Orphea Proud (10 page)

“Sorry. I don’t love you. I think we better break up.”

“Okay. See you tomorrow.” He wasn’t too heartbroken.

After that, things fell back into place. Lissa and me; me and Lissa. She started wearing white-framed glasses then, which other people thought looked dorky. But I thought they looked great. I fell in love with those dorky glasses. I fell in love with Lissa.

Then came the rumor. It began on the school bus with two girls who sat across the aisle. They had never seemed to notice Lissa and me. It was spring of seventh grade and Lissa and I became interesting. That’s what I thought. That’s what you want to think when people are constantly glancing your way and whispering. You
want to think that they’re saying, Wow, how cool those two girls are; don’t we wish we were like them? Anyway, it didn’t take long to figure out that’s not what they were saying. The glances became a tad sharper and the laughter a bit more sarcastic. Lissa didn’t seem to notice. And I pretended not to. I hardly knew the girls’ names; they weren’t in class with me. What did I care what they thought? It worked, until one of them found me alone at my locker and grabbed my arm.

“Tell me one thing,” she whispered in my ear. “Are you a dyke or what?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stared her down. I acted so cold. But inside I was shook up.

It’s true, I thought. That’s what I am. Only now there’s a new word for it.

There was only one thing to do—be very, very careful. That way no one would ever find out.

Maybe I should have stopped being Lissa’s friend then. But I didn’t. Not being with her would have been like cutting off an arm. So, I was careful. I never touched her. I didn’t smile at her in public. When we played softball, I didn’t choose her for my team. Poor Lissa, at first she didn’t understand. We’d been holding hands on the playground since the age of ten. Now I was treating her like she was poison ivy. But she came to understand without my ever explaining. Probably because when we were alone, not too much changed. When we were alone, I still gave her bear hugs; we still talked every night on the phone. When we waited
alone outside the diner, she laid her head on my shoulder. And when we were together, the charge was always there.

We have a secret, I thought. A delicious and frightening secret that we share. That’s what I thought. But I never asked her how she felt. I was afraid to know the truth either way. One way could mean the end of our friendship. The other way could mean something even worse: that we’d be cut off from everyone we knew—like the edge cut off a pie crust, the dough rolled into a little ball and tossed into the garbage.

Are you still listening? Sorry to be going on and on. How old are you out there? Some of you look about Ray’s age—fourteen. Some of you look older than me. When I was fourteen, I was terrified of time. I didn’t want to grow up. By then I knew I’d never be a woman in an ad for brandy. You know the kind of thing—she’s in a strapless gown standing next to some tall guy with a glass of brandy in his hand, only he’s not looking at the brandy, he’s peeking at her boobs. Not only would I
not
be that woman worshipped and adored by a man, but when I grew up, I was going to be somebody’s idea of an insult. I don’t know about in your school, but in mine, one of the worst things you can call someone is “faggot” or “dyke.” Not that there were any actual faggots or dykes in my school; nobody would ever own up to that, being gay I mean. I didn’t own up to it
either. You don’t own up until you say it out loud. And I hadn’t, not until that very last night. I had kept my secret locked inside. I was sixteen and my secret had grown up with me. The bubble of joy in my chest had been like a sprite, but now my secret was a giant, rattling to be let out.

That day we were at a meeting of the literary magazine. I was an assistant editor. Lissa was in charge of the art. I’d written a poem about a guy who played
djembe
in the diner. I was fascinated by this drummer’s hands, how they rose and fell so swiftly, making everything pulse. She drew a picture to go with the poem—the drummer’s hands.

“Perfect,” I told her.

“Thanks. Want coffee?”

“Sure, let’s go to the diner. Or we could go to my house. We can make coffee there.” I hadn’t planned on saying that.

“Are your brother and his wife at home?”

“No. They’re taking tango class.”

She laughed. “I can’t believe it. They’re so uptight.”

My palms were sweating. I wiped them on my jeans. She looked away. Could she tell how I was feeling?

“If you don’t want to go …”

She turned and smiled. “No, I want to. It’s been a long time since we’ve been at your house.”

We left school together. She had her family’s old van. “Supposed to snow tomorrow.”

“Maybe there’ll be a snow day.”

“If that’s the case, I could sleep over,” she volunteered.

She said it casually. Her eyes were glistening. I’d bowed out of sleepovers recently. I felt a catch in my throat.

“Sure we’re not too old?”

“Never too old for a sleepover. Remember how we used to make hot chocolate?”

“Yeah.”

“We can stay up all night long studying history.”

“Ugh. Let’s hope it does snow. Then there won’t be school.”

“Which means no history test.”

“Then what will we do?”

I glanced out of the window. “I don’t know. Chill.”

I would tell her how I felt that night! I promised myself. I’d been keeping it for so long.…

Why am I telling you this? Because that night was so important. I’ve gone over it again and again. Things started to unravel as soon as we got out of the car. I was on fire, and Ruby and Rupert weren’t home. We went into the kitchen and put down our books. She gave me a long look, and I kissed her.

She pushed me away.

I had read her vibes—she wanted me to kiss her, her eyes told me, her arms were beckoning. She loved me, too. But—

“What the hell do you think you’re doing? Do you think I’m some kind of queer? Is this why you wanted to get me over here? So that you could embarrass me?
So that you could try and stick your tongue down my throat?”

“Sorry, Lissa. I misunderstood.”

“Misunderstood what?”

“You said that after we graduated we’d go away. We’d go on a road trip.”

“So?”

“You said we’d never come back, maybe, except to see your parents.”

“Yeah?”

“Well, I took that for something else.”

“What?”

“Love, I suppose.”

She laughed. “I’m a girl. You’re my friend. That’s it, understand? I’m not queer.”

“Okay.”

“I’m not, do you hear me?”

“Okay! Okay, I heard you. So now what?”

“Now let’s study.”

“After this you want to study history?”

“It’ll take our minds off … things.”

“Don’t you want to go home?”

“No.”

So we sat in the kitchen reviewing for our history test, pretending that nothing had happened. I felt like a piece of crap.

“I’m sorry, Lissa.”

She touched my hand. “It’s okay. We’re best friends. Nothing can change that.”

“Thanks.”

“Orphea?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry, too.”

“Sure.”

“You just startled me.”

“Fine.”

She blushed. “Anyway, I’ve always wanted to try that.”

“What?”

“Kissing … you.”

I buried my nose in the history book. My heart was racing. I was so confused.

“Well, we tried it,” I said, trying to make light of things. “So, that’s that.”

Hunched over our separate books, we kept studying. Then finally Lissa suggested that we quiz each other. Outside the snow was falling.

“You’d better get started home. The roads might get slippery.”

“I’m not worried.”

“Come on, Lissa, you don’t want to have to dig yourself out. They probably won’t send the plows out until morning.”

“I don’t care. I’m staying.”

I gulped. “You’re spending the night?”

“Sure, if it’s all right with Rupert and Ruby.”

“They love it when you’re here. Then they don’t have to deal with me.”

She smiled uneasily. “I really want to stay. I’ll just call home.”

She called her dad. We made popcorn and hot chocolate. We opened a bag of marshmallows. Then we went upstairs and stretched across my bed, doing our favorite thing, planning our road trip. Then I heard Rupert and Ruby roll in.

“Lissa’s staying over!” I called down the stairs.

“Okay,” Ruby called up. “Supposed to snow all night!”

Rupert climbed the stairs. “Done your homework?” That was always the first thing he asked.

“Most of it. There may be a snow day.”

“Finish it up.” He tossed a smile in Lissa’s direction. “Hey.”

“Hey, Dr. Jones.”

“Tell your dad I’m bringing in my car.”

“Sure.”

He turned to go. “Shovel the walk, if school is canceled. I may sleep in. That root canal I’ve got in the morning will probably chicken out. Any excuse to miss a trip to the dentist.” He flashed a smile.

“Night, Rupert.”

I closed the door. I rolled out my sleeping bag.

“You can take the bed,” I told her.

“No way. I like sleeping on the floor.”

“Since when?”

She glanced at me shyly. “Remember when we used to snuggle up together?”

I shrugged. “The bed’s too small.”

I ended up sacking out in my own bed and she lay next to me on the floor. For the first time since
we’d been sleeping over together, there wasn’t any talking.

“Good night, Lissa.”

“Good night. Hey, Orphea?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you.”

I buried my face in my pillow. She loved me. But not in the way that I loved her.

I woke up in the middle of the night. I felt her breath on the back of my neck.

“The floor is too hard,” she mumbled. But then I felt her hand on my shoulder blade. I rolled over. She kissed me on the lips.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

“But you said—”

“I love you, Orphea.”

Morning came. I opened my eyes. Snow was falling outside the window. She touched my foot with her toe.

“Sleep okay?” I tried to sound casual.

“Not really.” Already the sun was bright.

“We slept a long time.”

“Not me. I was awake, thinking.”

“About us?”

“Of course.”

“Are you sorry?”

“No. I can’t help who I love.”

“I’m scared, Lissa.”

“Me too. That’s why I yelled at you yesterday in the kitchen. But it’s my life, Orphea. Nobody else’s.”

I reached over her chest and clicked on the radio. I turned up the volume. She stroked my hair. I looked into her eyes. Her eyes were laughing. We kissed and kissed again. My secret was out and it wasn’t a giant. It was a beautiful rainbow.