Outtakes Of A Walking Mistake (28 page)

Did Billy tell you about the time I took him here
? How could Eric say that?

Billy said he’d never kissed a boy, let alone seen one naked.

Shit, I don’t know what to think. Granted, Eric’s a gifted storyteller but what if his lies contain the truth? Had dad really found them trespassing in a model home? If so, why didn’t dad tell me?

Later, I lie on the couch, wondering why boys have to be so difficult. Never let them too close. Never let them in. This is the ghost of Eric sharing advice on love. Maybe he’s right. Maybe love isn’t worth its aftermath after all. I think of dad, how he believed every love song on the radio was written for him and mom. That thought almost made him crazy.

“You still awake?” dad asks, appearing above me.

“Yeah.”

“I heard the shower.”

Groaning, I sit up. “I know. I’m not supposed to leave my room,” I say. “Sorry. I’ll head back inside.”

“No, stay,” he insists. Taking a seat beside me, he leaves a little space between us. “Listen, Jenny told me why you skipped.”

“Yeah, I know but….”

“Look, you were being a good friend. I can’t fault you for that.”

You can’t? Where’s my real father? What have you done with him?

“So I’m not grounded?” I ask.

“We’ll talk about that another time. Just get to class,” he says. I don’t know what’s prompting his mood change until he shuffles to bed, leaving me with a question. “Would you mind if I invited your mom over for breakfast?” The poor guy, he still thinks he has a chance. “Nothing big, just a quick bite before school.”

“Dad, mom’s not....”

“We can eat like a family,” he states. I sigh, reminded of her departure. “What? You think it’s a bad idea?”

I want to say yes, really I do. But I don’t want to hurt him so I choose not to tell him mom left. No, tonight I’ll protect him from the truth, allowing him peaceful sleep as he has done for me countless times in the past.

“Mom would like that,” I say. “Make chocolate-chip pancakes. They’re her favorite. Remember? Anything to make mom happy.”

“You HAVE to wear the hat,” Jenny insists. “The hat brings fabulous to a whole new level.” Admiring herself in the living room mirror, she places the final touches on her glittery Tinkerbelle costume. Fluttering her toilet-paper wings, she sets a single rose behind her ear.

It appears Greg did arrived the night before. Dad had placed his gift of twelve long-stemmed red roses in a vase on the kitchen table.

“But is the hat necessary?” I ask, checking my reflection. “People are going to think I’m a total tool.”

“No! They’ll think you’re Peter Pan,” she assures me.

This is my life. Here I am, standing in a green tunic and tights, and I have a green-jeweled hat meant for a pre-teen girl on my head.

Cool right?

No.

Destined for another solo flight to the Monster Mash, I’m the poster boy for why people should think twice about being born gay. Seriously, can my life get anymore tragic? Let’s evaluate. Billy is taking Ashley to the dance. Jenny is going with Greg. And I’ll be by the punch bowl all night. For boys like me, dreams of dancing with a romantic interest only play out in Never Never Land, I suppose.

“Maybe I’ll just stay home,” I sigh.

“Quit being a bitch,” Jenny replies. “Your ass is on fire in those tights. You’ll be the hit of the dance. I promise.”

The sudden optimist, Jenny’s outlook on life stems from earlier in the day when her mother transported her to the psychiatrist’s office where her medication was reduced to two pills. With the change, the doctor stated that Jenny would no longer suffer from dry-mouth and constipation. She’s been thrilled ever since.

As for the apology she expected to receive from her mother, well, that never happened. Her mother said that Jenny must have dreamt the whole affair regarding her father. Either that or she was hallucinating from taking one of those drugs all the kids are on these days.

“Yeah whatever. The black mole on his dick, was that a hallucination too?” she asked her mother.

Responding with a bribe, Jenny’s mother allowed Jenny to have her car back under one condition: Jenny would never utter such trash again. For the remainder of the school year Jenny was also given permission to remain at our house. That is, unless she quits all this foolishness about being abused. Then she can return home.

As for me, I returned home from school earlier, only to find Sergeant waiting for me. Watering flowers in his front yard, he directed me to a kitchen full of dirty dishes where I was told to scrub until each one shined like a baby’s butt.

After I finished, Sergeant gave me a hands-off tour of the antique rifle collection he kept hidden inside a locked cabinet in his study. Explaining his love affair with each rifle he soon felt comfortable enough to take me to another locked cabinet: one where a wedding album revealed a younger Sergeant. In one picture, he licked wedding cake off his wife’s chin. In another, their bodies tangled, kissing beneath a banyan tree. “I know folks around here think I’m nuts,” he told me. “Now, I may not recall the month or the year, but I’m no dummy. I haven’t forgotten the best part of my life,” he stated, pointing to his wife’s picture. “You can tell them, the day I forget how much I loved that woman, that’s when they can take me. That day, I lose the war.”

Another veteran of the implications of love, dad drives Jenny and me to the dance that night, battling the airwaves to locate a single song that isn’t about heartache. “Damn, is anyone happy?” dad asks.

In the backseat, I eyeball Jenny, telepathically conveying the message that silence is golden. I can tell dad’s still livid that mom never returned his invitation to breakfast. Early this morning, he left five messages in less than an hour, refusing Jenny and me a single pancake until she called back.

I hadn’t the heart to tell him that mom had left the night before and wouldn’t be in contact with him anytime soon. The cold turkey method is for the best. When it pertains to matters of the heart, hearing the voice of an ex triggers false hope, deafening the truth about a dead relationship. Dad’s trigger-happy heart has yet to learn its lesson.

Still, though seeing dad torture himself time and time again, the instant I reach the school gymnasium where the Monster Mash is being held, I find myself engaging in the same behavior.

Should I talk to Billy? Should I ask him to dance? Does he wish that I were his date instead of Ashley? It’s not fair. I shouldn’t allow him this much control. Why can’t I stop thinking about him? Is he thinking about me? My ears are ringing but I think it’s because of Jenny and her bell. I wish dad hadn’t bought her the damn thing. Shaking it in my ear she tells me we have to make an entrance that will make all the boys wish they could impregnate us.

“And how do you plan we do that?” I reply.

“With fairy dust,” she says, sprinkling invisible particles over my head. “Now, dream you’re the hottest boy around and wish it to life.”

“I just wish I had a date.”

“Come on, you’re with me.” Taking my hand, she guides me through the gym doors laced with orange and black streamers. Inside, she lifts my arm to the sky as if we’ve just finished a marathon. I don’t know why she does this but I don’t question it either. “WE MADE IT!” she announces. Not that anyone cares; they’re busy, making it themselves. Still, that doesn’t reduce the effect, the gleam in Jenny’s eye as she latches on to my hand like never before. And I tell myself we did make it. Not only to the dance, but in this jig called life. And sure, all may not be perfect but at least we have each other. For me, that feels perfect.

“Say it, Bub!” Jenny urges. “We made it!”

Stealing warmth from her hand I turn red even though the gesture makes me feel airy and unconquerable. “We made it,” I say.

“Louder!”

“WE MADE IT!”

“That’s good! Now come on! Help me find Greg!” she yells, over the beat of a dance song.

“No. You go. I’ll be fine,” I say, looking at the crowd. Before me, a sea of students bobs up and down under a pool of disco lights.

“What? No! You have to come with me,” Jenny insists. “Greg wants to see you.”

“Just go. I’ll catch up with you.”

“You sure?”

“Yes! Now go,” I say, releasing her hand.

“Well ok, but if you need me, just listen for the sound of the bell!” she says, fluffing her wings and heading onto the dance floor.

For some reason I feel so fulfilled that I don’t sense how vacant I am until I lose track of her wings in the mass of masked students. Combing the outskirts of the floor, I find safety on the sidelines, blending into the wooden bleachers where singles nod in my direction, not because they know me but because it makes them feel less lonely.

On the surface I play it cool, struggling to enjoy the freedom of being single. But even with confidence, my chest aches for Billy. He’s out there, dancing below the ghosts hanging from the ceiling, wishing he were dancing with me. This is what I convince myself. Then crowning myself victorious for making an appearance without him I place a foot on the dance floor before retreating due to feeling like I’ve crossed an invisible line where singles don’t belong.

“Tye! You have to see this,” Danny Schmidt says, locating me hiding behind the punch bowl. Cloaked like a hobbit, he presses a button on his cell phone and a photo of a blonde girl wearing a red thong appears. Straddling a bed with a whip in her mouth, she seductively stares into the camera, tits and all. “Isn’t she hot?” he asks.

“I guess. If you’re into that sort of thing.”

“She sends me a pic everyday,” he says, scrolling through the photos. “And get this, she only charges a buck for each one. It’s a steal, man. It beats the girls around here. Around here, you can buy a girl dinner and she still won’t show you her tits.”

“Come on, Danny. Do you really want a girl who will show you her tits for the price of a Big Mac?”

“Why not?”

“Ugh.”

“What?”

“Forget it,” I sigh. “I have to find Jenny. I’ll see you later.”

Taking a glass of punch I come to realize that people don’t change. Well, sometimes they make little alterations, but truly change? That requires effort. I can’t expect Danny to have a clue about women just because I’d given him dating advice. I can’t expect my dad to accept my love for boys either. I can only change my behavior. And for now, I can start by putting a smile on my face and stepping away from the punch bowl.

So I do.

That’s when I see Billy.

That’s when a lightning bolt zaps me in the heart.

Ba-BOOM. Ba-BOOM.

“Hey! I was looking for you!” Billy calls. Separating himself from a pack of drama students on the dance floor, he approaches without a costume. His blond bangs are glued to his forehead with sweat.

I can’t believe he’s speaking first. I thought he was embarrassed to be seen with me. Feeling my eyes flood with water, I want to slap him.

He’s smiling, that’s the worst part. It’s like this is normal for him, like he can turn his love on and off with a switch. Lucky him. The problem is I can’t do that, but I won’t let him see me cry.

“Hi…” I manage.

“I wasn’t sure if you were going to make it,” he says.

“Well, here I am.”

“You look good,” he responds, after three seconds of awkward silence. “I like your tights.”

“Thanks,” I reply, playing it cool. Inside, I’m a mess though. I flash to the night he came over to rehearse and how he later told me he remembers everything I say. I wonder why he thinks my opinion is so important.

Should I smile? If I smile, he’ll think I’m happy even if I’m not. I want him to know he’s the reason I’m not happy. Still, I don’t want him to know he has any control. Oh, I’m totally screwed. “Where’s Ashley?” I ask, taking the attention away from me.

“In the bathroom.”

“Oh.”

Inching closer, he lowers his mouth to my ear. His breath feels like an electrical current and his smooth delivery prompts my heart to pump faster. My treacherous heart, how could it lead me into this dead-end relationship? “You know I’d rather dance with you,” he says.