8th Grade
by
Part 2 of 3
Chapter 6
He held me in the hug that few seconds, then dropped his arm, looking just a little embarrassed, and my world returned to a semblance of normal.
As it was heading towards dinnertime, I asked Brad if he wanted to stay. He looked at me a second, then responded, "You said something about you doing all the cooking. Is it safe to eat here?" A grin slowly grew on his face. To me, his really amazing face. All at once, the whole mood in the room lightened.
"You dumbass," I said, punching him in the arm. "First you tell me I'm
smart. Now you don't think I'm smart enough to figure out how to cook.
Which is it? Besides, even the village idiot can figure out how to cook hot dogs. I only burned them the first three times I cooked them, and this'll be the fourth, so I'm just sure I'll get it right."
"Well, actually, I'd love to stay, but only if I can help." His voice lost its bantering tone and became serious. "If I'm your friend, I help you. You might have to tell me how to do things because I don't know how to even boil water, but if I can help, then I'll stay."
"Great," I said with enthusiasm. I really felt good, and I smiled happily. I was going to get to hang around him a little longer, and this time, it finally felt like he wasn't with me because we were being punished or he had to be. I certainly liked him. My little casual crush on him had become a big, specific, life-altering crush. Did he have any feelings for me? That was crazy thinking. But, he was with me because he wanted to be. Maybe he did like me. It seemed so strange to think that, because, after all, he was Brad Decker and had a hundred friends and maybe even more admirers, but he seemed to really like me.
"Actually, we're having meat loaf," I said. "I don't do hot dogs. Do you need to call your folks?"
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While he was using the phone, I told my dad he was going to stay. My dad was really happy about that. He keeps telling me I need friends. Usually, I just sort of ignore that, blow it off, although I guess I do know he's right. And from the feeling in my chest right then, what both of us knew was right was maybe happening and my body, even my soul, was loving it. What I wasn't sure of was, how much of this happiness was just from having a friend I really liked, and how much was from it being a boy I had stronger feelings for? And in the back of my mind there was this little niggling feeling I didn't even want to acknowledge but that kept nudging me when I wasn't looking. That thought was: what if he shared some of those special feelings? Whoa! I was getting way, way ahead of myself. Still....
When he'd hugged me after my pathetic, soul-baring speech, I'd finally
looked up at him, and the look in his eyes, while not totally readable, seemed to be compassionate and empathetic, sure, but maybe there’d even been something more. I'd looked at him for a moment, and finally I'd reached up and sort of lightly, awkwardly, briefly returned the hug. Then we'd both dropped our arms and were silent for a moment. That was when I invited him to dinner.
As Brad was hanging up, Mom walked in the back door. As usual, she
came over and hugged Dad and me, looking very tired. I hated her looking that way, I hated it, which was one reason I tried so hard to leave nothing for her to do around the house. Brad walked over and I introduced him to my mother, and told her he was eating with us. She started questioning him, as parents have to do, embarrassing their kids is part of their official handbook, I'm sure, and I slipped briefly into the kitchen. I popped the meatloaf I'd mixed together while I was waiting for Brad to finish practice into the oven along with some baking potatoes I'd washed and pricked (I'd learned the hard way about pricking the skins before baking them; the hard way means cleaning exploded potato guts off the sides of an oven where they've baked themselves into an industrial-grade cement after exploding.) Then I went back and rescued Brad and took him into the kitchen.
"We have a little over an hour while the meat and potatoes cook. We
still have to throw together a salad, make the dressing and do the veggies. What do you want to do?"
"I've never even thought about doing any of those things, let alone
actually trying to do them. You'll have to show me how."
"OK," I said, laughing. "We can both work together and do all of them,
and then next time—" I paused, wondering if there would actually be a next time but feeling much more confident than I probably should have that there would be. I think he did that to me just with his presence—"if you don't kill my parents and me with your feeble attempts at cooking this time, you'll be able to do it on your own."
So I showed him how to make salad dressing. I had him mix together about twice the amount of oil as vinegar and then showed him which dried spices, like garlic, fennel seed, thyme, basil, onion powder and of course salt and pepper, went well in Italian dressing and about how much to use, and told him by varying the amounts of each and omitting some or adding one or two others of his choice it would be his dressing, uniquely his, which he seemed to really like. His enthusiasm was funny and catching; I could easily picture him as an 8-year-old, a very cute 8-year-old. I let him do the dressing while I washed my hands and then broke up lettuce into the salad bowls. Then I had him watch as I very roughly chopped up some broccoli after finding out he preferred that to green beans, added it to a covered bowl with just a little water and a sprinkling of salt and told him that, when everything else was ready, we'd microwave it for four minutes.
When everything was about ready, we both set the table and called my
parents. My mom had fallen asleep, as she frequently did, but got herself up and we all sat down. The conversation was about school, the news Dad had listened to throughout the day, Mom's work, and as everyone held up his end, it went very well. I was impressed with Brad as he wasn't shy and spoke up and answered all questions pointed in his direction very easily and comfortably. I know if I'm with strange adults and get asked questions, I'm very uncomfortable and end up giving two or three word answers, giving the overall impression that I'm a dork. Brad didn't seem to suffer from that ailment. The conversation was bright and spirited and fun. The dinner went really well. And everyone complimented Brad on his dressing!
After dinner, he helped me clear the table and wash the dishes. I was sort of hoping he wouldn't as I was afraid he'd very quickly see how boring all this was, but I didn't get the impression from him that he felt that way at all. In fact, he made games out of what we were doing, and with the kidding, the insulting and bumping and general goofing, it was really fun and we were done in almost no time, or it seemed that way. It seemed, too, that by the time we were done, we really were friends.
"Danny, I've got to go," he said as we were finishing. "I told my dad to pick me up at 8:30 and he should be in the driveway now." Then he looked me in the eyes and said, "This was really, really great, and I want to keep doing things like this. With you. I want you for my friend, and not just any old casual friend." He paused while he thought briefly. "You know, with this test we're having next Monday, we should review everything we've done. If I get a good grade, my father will see how great it is we're working together and it'll be much easier to spend more time like this. If I get another D, he'll want to lock me in my room for the next four years. So, why don't you plan on coming over Friday night after you've done all you have to do here, staying the night, and we'll both do a little studying and a lot of just hanging out and goofing on Saturday until you have to go. I know your parents need you here, but, Danny, I want some of you, too." And after saying that, he surprised me by hugging me again, so quickly I couldn't respond, and then went out into the living room, thanked my parents for their hospitality, sounding like he really meant it and wasn't doing so from necessity, grabbed his book bag and was gone.
My dad called me into the living room after Brad had left. Mom had already gone to bed. I sat down on the couch next to his wheelchair.
"Danny," he said, "I'm glad you had Brad over. You two sounded like you were having so much fun together. I haven't heard you laugh like that for ages. It made my heart happy. You need to spend time with kids your own age and not so much with me and your mother or alone. You'll never know how much we appreciate the sacrifices you've made for us, but you need to be a kid. Brad seems so nice, and he sounds like he's known you for years, the way you joke together. That's so good. But, what I also hear is something in your voice when you talk to him, something that I haven't heard before."
He stopped talking, obviously wanting me to respond to his line of thought without him having to ask too much, and I didn't know what to say. I was always honest with him, which is why we were so close. You start hiding things from people, especially important things like your feelings, and you just can't be as close with them as if you're honest. The problem was, I wasn't sure just what I felt. But then, I thought, isn't that what having a someone you could talk to was for, wasn't it to have someone to bounce things off, to get advice from, to get support? I trusted him to be on my side. So, I said to myself, 'the hell with it, let's get this over with,' and I just started talking.
"Dad, you heard right. I like Brad, I like him a lot. I mean, I haven't had a friend my age for a couple years and having him to share things with is great. Being able to spend time with him and be around him is making me feel better about things than I've felt for a long time. His presence seems to let me release pressure I didn't even realize I had in me. But also, I'm feeling things when I'm with him, even when I just think about him, that I've never felt before, and I'm not sure what they mean. I'm a little confused, a little scared, but also very excited. It's really difficult to even talk to you about this because I haven't figured it out in my own head yet."
Dad was looking at me—well, this head was focused in my direction—and he was listening intently. Now, he reached his hand out and grasped mine. "Danny," he said softly, compassionately, "you're thirteen. At that age everything is new and confusing. You'll have crushes on your friends, on people you see at school that you don't even know but who look good to you. You'll see a girl toss her head, flip her pony tail, and you'll fall in love. You'll see a cute boy stoop to pick up a pencil he dropped and somehow the way he looks doing it will almost overwhelm you. This isn't anything for you to worry about. You should enjoy it! It's fun, being overcome with the beauty and vitality of life around you. These crushes are wild and exciting and the boy you fall in love with today will mean nothing to you tomorrow. The girl who gets you hot and bothered tomorrow with her looks will speak to you the day after and you'll fall out of love with her the second you come in contact with her brain."
He paused, thought for a second, then continued. "I think what you're saying to me is you have feelings for Brad, romantic feelings?" I started to nod, then said softly, "Yes.
He nodded. "It's probably scary thinking you might have feelings for Brad that go beyond mere friendship. But don't be scared. Be his friend. Spend as much time with him as either of you want to spend. What happens, happens. You'll either both feel an attraction that will build, or one or both of you will only want to be friends. Maybe great and lifelong friends, maybe just good friends. Things have a way of settling themselves, of working themselves out. Sometimes, they change with time. But experiencing them is something you need to do. Don't be afraid of life. Don't be afraid to experience the highs and even the lows that it has for you. If you're afraid to put yourself in a place where these things can happen, you're denying yourself the chance to live. You like Brad a lot. You just said so. So why would you be afraid to spend time with him and get to like him even better, if that's what happens?"
Well, I thought, here goes. "But Dad, what if that means, well, might that mean I'm gay? What if the attraction does grow, and we feel the same way about each other. What then?"
"That might happen. Sure, it could. Or you might not fall in love with him but simply strengthen your friendship. Would either one of those things be a tragedy? Wouldn't it be more of a tragedy to either deny yourself the chance to be happy or not have the chance to grow into a deep friendship because you're afraid of what never might happen? Being gay isn't something you can do anything about, but living a happy and full life is something you can either strive for or avoid through fear. I don't want to see you avoiding life because you're afraid of how messy it might be or for some other equally absurd reason."
I leaned over a hugged my father, hard, and just held onto him for a minute. "Dad, thank you," I eventually almost whimpered. "You have no idea what that means to me. You're there for me, and I really need that right now. You're right, I'm scared, scared of a lot of things. The kids at school, my own feelings, that Brad will get tired of me, how complicated this is going to be, whether I'll even feel the same things I’m feeling now next week. But one fear I won't have now is that you'll be upset or disappointed. Thanks. You're just the best. I love you, Dad."
"Me too, Danny. Hey, I want you to tell Brad tomorrow you'll spend Friday night with him, and when you do, you have the best time you can with him. He wants to be your friend; you can hear it in the way he talks to you. Let him be. Okay, that's enough advice for tonight. The office is closed. Now, how about a dish of ice cream?"
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The next day at school, Brad met me by my locker. I told him I could spend the night Friday and he got a huge smile on his face. "That's great, Danny! It'll be cool! What time can you come over?"
"Well, actually, if you want, I could come home after school with you and eat there too. It'll save your parents a trip driving over to my house to get me. My dad says he'll have some Chinese food delivered when mom comes home and I should just go enjoy myself. Is that okay? I don't want to invite myself or anything."
"No, that's great! I can hardly wait till tomorrow! I have to watch the team's practice scrimmage right after school, but if you want to come too and watch it with me, my mother can drive us home after that. How does that sound? This is neat!"
I had a hard time keeping from laughing at his enthusiasm, and then, remembering my father's message, thought, why not laugh? So I did, he looked at me and grinned sheepishly and got that warm look in his eyes I couldn't quite comprehend, and I told him, "Works for me. I'll bring my stuff to school in a gym bag and be ready to go when you are."
And that's what we did. That's how I ended up spending the night with Brad Decker.
School Friday seemed to last forever. I had brought my stuff to school in a gym bag as I'd told Brad I would. I wasn't sure what to bring and probably packed the wrong things but I'd never done this since I was 9. Brad surely had people over all the time. I was going to look silly and not do things right. I just knew it. But, besides being nervous as a mouse in a kitten factory, I also felt excited and really good. I wanted to spend time with Brad, and he wanted to spend time with me! How could anything be better that that?
When the hours had slowly passed and it was time for math class, Brad and I stood over by the classroom windows and talked briefly before the bell. When I glanced at Mrs. Graedon, she was watching us rather intently, a bemused expression on her face. She wasn't used to seeing me talking with anyone, and she particularly wasn't used to seeing me smile. Maybe that's what had her puzzled. A stab of nervousness hit me, but I ignored it and went to my desk. Mrs. Graedon told the class we were going to have a review day because of the test Monday, and she was going to call students to the board to work on some problems, and as a class we'd point out and correct the errors.
"To start off, Brad, why don't you come up. This way the class will have a lot to get started with," she said, looking smug.
Brad got up, shot me a glance and a half smile, and walked to the board. Mrs. Graedon read out a problem from several weeks ago and had him write it on the board. Brad did, and I watched as he worked through it quickly, confidently and without an error. When he was done, he underlined the answer, tapped the chalk on the board a couple times in emphasis, smiled graciously at Mrs. Graedon and asked brightly, "Is there anything else I can help you with?"
Mrs. Graedon just sat looking at the board, a blank look on her face.
Brad hesitated a couple seconds, then walked back to his seat and sat
down. Finally, Mrs. Graedon turned back to the class, shot a brief glare at Brad, and asked if there were any questions. I thought of a couple facetious ones, but then remembered the sleepover and decided to stay as low-key as possible.
But that was going to be a little more difficult than I would have liked. Eventually Mrs. Graedon called on me. When I came up to the front, she said, "All right, Danny, I want the class to see the problem that earned you an F on the quiz. I want you to write what you did on the board for everyone to look at and we can all see what silly mistakes they should avoid." She had my paper—when we get F's, we have to take the paper home, get it signed by a parent and then bring it back to her—and handed it to me and I copied it onto the board. She then proceeded to ask what I'd done wrong, and as people raised their hands to point things out, she chuckled as each mistake was announced and nodded and smiled and had a delightful time while I just stood there. I decided almost immediately I wasn't going to get mad and let her score any points and I didn't. I could do this, and the less emotion I showed, the less she’d have to gloat about. I just stood there with no expression on my face.
The class knew what was happening and, to my great surprise, almost
everyone appeared to by on my side. They knew I was being treated
badly and, perhaps empathetically, felt the unfairness. But then I saw a problem. It was Brad. His face was red and the more Mrs. Graedon laughed and pranced around, repeating my mistakes, announcing how dumb I'd been and showing the correct way to do the work, the redder it got. Brad being Brad, I realized he wasn't going to contain himself, and I knew if I didn't do something fast, this could get out of hand.
"Mrs. Graedon," I suddenly exclaimed as she finished making an obvious point, "I see it, I see it! Oh, thank you, thank you, now it's clear. I can do it! You've cleared it up for me. It's wonderful!" I even hopped once, but didn't want to become a parody, so kept my enthusiasm barely within acceptable boundaries. While I was doing this, I briefly turned my face towards the class and Brad and away from Mrs. Graedon and rolled my eyes. I saw Brad suddenly calm down.
Mrs. Graedon was stuck. She had wanted to make me mad, make me say something so she could discipline me again. It wasn't working, the class was now looking gleeful and she knew she'd lost. She was infuriated, but couldn't do anything. I’d won this round.
As I walked back to my seat, I looked back at her and said, "I hope you
put a couple of that type on the test Monday. Man, am I ready for them now." Nothing like turning the knife after sticking it in.
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After school, we sat and watched Brad's teammates scrimmage the 7th
grade team. Without him in the game, the 8th graders didn't have the scoring they usually had, scoring they had grown to rely on, and the game was closer than expected. The maturity and physical superiority of the older boys was something the younger ones couldn't cope with over the course of the game, however, and in the end Brad's team won by 7 points. The coach called them all together, even Brad, for a brief talk and sent them to the showers. Brad came back over to me.
"Okay," he said, "we can take off now. Let's go see if my mom's here yet."
We walked out to the parking lot and found her waiting. On the drive
home she asked us questions about the game and how the day had gone and Brad told her about math class. His version was really funny and he had his mother laughing, but at the end she asked me if Mrs. Graedon always was that unfair with me. I told her how we didn't get along and why I thought that was, and she said, "You know, Danny, you have rights in that class and she can't treat you differently from the other kids. She's not allowed to hold grudges or try to show you up. If it gets any worse than this, you need to do something. Get your parents involved. Meet with the principal. I've heard rumors about Mrs. Graedon, and maybe it's time someone did something."
That made me feel really good, having an adult that didn't even know me being supportive. I thanked her, and then she and Brad began talking about other things and I got to take a few minutes to think about my situation with Mrs. Graedon. Maybe I'd speak to my dad about her. He knew I was having problems with her, but with an A grade so far, he didn't think it was as bad as it was. I probably shielded him a little. Maybe it would be better if I gave him the entire story. Then, if Mrs. Graedon kept after me or if she got even more belittling than she was today, I wouldn't be piling it all on him at once when he didn't know any but a small part of the background. That made sense. I was glad I'd had the conversation with Brad's mom.
We got to Brad's house. It was larger than mine and in a better
neighborhood, but it wasn't extravagant and the neighborhood wasn't all that much better. They obviously weren't a whole lot richer than we were, which calmed me a bit. I hadn't realized I was anxious about that, but I had been. This somehow made Brad seem more reachable to me. If he was rich, that, as well as all the other ways in which he was better than I was, would be just one more thing separating us, even if only in my mind.
After grabbing a couple apples, we went up to his room with his mother calling after us, "We'll have dinner in about an hour, as soon as your father comes home." Brad's room was quite a bit larger than mine and looked like what you'd expect for a 13-year-old athlete. He had some sports posters on the wall along with one of Jessica Alba, some sports books in a bookcase and his computer, which was turned on, had a screen saver showing a picture of Michael Jordan and LeBron James standing together. He had a queen-sized bed, and he sat down on it and began to take off his shoes.
"Get comfortable," he said. "You can take off your shoes. I'm going to change into my sweats. Did you bring anything to change out of your school clothes into?"
I shook my head no.
"I've got some extra sweats. Mine might be a little big for you, but I've got some older ones that would fit." He grinned at me. I loved his grin. It made me feel warm.
I told him okay. He went to his closet and pulled out two pairs, one from the back of the closet, tossed me one set and took the other himself. He slipped out of his shirt and dropped his pants, barely turning away from me while doing so. I guess all the showering and changing he did with his teammates every day at school made this a normal activity to him. I just stood there staring at him. He glanced at me, grinned a wicked grin, and asked, "Do you want me to help you?"
I blushed and began unbuttoning my shirt. Just as I'd watched him, he paused in pulling on his sweatpants and watched me. Of course, while he had a great young teen body, I was skinny and barely muscled at all. I dropped my shirt on the floor and unbuckled my belt. I was too bashful to just drop my pants like he did and turned so my back was facing him. I stepped out of my pants, pulled on the sweatpants, and turned to face him, leaning over as I did to pick up the sweatshirt.
He was still standing with his pants half pulled on, staring. When he
saw my face, he quickly pulled them up the rest of the way as I pulled on my shirt. The little bit of tension I'd felt in the room disappeared when he asked what video games I liked. We argued over games jokingly and he finally picked Tomb Raider 2. Brad booted up some Hoobastank and The Killers he'd downloaded from KaZaa and we settled down on the floor with the game. We played until we were called for dinner.
When we went downstairs I met his father. He was tall and well built
and I could easily see where Brad's good looks came from. Just like Brad, his father was friendly and easy to talk to. When I was introduced he stuck out his hand and we shook, not something I usually did. He thanked me for the help I'd been to Brad's understanding of the math work that had been such a concern to him, and I blushed and passed the praise back to Brad. Then we chatted about this and that and I found myself much more comfortable than I usually am with strangers.
Brad's mom had fried a chicken for dinner and, along with potatoes and gravy, creamed corn, rolls and a tossed salad, we had a very nice dinner with friendly conversation. I realized how much I enjoyed sitting down and eating the evening meal without having to cook it myself, but didn't say so. It would have sounded strange.
After dinner, Brad's parents did the dishes together, so Brad and I went back up to his room. We began playing our game again, and were having a great time, leaning against and pushing each other, laughing, insulting each other's ability, and a couple hours passed. Then, for some reason I couldn't detect, little by little, Brad began getting quieter and stopped being quite so carefree. I decided maybe he was getting tired and put it out of my mind. Perhaps it was just my imagination. He finally asked if I wanted a snack.
"Do you want something? What do you have," I asked, not knowing what I was supposed to say.
"Why don't we make some popcorn and watch a movie? Or would ice cream be better?"
"Popcorn sounds great," I replied. He told me to pick out a movie from his DVD collection while he went down and microwaved a bag. I found he had Spiderman II and put it in the machine. He came back up with the popcorn and two Cokes and approved of my movie choice.
"Do you want to watch it in bed?" he asked.
Again, I didn't know what to say. I didn't know how things were done.
I didn't want to look like a dork, but what should I say? So I took the easy way out. "What do you want to do?"
"Why don't we get ready for bed and watch it from there? When it's
over, we can just turn it off and we'll be all set."
"That's OK with me. Where am I going to sleep?" There. That sounded natural enough.
"I thought you'd sleep in bed with me." He sounded just a wee bit disappointed and a tad nervous, which was surprising because Brad wasn't ever nervous. "There's a lot of room. That's OK, isn't it?" He must do this a lot with his friends, I thought. Maybe I was making him nervous.
But then I thought of something else, and got nervous myself. "Uh, what do you wear to bed?" I asked as neutrally as possible.
"Well, to tell the truth, I usually sleep naked, but when friends are
over, I just wear some boxers. How do you sleep?"
I was immediately distracted by the thought of Brad sleeping naked, but answered anyway. "I always sleep in my boxers. That's fine with me. I didn't know how we were going to sleep so I brought a pair of pajamas, but boxers are fine."
"Great," he said, and without pause began undressing. I did the same
and when we got down to our boxers, he turned the TV and DVD player on, turned out the room light and we both got into bed with the popcorn and drinks and the remote.
As the movie played, we companionably ate the popcorn and watched. He was on his side of the bed and me on mine, but to make sharing the
popcorn easier, he scrunched his way towards my side. I was very aware of him next to me. With the movie on, we talked occasionally, making comments and frequently chuckling. Our hands kept touching when we grabbed for the popcorn at the same time. It felt very good. The entire situation felt very good. Brad, however, seemed to be getting quieter and more nervous, just like when we were playing the game. Finally, the movie finished. Brad turned it off and put the empty popcorn bowl on the floor. The room was dark and silent. Brad sat without moving for a couple minutes. I did too. This was all new to me.
Finally Brad sighed a deep sigh and said, "Well, I guess it's time to get some sleep."
I said, "Okay, and Brad, thanks for having me over. And, well, I
probably shouldn't say anything else."
"Why not?"
“Well, this is a little embarrassing."
"Danny, don't be embarrassed. What is it."
"Okay, but remember, I said it was embarrassing. It just that, well, I
can't begin to tell you how happy you make me, wanting to be my friend.
These have been the happiest few days I’ve had in a long, long time. I want to smile all the time and it's all because of you. I can't thank you enough."
Brad didn't say anything for a moment as he put the extra pillows we'd
been propped against on the floor and lay back on the bed. I did the
same thing. Then, Brad finally spoke. "Danny, I have to tell you something. It's driving me crazy. I just can't keep holding it in. I've been nervous all night. I have to tell you."
"What is it?" I asked, genuinely puzzled. The tone of his voice sounded anguished.
"I need to tell you what I feel, Danny. What I feel about you. About
me."
I couldn't help but react to the pain I heard in his voice. I rolled over onto my side. He was lying on his back, his head on his pillow. There was some light coming through the window, just enough that I could see his face. I could see the dim light reflecting off tears in his eyes, just beginning to spill down onto his cheeks.
I was stunned, seeing him that way. Without thinking, I reached out and wrapped my arms around him. "Brad, what is it?” I asked, feeling great compassion for him. "What's the matter? Tell me. Whatever it is, it's okay."
He sort of jumped when I hugged him, and then rolled towards me and hugged me back, tightly. I didn't loosen my grip. He was slightly shaking, so I just held on to him.
"Danny," he said softly. "Danny, you don't know this, but I've been watching you all year." He gulped, but now he'd started, and I hoped he was going to keep going till he got it out. The pause wasn’t long. "You were this really smart, really cute kid that seemed not to talk to anyone, not hang around with anyone, who just stayed by yourself. I started wondering why, and I started watching you. Then, one day, I realized I was watching you all the time. I couldn't stop myself. That worried me. You're not supposed to do that. So I decided not to do it anymore. But whenever I'd stop thinking about not doing it, I'd find myself looking at you again."
He paused and a sort of shudder passed through his body. I asked him the question that was in my mind. "Why, Brad?"
"After watching you for a while, I asked myself the same thing. The
answer scared me. That's why I tried to stop. But I couldn't. Even knowing why I was doing it, I couldn't stop."
"But why?" I repeated.
"Danny, I’d developed a crush on you! A boy! I'd never had a crush on a boy before. I didn't know what that meant. But, I kept watching anyway. I saw you, who you are, what you do. Anyone that had a problem with anything, you'd help them. Anyone that needed a kind word, a hand with something, a question answered, a favor, you'd be there for him. Sometimes, you even saw what someone needed and helped them and they didn't even know what you'd done. I watched all this, and realized this crush I had on this cute kid I didn't even know, I'd never talked to, was growing stronger, was getting to be more than just a crush.
"But watching you help people, then fade away from them into the background, how you never got really close with anyone, I thought, if I just went up and tried to make friends with you, you'd do the same thing to me. But I wanted, I needed to get to know you. I had this crush and it seemed to be in control of me. I kept thinking about you all the time. I kept trying to figure out how to get to be friends with this incredible kid, this cute, bright, helpful, just really nice kid, who I knew would gently push me away.
"So I thought I'd keep watching you and figure you out, find out why
you had no friends. That didn't make any sense. So I watched. The
trouble was, the more I watched, the more I liked you. The crush was
becoming more than just a crush, like I said. It was getting to the point where I just had to talk to you, even if I knew you'd just be nice, then brush me aside. I didn't see how we could get to be friends because I didn’t think you’d allow it to happen."
He shuddered again, and I pulled him even closer, trying to calm him,
trying to soothe his distress. "But I still don't see why you're upset, Brad. We did become friends."
"Danny, I just told you, this crush wasn't just a crush any more. I was so happy when we got together in detention. I was so happy we had time together at your house. But that’s just not enough. Now I want more. The better I got to know you, the more I knew I wanted more. I want to kiss you. I want to do more than that. Danny, I think I might be falling in love with you. Boys aren't supposed to do that. I never thought about being gay. I’m not gay. I don't think about other boys that way. And I know you're probably not like that, and I’m not either, but, but….” He stopped then, but before I could speak he said, “These feelings are just tearing me up.
"Danny, everyone laughs and jokes and even picks on you or does worse things if you're like that. But I can't help it. I look at you and want to be with you. It's so much more than just wanting to be friends. I want to be with you and do things with you, too."
He hugged me tighter. We were both silent for several minutes, just
holding each other. He'd stopped crying, maybe because he'd got rid of so much pressure by saying what he'd said. I was thinking hard about what he'd said. And the thing was, I wasn't suffering the agony or doubt or confusion that he was. I'd been thinking I might be gay for a while now. He obviously hadn't considered that about himself. I didn't have a problem with accepting myself, either if I was gay or if I wasn't. I had accepted myself before, but my father clearly stating his acceptance of me no matter what took much of the worry and fear out of it. So now Brad was telling me he cared for me as more than a friend. And my reaction wasn't confusion, it was: Wow! Great! Yes!, Yes! Yes!
However, that wasn't Brad's reaction at all. He was upset about all this. Was he upset that he liked a boy? Was he upset that maybe I'd not want to be his friend if I knew he liked me that way? Was he upset because he liked me a lot and thought I didn't have the same feelings for him? Was it only because I was a boy and he couldn’t accept that? I wasn't sure, but I did know how to find out.
Chapter 10
I was about to say something, but Brad interrupted me. He still had more to say, more to get off his chest.
"I was feeling frustrated that my feelings for you were growing and I didn't know what it meant about me and I couldn't do anything about it. When I get frustrated, sometimes it makes me mad. That day in math class, everything went wrong. Mrs. Graedon was being a bitch, and even though I knew it wasn't your fault, I had these mixed up feelings, I wanted to be close to you, I wanted you to like me, I wanted to tell you I liked you, but none of those things were happening, I couldn't see them ever happening and I sort of snapped when Mrs. Graedon started sniping at me. I came out of math with her almost laughing at me, being snide and sarcastic, making me even madder, and then I saw you. I was frustrated with you, although in fact really at me, and furious at her, and I just went up and grabbed you. I think I might really have hit you, but when you closed you eyes, my feelings seemed to explode. I suddenly fell even harder for you. I don’t thing you have any idea how cute you are, and when you look all vulnerable, well.... Then, to make things even worse, when I was walking away, feeling utterly defeated and not having a clue in the world what to do about it all, here you come, trying to help me. You, helping me! I'd just told you I was going to kill you, yelled at you, scared the shit out of you, practically slugged you, and you were trying to help me! Trying to make me feel better!
"And how were you going to help me? Just in the one way that would
solve a huge problem and make my life almost totally better. How did you know? Well, you didn't really know but you'd seen what I needed, you were concerned about me. That was just you. You help people, you figure it out and help them. I'd seen you do that all year long. And afterwards, you'd walk away. I wasn't going to let that happen. This was my opportunity to get to know you, and I just knew you'd try to back off when you were done teaching me math. And what did you do? Exactly that. Exactly what I’d expected.
"But Danny, I'd actually talked to you. I'd spent time in detention with you, and it was just too good. I had to continue being with you. I had to. I couldn't let you just back away from me. That crush that had started out just a crush and then had grown, well, I think that being together in detention sort of acted like some high-powered fertilizer for it. At that point, I simply had to find a way to continue to be with you, and so I said what I did to you after dinner the other night, not knowing how you'd react. And I still don't know how you feel about me. Or even what I want you to feel for me. I'm confused and frightened and horny and, and . . . ."
He stopped. And then he squeezed me even tighter and shuddered. I
squeezed him back.
"Brad, I have to tell you something, too. Listen to me. I'm so happy to be with you like this you can't even begin to imagine it. I didn't know how lonely I was until you and I got together. You wanting to be my friend is an unbelievable thing for me. Now you say your feelings are even stronger than that, and you don't know how to feel about that. Well, let me tell you how I feel.
"I might be gay, Brad. I don't know. I've been wondering for a while
now. But as we've spent time together, my feelings for you have grown
and grown. I'm not even sure 'crush' is a strong enough word. 'Love'
sounds silly because we're 13 and haven't even been friends for more
than a few days, but whatever word you want to use, the feelings I have for you and so powerful, I can't even start to describe them. Anything I say seems less than what I feel. They're just words, and these feelings are real and so big they don't seem to fit in my body. If you feel anything like that too, that's wonderful, and I hope you can be happy about it, not confused and hurting. What I feel is the best thing I’ve ever felt, and what’s happened is the best thing that’s ever happened. I'm so happy I can hardly keep from shouting, and I want to smile all the time. I hope you're that happy too.
"This is all brand new, and sure, we're both a little uncertain. But
one thing you don't have to worry about is that I might not like you that way. I want to be with you as much or more than you want to be with me. Remember, you're attracted to a loner nobody dork. I’m attracted to the greatest, handsomest, most athletic, most popular kid in school. Maybe the nicest guy in school, too. If either of us should be afraid of losing the other, who do you think it should be?"
Brad didn't say anything for a minute, but he did squeeze me tight when I said that about maybe loving him. When he resumed, he just ignored my question and started in again on what he was worrying most about, although most of the worry had left his voice.
"Do you think I'm gay? You say you're not sure about yourself. Why
aren't you sure? You’re about all I think about now. When I'm alone up here in my room and I think about you, I almost always get hard. Does that mean I'm gay? Do you get hard when you think about me?"
"Brad, I get hard when I think about Chewbacca. I think that's what
being 13 is all about. Of course I get hard thinking about you. I was hard all the time we were in both detentions. But I don't have answers about being gay. I do know from some reading I've done that kids our age are still changing, still growing, still developing. My dad says it's normal to be attracted to someone today, someone else tomorrow, and many times their gender doesn't have anything to do with it. You can beat yourself up over this, or you can go with the flow. Ignore it. Whether you're happy about it or not, it seems your body is just going to react the way it reacts, and there isn't much you can do about it.
"But Brad, I like you, and you like me. You liking me seems to have
disturbed you, given you some real grief. I can understand that, but I want you to know, don't let my feelings cause you any worry. You're beyond what I ever hoped for, but if you decide you don't want to spend time with me, can't put up with feelings like you now have because they're for a boy, I can accept that. I never expected anyone as wonderful as you to even notice me in the first place. I'll find a way to get over it. You have to do what makes you feel good, what's right for you."
Brad almost yelled, "See, there you go again! You're so dead set on
helping someone else, being supportive and all that shit, you'd give up what you want, what you just said was the greatest thing in your life, just so that other person didn't have to worry! Danny, Danny, don't do that. You'll destroy yourself. You were lonely. You admit it. You were hurting because you kept giving and giving and denying yourself anything in return. Well, start fighting a little for what you want. Think about what you want and don't just give it up. Don't just give up what you want to help someone else."
"OK," I said. I grinned. "I'll tell you what I want. I can't forget a word you used a few minutes ago, it's got me all crazy, and I want to tell you what that word was."
Brad sounded confused. "What word did I use?" he asked.
"Horny."