Chapter NINE

 

 

David

 

BALANCING ON a rickety student desk while straining my arms to tape a poster of the solar system to the wall wasn’t a good plan. The legs squeaked against the linoleum of my classroom each time I moved, and my precarious position was made more unsteady when Michael came up behind me like a phantom and poked my side.

I jumped, nearly falling sideways, much to his amusement.

“Don’t do that!”

“You brought it on yourself.”

Scowling, I slapped another piece of tape to the corner of the poster and clambered down from the table. “You’re as bad as your brother sometimes.”

“Heh.” Michael sat on the edge of a lab table. “I don’t know if I should take that as an insult or not.”

“You should. You both like making fun of me far too much.”

“Easy target.” He pointed at my wingtips. “Don’t try to perform death-defying poster-taping techniques in high heels.”

“Don’t diss the shoes, Rodriguez.” I gave him a haughty look before turning to examine my poster. It was crooked. “These are standard of the style, and I’m not going to hate on an inch boost in height. Not everyone was born with tall genes like you and Raymond.”

“Right.”

Michael slid off the desk and pushed me aside. He stood on a chair and adjusted the poster with such precision that I regretted not soliciting him for help sooner. I’d already risked my life decorating half the classroom. Taking my materials down at the end of the past school year had been a complete waste of time.

“Are you excited to be back?” I asked. “Last year was so chaotic.”

“That’s one way to describe it.”

I instantly regretted bringing it up. Small talk was only worthwhile if it didn’t drag a slew of bad memories along with it—like Michael walking into my classroom a year ago like an apparition. For the first time in my life, my two worlds had collided. My drunk, oversexed self who picked up men at clubs, and the neat, professional person I tried to be in the light of day when I had witnesses—the person I’d tried to be for Caleb. Those sides of myself had coalesced in a way I hadn’t imagined possible, and I had never recovered from the shock.

It had reaffirmed all of my paranoia and fear, and to say I had been mortified and frightened was an understatement. I’d considered quitting the position rather than having to face Nunzio and Michael for the hundred and eighty days of the school year. For months I had convinced myself that the night we’d spent together would prevent Michael from ever respecting me as a colleague and especially a team leader. But he’d proved me wrong. We’d clashed because of our personalities, not any residual judgment for my drunken antics, and we’d even moved beyond that to become something that I thought was very close to friends.

Of course, the year hadn’t just been chaotic due to my own problems. The Michael who was walking around eyeballing my graphs and charts wasn’t the same guy who’d showed up late and wrinkled for our first grade-team meeting last year. This Michael was calm, confident, and happy.

“Take a picture with me,” I said.

Michael leaned in to peer at the name on the lower left-hand corner of a student-made poster of the stages of the moon. “No.”

“We need to memorialize our anniversary.”

He tossed a skeptical look over his shoulder, mouth pulling to the side the way Raymond’s did when he thought I was being a fool. “The anniversary of the day we first learned how incompatible we are as human beings?”

“Oh, come on.” I tugged my phone out of the back pocket of my khakis and tried to draw him closer for a selfie. “We’re not incompatible as human beings. Just as coworkers. And we nailed that by the end of June.”

“I learned to ignore your condescending tone, it’s true.”

Michael smiled when I shot him a nasty look, and allowed me to throw an arm around his shoulders. I scrunched up my face into a mock frown, depended on Michael to look suitably unimpressed, and examined the result.

“We look awesome.”

“What do you plan to do with that?” he wondered.

“Instagram, obviously.”

Selecting a filter that made my tan look darker, I uploaded the image with the caption: NYC public school teachers are back to work. Thrilled, obviously. Within seconds, it received a number of likes, and a comment from Caleb. I stared at the notification.

“What is that face all about?” Michael asked.

“Um. My ex-boyfriend commented.”

“And…?”

Michael was always mildly exasperated when my ex came up. Like Raymond, he thought I should just forget about Caleb. But unlike Raymond, Michael seemed to take my preoccupation with Caleb being good on paper as a personal affront. There was a chip on Michael’s shoulder that had never fully formed on Raymond’s, and I was grateful. Raymond’s easygoing nature and refusal to assign underlying meanings to my behavior was a big part of why I had become so close to him. Most people did those things without even realizing it. Especially people I’d met in the school system. It was a common assumption that me being a white-bread kid from Connecticut automatically made me a douche bag.

“He said I looked gorgeous as usual, and that he missed me making silly faces.”

Michael took the phone and skimmed the message himself. “Ah. My brother has replied as well.”

“What did he say?” My eager tone earned me a funky side-eye.

“He said, ‘how cute.’” Michael stared at the phone, and one of his brows ticked up. “And now he has added a comment about feeling the thirst.”

I frowned. “What? What does that mean?”

“It means he thinks your ex is a thirsty bastard.”

I confiscated the phone to read the words for myself. It wasn’t like Raymond to be passive-aggressive on social media—especially not to someone I knew. He usually avoided them completely. “Maybe he’s teasing me.”

“Oh please. That doesn’t make sense.”

“Why would he throw a sub at my ex-boyfriend? That doesn’t make any sense.”

Again Michael looked at me like I was considerably stupider than he had ever given me leeway for. He crossed his arms over his shirt, pursed his lips, and said, “David, don’t be obtuse.”

“I’m not being obtuse. You’re just making assumptions.”

“It’s not an assumption, it’s obvious.” Michael seemed to be fighting whatever he wanted to say but ultimately gave in. “Is something going on between you and my brother?”

I shoved my phone back into my pocket. “Something like what?”

“Don’t play stupid with me, kid.”

My semigood mood vanished, and my desire to have him linger and help me with the rest of the room dissipated.

“First of all, it’s none of your business. Second of all, I doubt Raymond would appreciate the overprotective nonsense. He isn’t a child. Neither am I, for that matter.”

“Maybe not, but he’s my last remaining family member, and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t twist his head around when he is finally getting his life together.” Michael clenched his jaw and inhaled through his nose. “I’m not trying to be an asshole. I think you’re a great influence on him and a good friend so far, but it was obvious from the start that your intentions weren’t just platonic.”

It was like I had been transplanted onto the set of some awful homophobic movie about gay men being insatiable devils who try to corrupt innocent youth. Except Michael was just as gay as me, and his innocent little brother had licked semen off my chest not even two weeks ago.

“You think I’m going to make your brother gay?” I didn’t try to lower the scorn in my tone. “That is absurd. I would expect you of all people to know how truly absurd that accusation is.”

“I’m not making an accusation,” Michael snapped. “I’m asking you a question.”

“A question that is derived from the belief that I’m going to screw Raymond up and stunt his progress in life.”

“I didn’t say that. My main concern is that the good that can come out of him being out of that house and around someone who can and will encourage him will be ruined if the two of you get involved in something that will ultimately blow up in your faces.”

“We can handle ourselves, but thanks for the concern.” Michael gave me a hard look, and I realized I had just semiconfirmed whatever his suspicions were. I wanted to slam my head against a wall. “It’s fine, okay? Nothing is going on. I don’t know why he would say that about my ex. I don’t know why you keep insisting we are hooking up, and I don’t know why anyone cares about any of this. Just be happy that he’s doing better for himself.”

“I am happy. That’s my point, David. It’s very easy for Raymond to regress if he feels defeated, and if there is something going on between you two and it goes poorly, he may disregard all of the other progress he’s made as well. It’s all or nothing with him.”

He had a lot of points, and they all seemed to relate to my attraction for Raymond causing massive problems. It was infuriating. Not only because Michael was being a condescending tool bag, but because he had a point.

What if us fooling around did blow up in our faces? What if Raymond realized that my willingness to experiment was just a last-ditch effort to get close to him, and he assumed that everything from my first message on Facebook to the suggestion that we move in together had been a carefully orchestrated plot to get him in bed? It was possible—and scary to think about. Everything would be ruined. Our entire friendship.

My phone vibrated several times in quick succession, but I didn’t check the notifications. I regretted uploading the picture, and I regretted letting Michael draw me into this conversation. Things had been a lot less frightening before he had forced the worst-case scenarios into my face.

 

 

BESIDES THE school year beginning, I had always considered the Feast of San Gennaro as the official start of autumn. There were dozens of festivals in the city in September and October, but the Feast was one of my favorites. There was something very New York about the mix of ethnicities and nationalities who had all converged in lower Manhattan to celebrate Italian culture.

I navigated the crush of people on Mulberry Street with Nunzio, Michael, and Raymond, and contemplated our own little group. We all had different origins and backgrounds, but I was the only one without a strong sense of culture other than being gay and American. I had never met people with such intense pride in their roots before moving to New York.

“Thinking deep thoughts about another Italian sausage?”

“You’re disgusting.”

“Yup.” Raymond chewed the last of his sandwich and dumped the wrapper in a nearby trash can, licking grease from his fingers. “At least I didn’t make the joke in front of Nunzio. Wherever he went.”

“He got tired of our lack of interest and went to geek out about Italian history with Michael.”

“Makes sense.” Raymond tugged at the side of my napkin. “You’re not eating the bread?”

“Um, no. I’m already gaining eighty-seven pounds by eating all of this caloric stuff. I at least want to avoid the carbs.”

“God, you’re pathetic.”

Raymond shook his head and snagged a piece of my bread. It was still drenched in sauce and had remnants of pepper and onion on it. We kept walking, and before long, he paused at one of the many cannoli stands. Before I could protest, he bought two and thrust one into my hand.

“You’re determined to make me fat.”

“Shut up and eat.”

I didn’t protest too vehemently. It was delicious.

“So what were you thinking about before? You were staring into space.”

“Nothing pressing,” I said. “I was just thinking about New York and how different it is from where I’m from. It’s so diverse, and people celebrate every part of who they are. It’s not just this… blend.”

“What do you mean ‘people celebrate every part of who they are’?”

I regarded the question, the fragments of my own thoughts, and the people around us. “Just… well, take you, Michael, and Nunzio for example.” I raised my voice as music exploded from a nearby booth. “You have all of these different identities. Being gay or bi is just a fraction of who you are. You’re primarily New Yorkers, but also Puerto Rican or Italian, lapsed Catholics, and then there’s the other parts—sons and brothers, teachers, gamers, etcetera.”

“Uh-huh. Is that a bad thing?”

“No, it’s not a bad thing.”

Raymond stopped walking, and I realized we had reached the end of the festival’s line. The evening was growing darker, and I was momentarily distracted by the stretch of the street going back toward the west side. Colors, lights, smells, and sounds, and a constant motion of people meandering along the festival route.

I looked up at Raymond and the play of light across his face, becoming aware of how close we were standing and the furtive glances we were receiving from the woman at the nearest game booth. I had tried to make this outing seem less like a double date by inviting Karen and urging Raymond to invite Chris or Sharky, but everyone had backed out of traveling way downtown on a Sunday. And the more he purchased my food and drinks, the harder it was to shake the feeling that it was a date.

But I knew it was just me assigning meanings that weren’t there. Again.

“What were you thinking about it, then?” Raymond pressed.

“I told you it’s nothing bad. I was just wondering if that’s why being out is so monumental to me but not to Michael. Being a gay man has always been my primary identity, but for him it’s just one of many facets. I was trying to figure out if that’s why his lack of absolute outness as a gay man doesn’t make him feel like he’s pretending to be someone he isn’t.”

“Is that how you would feel?”

“I think so, yeah.”

Raymond looked at the crowd again, his eyes drawing to a young couple with three small children crowding by their legs. I wondered if he liked children. If he’d ever want any of his own. I most certainly did not. Parent was not an identity I was willing to take on. I was too fond of my independence. Not to mention I’d be drowning in student loans for over a decade or more. This had been a primary area of contention between me and Caleb.

“I think… you think too much.”

“Oh, that’s so helpful. Thank you for the insight.”

Raymond grinned and leaned against a lamppost. “You do. You always want to figure things out and ask yourself what they mean instead of letting things be the way they are.”

“Inquiry is good,” I said like a good little Common Core educator. “It’s how we explore the world around us.”

“I’m not saying it’s wrong to be curious and ask questions, but you do it because you want to make everyone fit into certain boxes, and that’s unnecessary. You don’t have to understand why Michael is the way he is. He’s never going to sit down and help you figure it out, and in the long run, how he chooses to live his life doesn’t affect yours. So who gives a damn?”

“I can’t help it, I guess. I just want to know why people make the choices they do. Maybe if I understood, I wouldn’t be so frustrated when people don’t agree with my point of view.”

“You get frustrated by that because you’re a control freak and you like being right.”

“Tell me how you really feel.”

Raymond finished his pastry and slid his hands into the pockets of his hoodie. “Just being honest, man.”

A breeze caused the overwhelming smell of food to waft in our direction. The chill made me want to move closer. Press into his side or his chest, and pretend that was okay. Like platonic friends kept each other warm on fall nights in New York City; it didn’t mean anything else, and he wouldn’t magnify the moment later on with doubts and skepticism about my intentions.

I wanted to trust that he’d never act that way, but I couldn’t. His experimenting with his sexuality was too recent. For all I knew, a few months from now, he’d pretend the curiosity had never existed. Straight guys were notorious for doing away with any evidence that they had ever wandered into the queer spectrum. It was possible Raymond would eventually be the same way. I wouldn’t be a friend. I would be a reminder.

“You’re acting weird,” Raymond said. “What’s the deal?”

“Just thinking.”

Raymond planted his hands on my shoulders and shook me slightly. “Stop it. You’re being a moody bastard.”

“I’m not moody….” Each time he shook me the distance between us decreased, and when he stopped, our chests were pressed together. Raymond didn’t step away or push me back, and I searched his face for a sign of… something. Anything to explain why he was this handsy and affectionate with me, and what it meant. “I’m so confused.”

“By?”

“You. Everything.”

Raymond’s fingers tightened on my shoulders. “How am I confusing you?”

“Because….” The distant sound of Nunzio’s loud, infectious laugh startled me, but it also egged me on. Would Raymond shove me away when his brother and friend were close enough to see us? Was our friendship a secret? “Because sometimes I feel like you’re ashamed of being into men, and that makes me feel like you must think there’s something wrong with it. Something wrong with me.”

“Oh, fuck. Here we go again.” Raymond released me and stepped away, striding into the crowd. “Why does this always have to come up?”

I glared at his retreating back before hurrying to catch up. “It doesn’t always come up.”

“Yes, it does! You assume all of this stupid shit about what I’m thinking. Just like you thought I was hiding you from my friends.”

“Weren’t you?” I grabbed his arm, dragging him to a halt. “If I hadn’t taken the initiative, I’d have never met them!”

“Who gives a good goddamn?” Raymond exploded. “They ain’t got shit to do with you and me.”

“But it makes it seem like—”

“Makes it seem like to who? I told your ass that it wasn’t the case, and you still don’t believe me! I don’t know how else to prove that I’m not some self-hating asshole just because I don’t think everyone needs to be all up in my business.”

His voice was so loud that I was sure everyone around us—and the people three blocks down—could hear and parse the conversation.

“If you’re not ashamed of being curious and of experimenting with me, then why is it such a big secret? Why do I have to lie to your brother?”

Raymond looked at me sideways. “What do you mean, lie?”

“Nunzio isn’t the only one who thinks we have a vibe. Michael has also asked me if something is going on between us.”

I hadn’t thought that there was anything particularly offensive about the words, but Raymond looked close to exploding. His jaw was clenched so hard that I was sure his teeth must be grinding.

“What’d you tell him?”

“I didn’t say anything. I had to lie and play stupid, because he is so convinced that you’re this innocent straight boy falling into my nefarious queer clutches.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“That’s basically what he said!” My own voice matched the volume of his. “If you weren’t so afraid of telling the truth, I wouldn’t catch so much flak for them assuming I’m trying to take advantage of you. Why can’t you just tell them what’s going on?”

Raymond rocked back on his heels, glaring at me from beneath the brim of his Yankees cap. “What should I tell them? That I wanted to see what it felt like to have some guy suck my dick and put his fingers in my ass?” He barked out an ugly laugh. “Are you seriously fiending to have that conversation with Michael? Or do you think something more is going on that needs to be talked about?”

The heat rose to my face. “I didn’t—I didn’t say that. That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what do you mean?” Raymond grabbed me again, his fingers closing around my collar. “If you think there’s something else we should be discussing, maybe you should just spit it out.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He jerked me forward, and I bumped into him, my face grazing his face, our lips close together, and his dark eyes mere inches from my own. Raymond’s head tilted down toward mine, just a portion of a moment when his eyes dropped to my mouth, and then it was ruined by a catcall. He stiffened and looked to the side. I didn’t bother to follow his gaze, but I heard muttered comments in Spanish.

Raymond sidestepped me and stood with his shoulders back, hands curled at his sides. “You wanna talk shit, motherfucker?”

I stopped admiring the smooth line of his jaw and finally looked at our audience. Two men a little older than us, Latino, and their expressions a cross between amused and jeering. I frowned and the taller of the two blew a kiss. Raymond shifted in their direction, and I grabbed his arm.

“Cálmate, Papi. No quiero tu novio.”

“Vete p’al carajo, maricón,” Raymond growled and flipped them off.

I dropped my hand. “Raymond!”

The two men laughed.

“Did you seriously just call him a faggot?”

Raymond rolled his shoulders. “Yeah.”

I stared at him, incredulous.

“What?” he demanded.

Scoffing, I turned away. “Nothing.”