.” Then it hits me. “Yo! Were you and Miah like . . . together—”