Raise Your Glass (8 page)

Which, if I thought about it, was a pretty good metaphor for my life.

I had been heading toward this point for so long I couldn’t remember a time when I wasn’t, sacrificing everything along the way just to get me once inch closer to the goal of getting out of this town forever. It didn’t matter if I dated Jennifer and never told her I liked guys, because the longer people thought I was straight the better my chances were of getting away. Who cared if I pretty much treated people around me like crap? Once I left for college, I’d never see them again, so what did it matter? And so what if my parents were one bad night away from reenacting some of the better parts of
Fight Club
? They had gotten as much mileage out of using me as a bargaining chip as they could; I didn’t owe them a damn thing. And who cared if I wasn’t happy?

Certainly not me.

Though I didn’t mean to, I ended up at the lake, at the same spot I had taken Kyle when we skipped school. Before, it had been my old stomping grounds, a place where I had practically grown up. Now it felt like an alien planet. All of its previous luster and appeal were gone, and for the life of me, I couldn’t remember what I had ever seen in it. I tried to remember the nights and the parties and all the fun I was supposed to have had here, but nothing came to mind. Instead, it looked like a crappy lake in a crappy town that I was never going to be free of.

It looked like a goddamned prison, a prison of my own making.

Kyle

I
CAN
’
T
think of many things that people would consider universal.

As human beings we spend so much energy arguing over every little thing it’s easy to forget sometimes that deep down we are all the same creature. White, black, straight, gay, liberal, conservative, all those labels do is point out how different we seem, when the truth is almost everybody feels the same way about the important stuff.

For example, when you see someone in pain, you want to help, and when you are in pain, you want help.

If you had asked me a week, a day, hell, even an hour ago if I would think these words, I’d have thought you were completely freaking insane, but as I knelt there and sobbed, I only had one desire running through my bones:

I wanted my mom.

It sounded so stupid and trite that I was embarrassed for even feeling it, but when she knelt down with me and put her arms around me, all the walls I had erected over the years to keep the sorrow and the pain away from my life shattered. I was overwhelmed. The more she comforted me the more I ached, as a lifetime of emotional venom began to seep out of my heart. I told her the story the best I could between huge, earth-shattering heaves. I have no idea how she understood me but I had just to assume moms speak Crying Children. She didn’t interrupt me or ask any questions, she just sat there and absorbed the tale without any indication of judgment.

When I was done, I felt exhausted and drained and more than a little bit embarrassed. I dried my eyes and got up slowly. “So, yeah,” I said, sniffling. “So basically my life sucks.” She didn’t smile; she didn’t so much as chuckle. “So, say something,” I said after agonizing seconds of silence.

“They can’t do this,” she said, a clarity in her eyes that I couldn’t ever recall seeing before.

I scoffed. “I beg to differ since they are doing it.”

“No,” she said, standing up. “You don’t understand. They can’t do this.”

That was when my spider sense started to tingle.

“They can’t discriminate against you because of that,” she said with more force. “It’s against the federal law.”

“Don’t,” I said, trying to cut her off at the pass.

“Kyle, you can’t let them do this to you,” she implored me. “You have to stand up for yourself.”

“No, no, I do not,” I countered with emphasis on the “no.” “I just need to get through the rest of this year and graduate. Nothing is gained by making them even more pissed at me.”

She gave me a stern look. “That’s the old Kyle talking.”

“No, that’s the me Kyle talking. See? This is me talking, and I am saying no.”

She shook her head and held her tongue, but I knew this was far from over. “It’s not fair,” she said as she was walking out of my room. She paused at the doorway. “And I know life is not fair, that doesn’t mean you just accept it.”

She closed my door and was gone.

If I had run a marathon fully clothed in the desert I wouldn’t have felt this drained. It felt good to unload, but it didn’t change that I was still in the same situation I was before I lost it. I slipped my shoes off and lay back on my bed, feeling like I was a thousand years old. She was right, what they were doing wasn’t fair, but what the hell could I do about it? They held all the cards, and even if the school was somehow on my side, the other students would still treat me like trash no matter what.

And then there was Brad.

It felt like the bed was pulling me into it as I began to nod off. Every impulse I had was to try to help him, but I didn’t know how. Even if I distanced myself from him now, he’d still be outed and just as shunned as I was. We were both fucked, but the difference was he had so much more to lose than I did. I was just a loser that turned out to be gay, the only difference now was that people openly shunned me instead of doing it unconsciously. If Brad lost baseball, I didn’t know what he’d do….

That was the last thought I remember having.

A jumbled series of images made up my dreams. I saw Brad shirtless, tied to a pole like a scarecrow, bloodied and beaten, held up only by the ropes. He was surrounded by the school, students and staff, all of them screaming at him like an angry mob of villagers attacking a monster. Kelly was holding a baseball bat and brandishing it at Brad’s head like he was about to try for a stand-up triple. I would have been more concerned if part of my brain hadn’t realized that most of this imagery was pulled from the pilot of
Smallville
so I kinda knew it was a dream.

When I woke up it was dark out and I was drenched in sweat.

I sat up, trying to remember what I could from the dream before it faded away into wisps of nothing but all I could focus on was that Brad had been in danger. I got up and checked the living room for signs of life and possibly food. I wasn’t too surprised to find my mom gone. It wasn’t 2:00 a.m. yet, which was the time most alcoholics turned into pumpkins. I should have known that her moment of clarity was another mirage created by years of wandering this desert by myself. I grabbed a banana and headed back to my room, wondering how many times I was going to run at that football of hope, knowing she was going to pull it away eventually.

I thought about taking a shower but decided I was just going to stink myself up all over again, so I just pulled off my clothes and went back to sleep.

Brad

A
TAPPING
sound on my car window woke me up instantly.

I jerked away in a blur and ended up slamming my knee into the steering wheel. “Motherfucker!” I called out as a light blinded me from my left. I held up my hand as images of alien abductions flashed though my head.

“Brad? Bradley Greymark?” a voice asked on the other side of my window.

The aliens knew my name?

More rapping on the window. “Son, are you Bradley Greymark?”

My eyes began to adjust, and what I had been so sure just seconds before was a nasty green alien with a taste for brains began to look more and more like a policeman.

“Son, I need you to roll down this window.”

The words started to make sense as I fully woke up. I rolled down the window and was greeted by a gust of freezing air. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered, my teeth starting to chatter.

“Are you Bradley Greymark?” the policeman asked me again. I nodded as I turned on the heater. “Bradley Greymark the baseball player?”

Not so much.

“Yeah,” I snapped, willing at this point to say anything to roll that damn window up. “That’s me, why?”

He frowned slightly at the attitude, and I realized that snark might not be the best tack to take with the cop. “Because your parents are going nuts and half the force is out looking for you.”

I stopped myself from commenting that half the force was three guys and probably a mule and instead dug my phone out of my pocket. I tried to turn it on, but the screen just stayed black. I hit the button again, and sure enough, nothing. The cop pointed at it and said, “It helps if you charge them, I’ve heard.”

Obviously snark was okay when
he
thought of it.

“What time is it?” I asked, realizing it was pitch black beyond my windshield.

“Going on 4:00 a.m.,” he answered without checking. “You been drinking?”

I shook my head. “Just cut school and fell asleep.”

He considered my answer for a moment and then took a step away from the door. “Why don’t you get out of the car.” I looked at him and bit back the “Are you kidding me?” that was right on my lips. Instead I sighed and climbed out into the cold night. He shone his flashlight into my car, no doubt looking for empties littering the backseat or something as incriminating. When it was obvious I didn’t have Jimmy Hoffa on ice in my backseat, he turned his attention to me.

“So, bad day, huh?” he asked casually. I nodded, wrapping my arms around myself, trying to keep warm. “Yeah, I can’t imagine letting your freak flag fly is the least stressful way to spend a day.” I looked over at him in a daze, but before I could say anything, he grabbed my shoulder and spun me toward the car. “Hands on the roof, legs apart.” I was too shocked to protest as he began to pat me down. “Yeah, the whole town knows about you. That kind of news spreads quick,” he said as he began to move his hands over my chest and then lower, toward my waist.

“I’m—” I said, trying to form actual words in my head. “I’m sorry…” was all I could manage. The whole town? Oh God, how was I going to live this down?

“Why?” he said, almost whispering in my ear. “I mean, you wanted everyone to know, right?” he said as his hands moved from my waist to the front of my pants. I began to move, but he was pressed up against me. “Do not move,” he growled. “I know how you queers like this,” he leered, his hands unbuttoning my jeans.

“Stop,” I protested, afraid to fight back but wanting him to stop.

“You sure you want me to?” His voice sounded like it was inside my head. “After all, isn’t this what you deserve?”

There was a tapping sound on my window, which woke me up instantly.

I jerked away in a blur and ended up slamming my knee into the steering wheel. “Motherfucker!” I called out as a light blinded me from my left. I held up my hand as images of being raped by a cop flashed though my head.

“Brad?” a voice asked from the other side of the light. “Brad, it’s Officer Miller. You okay?” I fought away the images of the nightmare when I realized the strange cop had been a figment of my imagination. “Brad?” he asked, this time concern lacing his voice.

I nodded and rolled down my window. “Sorry, bad dream.”

I saw the sun had just gone down over the lake and the sky was still a strong cobalt, making it maybe between six or seven.

“I saw your car parked out here and just wanted to make sure you were okay.” Which was probably a half truth, since Miller had personally taken me home in the back of his squad car more than once.

I nodded and rubbed my eyes. “I cut school and fell asleep.”

He chuckled to himself. “Son, it’s Monday. Kind of early to start skipping, isn’t it?”

I nodded as I checked my phone to see if I had any missed calls. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a bad week.”

“Oh, come on, son. It can’t be all that bad. How bad can it be at your age?”

Instead of answering, I just turned the engine over. “Thanks, Officer Miller, I better get home.”

“Stay out of trouble, Brad,” he said, putting his flashlight away. “And get home safe, okay?”

I nodded as I rolled up my window and waved to him as I drove away.

The town was packing it in for the night as I drove home. I was surprised that we didn’t roll the sidewalks up after a certain point. It was dark when I pulled into the driveway. My dad’s car wasn’t there, meaning he was working late or just decided to drink at the dealership. As I walked in the door I could smell something cooking, and my stomach growled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten since lunch, and even then, I hadn’t finished it. I slipped my shoes off and hung up my jacket.

“Bradley?” I heard my mom call out from the kitchen.

I slid into the kitchen on my socks. “Food?” I asked eagerly.

She laughed as she shook her head. “How was school?”

My mind froze as I debated what to tell her. My first instinct was, of course, to lie, that being was what I always did. The word “fine” was halfway to my lips before I stopped myself. She knew about Kyle, and if anyone was going to not lose their mind over baseball, it would be her. What did I have to lose?

I did not like the answer of
nothing
that came to mind.

“Not good,” I said sitting down at the table.

She paused serving for a moment. “Define ‘not good’.”

“Well,” I said running a hand through my hair, “the coach found out about Kyle and um… kinda kicked me off the team.”

She put the plate down and turned toward me. “What?”

I swallowed hard as I tried struggled not to just break down. “He said that I couldn’t change out in the locker room because of—well, you know. So I can’t be on the team.”

Now, I have seen my mom mad before, in fact most of the time she was around my dad she was pissed, so I assumed that I had seen it all. I had seen her scream, cuss, and throw dishes across the room. I had seen her grab my father’s clothes and throw them over the stairs into a pile in the foyer. I honestly believed that I had witnessed every conceivable shade of anger that might come from her. But as she stared at me from the stove with cold fury in her eyes, I realized up to this point I had never really seen her truly angry.

“He said that?” she asked, her voice sharp and clipped. “He actually said you couldn’t play anymore?”