“Like, yeah!” Allie replied excitedly. “I love poems.”
“Really? Okay . . .” Kimiko chewed nervously on her yogurt spoon, hoping she’d be able to remember the lines without screwing up. “It’s called ‘To the Two Women on a Harley at the Intersection of Twelfth and Independence.’”
“I like the title,” Allie said, smiling with encouragement.
Kimiko took a breath, collecting her thoughts, and began:
“It’s the morning of my twelfth birthday and Mom has taken me shopping downtown.
While waiting to cross the street, we notice two women stopped on a motorcycle,
engine throttling. The woman seated in front turns and
kisses the woman behind her.
On the lips.
I’m aware of my mom beside me, shifting her feet from one to the other,
clutching my hand.
Our eyes are glued to the women and I hear an ‘Ah!’ of understanding.
It’s my mom’s voice, soft and low—except it escapes from my mouth, from me.
Mom and I, we’re spinning off the curb, realizing: You, Kimiko, you’re one of them.
I try to stop the feeling of floating into the hot blue sky.
How has this happened? What has made me one of them?
I glance down at my boy’s jeans and flannel shirt.
The sun slips behind a cloud and appears again.
The traffic light changes, the Harley roars away.
Nothing so weird has ever happened to me, and nothing more weird could ever happen.
Mom lets go of my hand and tells me,
‘Be careful, promise?’”
Kimiko let out a breath, relieved that she’d actually made it through the poem without messing up. She stared at Allie, waiting for her reaction.
“Wow,” Allie said softly. “You write beautifully.”
“Thanks,” Kimiko said, proud but turning red. “So anyway . . . You asked me how I knew I liked girls. I think seeing those two women helped me figure out that’s what I wanted: to one day be in love with a girl.” She grinned awkwardly. “And have a motorcycle.”
Allie thought about Jenny’s boyfriend, Jack, who had a motorbike. Then she thought about something else: “I had a sex dream about a girl once.”
Kimiko stared at her, even more astounded than before. “You did?”
“Only once,” Allie clarified, suddenly nervous. “Anyway, I wanted to ask you: Do you think some people are truly bi? Lance doesn’t. He thinks bi is kind of a copout. He says people are born either gay or straight. What do you think?”
“Well . . .” Kimiko paused and watched the crowd passing by. “Did you ever hear of this famous doctor-dude named Kinsey? He did research on like hundreds of people back in the fifties. And he found that some people are super-straight, some are über-homo, and most people are actually somewhere in between.”
Allie shifted on the carpet. “So does that dream mean I’m in between?”
“I don’t know. . . .” Kimiko tugged at the collar of her borrowed cowboy shirt, feeling warm, in spite of the frozen yogurt. “Maybe you should talk to Sergio. He’s the bi expert, not me.”
Allie glanced down at the Girl Panic manga that Kimiko had bought her. She was glad that they’d talked about this stuff, but it felt like they’d gone far enough for now.
“So, what’s your favorite anime?” she asked, switching topics.
They talked for a while longer about anime characters and plots, Miyazaki movies, the GSA club at school, and other stuff, until Allie realized she needed to go.
“It’s date night,” she said, pulling her compact out. “You’re so lucky you can get away without wearing makeup. I’d look like a pancake.”
“Dude, I doubt that.” Kimiko couldn’t imagine Allie looking anything like a pancake.
On the ride back to Kimiko’s, they sang along to some Mamas and the Papas songs.
“I had a really great time today,” Kimiko said when they got to her house.
“Me too,” Allie said, smiling across the car as if she didn’t want to leave. “Let’s talk again soon, okay? Oh, here!” She grabbed the daisy from the little dashboard vase and held it out to Kimiko. “I’d like you to have it.”
“Thanks,” Kimiko said. She tried to make her heart slow down as she took the flower and opened the door.
And as she watched Allie drive away, she thought about what Sergio had said. Had that been a date? It had almost felt like one.
After dropping Kimiko off, Allie phoned Lance, knowing he’d probably be nervous before his date with Sergio. “Hey, babe. How’s it going?”
“I’m a wreck,” he said, pulling a shirt on. “I just found a gray hair. How can I be getting gray hair already?”
“Where was it?” Allie asked, holding back a giggle.
“On my head, where else?” He stepped into a pair of freshly laundered jeans. “Oh, yeah.” He laughed. “No, it was on my head. So, how did it go with Kimiko?”
“Super! She gave me this girls’ love manga and recited an amazing poem she wrote. Oh my god, you’ve got to hear it! And I told her about that girl dream I had once. Remember that?”
“Yeah.” Lance stepped into a pair of loafers without socks. “How did that come up?”
“Well, I remembered it the other day, and it was really easy talking with her, and I wanted to get her take on it. She told me about this doctor named Kinsey who said that most people are somewhere in between gay and straight. . . .”
While Lance listened, his mind wandered to Sergio. He knew he needed to talk more with him about the bi thing. He tugged at his belt, uneasy at the prospect.
“. . . And I told her about Chip,” Allie continued. “Like you, she told me I should be honest with him. But I’m still trying to figure out how I feel and what to say. Maybe I should suggest we take a break while I figure things out. What do you think?”
“That sounds good, I guess.” Lance checked himself in the mirror one last time. “I wish I could be more help on what to say but I don’t know.”
“That’s all right,” Allie said. “I’ll be okay. Have fun with Sergio! I want a full report.”
“Thanks, and you with Chip,” Lance told her. After hanging up, he raced downstairs, where he yelled to his parents: “I’m going to wait outside!”
“I want to meet him before you leave,” his mom called after Lance. She seemed nearly as excited about his date as he was.
He let his dog out with him and sat down on the front steps, humming to himself, too anxious to wait inside.
Sergio was only a few streets away from Lance’s when Kimiko phoned him.
“Go ahead, caller,” Sergio answered. “You’re on the air. How was your date with Allie?”
“I had a great time,” Kimiko said, closing her bedroom door so her parents wouldn’t hear. “But it felt a little weird. She told me she’d had a sex dream about a girl.”
“Yee-hah!” Sergio tooted the car horn in excitement.
“Shush, dude,” Kimiko said. “She said it only happened once. But maybe you’re right: She is bi-curious—or at least questioning. I told her she should talk with you.”
“Sure, I’d be happy to,” Sergio said, adding, “I’d better talk to Lance about it too. Hey, I’m almost at his house—just turned onto his street.”
“Are you nervous?” Kimiko asked.
“Not really. Well, some, I guess . . . There he is! I’ll give you the postmortem later.”
He hung up and parked as Lance strode down the front walkway of the big colonial-style two-story—all six-foot-plus of him, his jeans crispy clean and his hair freshly trimmed. At his side, an Irish setter bounded, barked, and wagged its tail. Sergio checked himself in the visor mirror and climbed out of the car while Lance grabbed the dog’s collar and patted him to calm down.
“Hi, meet Rufus. He gets excited easily.”
“No prob.” Sergio stroked the dog’s fur as it nuzzled into him. “So long as he d
oesn’t pee on me. Hey, I like your haircut.”
“Thanks. Come inside. Mom and Dad want to meet you.”
“Really? What did you tell them?”
“That we’re going on a date.” Lance grinned, his sticky-outy ears turning red.
“Wows!” Sergio exclaimed. “You were serious about being out to them.”
Mrs. Newsome was practically waiting by the door when Lance led Sergio inside. “You must be the Sergio we’ve been hearing about.”
“Mom!” Lance protested, blushing again.
In the family room, Mr. Newsome stood up from reading The New Yorker and shook hands. “It’s nice to meet you.”
Rufus brought a squeaky toy and pawed at Sergio to play fetch while Lance’s dad and mom asked parenty questions about school and home. It amazed Sergio how at ease they were that their son had a date with a guy. He wished his folks were that relaxed. Mrs. Newsome had the same blond hair and freckles as Lance. Mr. Newsome seemed so gentle and soft-spoken, to the point of almost . . .
“So, um, is your dad gay?” Sergio kidded Lance when they went out to the car.
“Nyeah.” Lance laughed. “Although sometimes I think he sounds even gayer than me. Yeah, I love my gay straight dad.”
When they climbed inside the car, Lance’s cologne wafted toward Sergio.
“You wear FIERCE, don’t you?”
“Uh-oh. Did I put too much on?”
“No,” Sergio said, starting the ignition. “It’s one of my favorites.”
During the drive to the mall, they listened to the stereo and asked each other fluffy questions like: “So, um, boxers or briefs?”
“I’m a boxers guy,” Lance volunteered. “How about you?”
“Commando!” Sergio said. “Ready for action.”
Lance blushed at the thought of Sergio without underwear. This was their first time alone together, and the energy between them felt almost strong enough to power the car.
“If you could meet anybody in the world,” Lance asked, “who would you choose?”
“Paris Hilton!” Sergio answered and watched Lance cringe. “Okay, I know she’s a mess,” Sergio added, “but she’s so willing to be who she is—one hundred percent.”
“True, I’ll give you that.”
“Your turn,” Sergio said and Lance told him: “Johnny Depp. I think he’s the best actor ever.”
“Man, I’m so with you!” Sergio high-fived him. “I’d give any body part to meet him—well, almost any.”
For dinner, they returned to the mall food court where they’d first met. Lance got a couple of cheeseburgers and some fries from the burger joint, while Sergio ordered a chicken bruschetta dripping with pesto sauce from an Italian place.
“You want to taste?” Sergio held the sandwich out.
“Mmm, that’s delish,” Lance said, taking a bite. He liked how Sergio coaxed him to try new things, getting him out of his comfort zone.
They talked about favorite ethnic foods. Lance liked Chinese. Sergio liked everything: Thai, Lebanese, Indian. . . . They discussed sports: Lance was on the swim team; Sergio liked to work out. And they talked about growing up.
“So, like when did you first figure out you liked guys?” Lance asked.
“I knew since I was little,” Sergio said and grabbed the chance to get back to the bi issue. “Just as I knew I liked girls. I liked both. It seemed so natural. I thought everyone was bi.”
Lance chewed on his burger, trying to figure out how to respond without being confrontational.
“But if you’re attracted to guys,” he told Sergio, “doesn’t that make you gay? I mean straight guys aren’t attracted to other guys—right?”
“Yeah,” Sergio agreed. “But neither are gay guys attracted to girls—right? I mean are you?”
“No.” The mere idea of girl-sex made Lance feel a little woozy. Not that he had anything against heterosexuals; he just never wanted to be one. He loved being gay.
“That’s the difference,” Sergio said, “between being gay and being bi. I am attracted to girls.”
“But let’s say,” Lance persisted, “that you saw a smokin’ hot guy and a sizzling cute girl both at the same time. Which one would you choose?”
Sergio thought for a moment. “I’d want to sandwich myself in between them. He he he.”
Lance laughed too—a little nervously. Could Sergio seriously be bi? Or was he just being hypothetical? He forced himself to ask: “So, um . . . have you ever actually . . . gotten sexual with a girl?”
Sergio braced himself. “Yep.”
“Really?” Lance winced at the thought of Sergio actually doing it with a female person. He put his burger down, unable to eat anymore, while Sergio told him about his girl experiences, culminating with his falling in love with Zelda and losing his “hetero-ginity.”
He’s already had full-on sex, Lance thought, with a GIRL! ON PURPOSE!
Besides making him queasy, it made him feel like an immature kid. The most he’d ever done with Darrell was an oral sex attempt that had kind of crashed and burned.
As Sergio told Lance about his breakup with Zelda, his voice became soft and raspy; his eyes turned wet and shiny. And he noticed Lance squirming. But at least the dude listened. That was a cut above most guys. Lance’s attention encouraged him to open up even more, confessing about his past hookups. May as well come clean about everything up front, he figured.
Lance leaned back in his seat, feeling even more naive and inexperienced—and worried. With how many guys had Sergio hooked up? Did he expect sex tonight? Lance wasn’t ready to go that far, especially on their first date. How would he get out of it? He wished he’d driven his own car.
And yet at the same time, he respected Sergio for being so open and one hundred percent honest about himself. No wonder he admired Paris Hilton.
“So, um . . .” Lance ventured nervously. “What about now? Are you over Zelda? And, um, over doing hookups?”
“Yeah. I’d like to at least try a relationship with a guy . . . see if it can work. I mean, sex with guys is easy, but sometimes I wonder about a relationship. You know, because of all the male ego caca, the arguments about who’s right, each wanting to be top dog, all that alpha male crappage? It’s simpler with girls. They’ve got less ego, less need to be right. They’re easier to get along with. Don’t you find that with Allie?”
“Yeah,” Lance agreed. Sometimes he’d wondered why he couldn’t find a guy he got along with as well as he did with Allie. “But I think it can work with a guy. I’ve seen guy couples on TV who have been together a long time. They made it work.”
“Have you been in a relationship with a guy?” Sergio asked.
“Um, yeah, sort of.” He wanted to be as honest as Sergio had been, while at the same time worrying: Would Sergio dump him once he’d revealed what a sex and relationship nerd he was? And what if Sergio didn’t ditch him? Did Lance want to get involved with a guy who had a history of sleeping around, including with girls?
Lance took a deep breath, and then several more, as he told Sergio about his pitiful so-called love life.
“I hear you.” Sergio nodded sympathetically. Listening to Lance’s struggles made Sergio want to reach over and hold him, comfort him, encourage him. But it also worried him that—by the sound of it—Lance was still a virgin. On one hand, he liked the possibility of showing and teaching Lance stuff. . . . But what if things didn’t work out between them? He didn’t want to end up hurting him. The dude seemed so wholesome, innocent, vulnerable.
“It’s frustrating,” Lance continued, “to see Darrell together with a girl—not that I’m jealous; I’m really not. I just feel like he should tell her the truth.”
“What do you mean?” Sergio asked. “What truth?”
“You know, that he’s gay.”
“Well, maybe he’s bi,” Sergio said, growing a little uneasy. The tone of the conversation was clearly changing: turning tense.
“He’s not bi,” Lance repl
ied, crossing his arms. “He’s a closet case. He’s lying.”
Sergio leaned back in his seat, a scowl pulling at his lips. “How can you say for sure he’s not bi?”
“Because . . .” Lance hesitated, preparing for what he’d held back from discussing. “I don’t believe there really is such a thing as being bi.”
“What do you mean you don’t ‘believe’ it?” Sergio asked, trying to keep cool. “Do you mean that in the same way that homophobes don’t believe gay people are really gay? Are you like bi-phobic?”
“No!” Lance had never foreseen being compared with a homophobe. “I just think that you’re born either gay or straight. One or the other.”
“Just because you were,” Sergio replied, “that doesn’t mean everybody is. Don’t you think it’s a little bit arrogant for you to judge other people’s sexual orientation?”
Lance felt his temper suddenly spike. He didn’t appreciate being told he was arrogant. “I’m not judging people.”
“Yeah, you are. You think that bi people are lying. What about me? Do you think I’m lying?”
“No,” Lance faltered. “But just because you had sex with a girl—or girls—I don’t think that makes you bi.”
“Then what’s it make me?” Sergio asked. “A closet case? But I’m not in the closet. I’m out as bi. Why can’t you accept that some people like both guys and girls? Just because you don’t understand it, does that mean other people can’t feel that way? Why is it such an issue for you anyway?”