Almost Perfect

  “Oh, uh, yeah. I’ll find someone. Someone with a car.” Tim shot me a thankful smile as the first bell rang. I, on the other hand, felt uncomfortable. After Brenda and Sage, my next date would probably turn out to be an ax murderer. Oh well, as long as she could drive.

  I stared at our rotary dial phone, trying to will myself to pick it up. Mom was gone. For the first time in over a year, she was spending one of her nights off out drinking with some friends. She’d been apologetic when she brought it up. I almost had to push her out the door.

  Arranging a date for Tim’s birthday had proved harder than I’d expected. Tanya was off the market. Brenda was dating Blake the Flake. The few dozen girls I knew well enough to ask out either were dating someone, didn’t like me, or were girls I didn’t especially want to go out with. It was starting to look like I’d have to either not go or try to bum a ride home from someone.

  I tapped on the phone. Of course, there was one person who liked me. Sage would probably like to see the comedian. And she had access to a car. We could go to the club and wouldn’t really have to talk to each other.

  And afterward we could put tinfoil in the microwave and clean some loaded guns. What in the world was I thinking? After the pure hell Sage had put me through, why would I want to see her again? We’d both apologized, and though we weren’t pals again, the hate was gone. That was the best we could hope for. If I asked her to join us, she might think I wanted to be friends again. I didn’t want that.

  I smacked the phone so hard the bell dinged. I don’t want that! Because Sage would still be nice, still be funny, and still be—pretty. And still be a boy. I could forgive myself for my earlier attraction. But now if I looked at Sage and thought she was cute, even for a moment, then I’d have no excuse.

  I thought it would be so easy not to think about Sage. Denial is powerful. With practice, I could just pretend that I’d never kissed a boy, never almost hit a girl, and never been so gaga over Sage. While I was at it, I could pretend I was rich and a football hero. Maybe that’s what my father had done. Convinced himself that his kids were better off without him. Being a dad is hard, so why try? Being friends with Sage was hard, so why bother?

  I got up to pace, but there wasn’t room. Maybe Sage deserved more than this. Maybe I deserved more. If Sage and I could just go out and see a show together, then maybe there was no reason to end our friendship. We’d be going to college together, after all. Now that I’d never try to kiss her again, we could hang out every now and then. And if things were too awkward at Tim’s party, then I could honestly say I had tried.

  This was all just an elaborate way of saying I missed Sage and wanted to see her again.

  I felt the same knotted tension in my gut that hit me before every track meet. She probably would just hang up on me, anyway. I dialed her number, almost hung up, then involuntarily smiled when she answered.

  “Hi, Sage.”

  “Logan!” I could hear her gasp on the other end. Then there was a pause. I heard her walking, then heard a door slam.

  “You still there?” she asked.

  “Yeah. Um, how are you?” I asked in a monotone.

  “I-am-fine,” she mocked in a robotic voice. I smiled, remembering the many times she’d made me laugh.

  “Hey, listen. Tim is turning eighteen tomorrow. And some of us are going to a comedy club in Columbia.” I said this so rapidly I expected her to ask me to repeat myself.

  “Yes?” she asked warily.

  “I dunno. If you wanted to meet us there, it’ll be tomorrow, at eight. The Bipolar Comedy Club on Cherry Street.” I didn’t offer to drive her because that would be too much like a date. And I didn’t have a car.

  Sage didn’t jump at the chance, but she did hop. “Okay. Yeah. I’d like that.”

  “And could you give me a lift back to Boyer afterward?”

  Sage laughed. Had she guessed that Tim and Dawn wanted to be alone after the show, or did she think I was only interested in her car? “Sure, Logan.”

  “Okay.” Christ, I hoped I wasn’t making a huge mistake. “Just remember—”

  “I know, Logan. This isn’t a date.”

  “Uh, yeah. See you there.” Actually, I was just going to remind her that parking was bad in Columbia and to get there early. But I was glad we were on the same wavelength about the other thing, too. It was kind of funny. She used to be the one who told me our outings most certainly were not dates. Now we’d flip-flopped.

  The Bipolar Comedy Club was located in downtown Columbia. It was just a hole-in-the-wall joint. Any big-name comedian who came to this area would play the Déjà Vu Lounge or at the university. Bipolar would probably never get a headliner, unless it was NIGHTCLUB FIRE KILLS 23.

  I stood in the freezing-cold parking lot, watching college couples file in to claim the best tables. Tim and Dawn had gone inside already. Tim said he’d get us a good spot, which probably meant one near the kitchen.

  Sage was twenty minutes late. She’d seemed willing when I’d called her, but she could have changed her mind. A lot had passed between us, and maybe Sage had decided some things were better left buried.

  Why had I called her? We’d kind of made peace. She wouldn’t blame me for disappearing. And yet here I was, waiting in the bitter February cold, about to take a she-male to an evening of Didja ever notice … ?

  I spotted Sage a block away. Even if you ignored her enormous white fake-fur cap, matching muff, and fleece coat, she still stood nearly half a foot higher than the tallest pedestrian.

  She didn’t wave or acknowledge me. Just walked up and leaned against someone’s car. Even slouched over like that, we were still almost eye to eye.

  “Sorry I’m late. I couldn’t find a place to park.”

  “Yeah.”

  We just stood there for a few seconds. Back when we were friends, we’d have already been laughing and joking. Now things were tense and awkward. There was no way I could ever be relaxed around this person again. To me, Sage would never be just Sage. She’d be Sage-the-boy-who-pretended-to-be-a-girl-and-who-I-kissed-that-one-time. No friendship could survive with that many hyphens. I wondered what she was thinking. I leaned against a cement wall, not looking at her, not talking.

  “Well, we better go on in,” I said eventually. I avoided eye contact.

  “Okay,” Sage said with resignation. It was like she was about to tackle some dull chore she’d been avoiding. “Who’s performing?”

  “Chip Durham.” We joined the line that snaked out the door.

  “Who’s that?”

  “I don’t know. They’re billing him as ‘the guy from the Bud Light commercials,’ so I’m not optimistic.” Sage giggled a little.

  “Have you ever been here?” I continued.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s supposed to be pretty fun. My sister says the food’s good and you can sometimes get beer if you’re not too obvious about it.”

  “I don’t drink,” she said pointedly.

  The guy taking money at the door could have quelled a prison riot with a glance. He was even taller than Sage, with a shaved head and a torso that bulged from beneath his SECURITY T-shirt. Along with paying fifteen dollars, all patrons had to show ID.

  I was fishing out my wallet when Sage grabbed my arm.

  “Why do we have to show our license if we’re not drinking?” She had a funny look on her face.

  “You have to be eighteen to get in. Don’t worry, sodas are still five dollars apiece, so they won’t lose any money on us.” She didn’t laugh.

  We were almost at the door, but Sage wasn’t moving forward. “I … forgot my ID in the car.”

  There were still, like, twenty people behind us. I wasn’t sure if they’d let Tim save seats. At this rate, we’d be sitting in the men’s room.

  “How far are you parked?” It was our turn, and the people behind us were pushing.

  “I … Logan …” Her faltering voice brought me back to reality. Of course. It didn’t mat
ter if she had her license with her or not. She wouldn’t dare show it to a stranger because it would list her sex as male.

  “Hey, move it!” hollered the guy behind us. I stepped out of line.

  “Fine time to remember this detail,” I snapped at her.

  Sage bit her lip and shook her head. I’d never seen her look so ashamed, not even on the day she’d told me her secret.

  “Just go without me, Logan.”

  “I can’t. Tim wants to be alone with Dawn later, and they don’t need me sitting in the backseat looking at my watch. I was counting on you to drive me back.”

  “Then I’ll go wait in that coffee shop until you’re done. I can take you home after.”

  It annoyed me that she was being so accommodating. That meant there was no reason for me to be angry.

  “I’m not going to have you sit alone for two hours. Let me tell Tim we’re not coming, and we’ll get some food or something. We can meet up with them later.” I sounded bitchy; I wanted to make sure she knew I was annoyed. Not so much about missing the comedian, but that she’d messed up our plans.

  “Wait, Logan, you don’t have to—”

  I turned and glared at her. “It’s okay, Sage. I just wish you’d thought of this first.”

  They were just closing the doors when I arrived at the ticket counter. The heat wave from the crowded club nearly knocked me over after the cold parking lot.

  “I’ve just got to go in and tell a friend something.”

  The doorman was as unimpressed as Tim at a vegetarian restaurant. “If you want in, you buy a ticket. Fifteen bucks.”

  “I just got to …”

  “Fifteen bucks. We’re closing the doors here. You coming or not?”

  I was tempted to tell Sage just to go on home, but Tim wanted to be alone with his date later, and his plans didn’t include me. I forked over some of my snow-shoveling cash, had my hand stamped with the UNDER 21 seal of shame, and hunted down my friends.

  They’d managed to get a great table by the stage and had saved two empty seats. Tim had ordered the house specialty: a platter of hot wings surrounded by White Castle hamburgers. I really wanted to join them.

  “Guys,” I loud-whispered, “Sage forgot her ID. We can’t get in.”

  Dawn, whose pallid skin almost glowed in the dark, started to get up. “We can do something else, if you like.” Tim began eyeballing the food, probably wondering if he could shove it all in his pockets.

  “Nah, just call Sage’s cell phone if you want to do something after.” I wrote her number on a napkin. I didn’t even know if Sage had her phone with her, but I knew Tim wouldn’t be calling.

  Chip Durham took the stage. Before he said a word, I could tell he was the I’m a redneck and that’s funny type of comedian (as opposed to the I’m black/Hispanic/female/ overweight/homosexual/loud and that’s funny type). I briefly considered just sitting down and watching the show. After ten minutes, Sage would figure I wasn’t coming back, right?

  No, she’d wait for me for an hour in the cold parking lot. I grabbed a burger, wished Tim a happy eighteenth, and left.

  Sage half smiled when I returned. “You don’t have to do this, Logan.”

  Actually, I did. The doors were closed and the security guy was gone. “C’mon. What do you want to do?” My voice was flat. She’d ruined the evening, and I wanted her to know it.

  “Um, I’m cold. Let’s go back to the truck.”

  We walked past the crowded bars and clubs on Ninth Street.

  “Logan, I’m sorry. I should have known they’d ask for identification.” She didn’t say Please tell me you’re not mad, but her tone betrayed her thoughts.

  I shrugged, walking quickly so she’d have to jog. “You’d think you’d remember something like that.”

  We stopped at the corner to let some traffic pass. “Well, if I ever do forget, I know you’ll remind me.” Her voice was just slightly hostile.

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” The light changed and Sage hurried across. I ran to follow her. “Sage?” I called angrily. “What did you mean by that?”

  We were on the Mizzou campus now. She stopped in front of the empty journalism building. “What do you think it means? When you called me, I thought we could put what happened behind us. Thought we could really be friends. But I can tell this still bothers you. And I can’t guarantee that this is the last time I get put in an awkward position. In fact, I know it won’t be the last time. So let me drive you home, and that’s it. I’d like it if we could be friends, but we just make each other too uncomfortable.”

  “Look who’s talking! I’m not the one who was dishonest. I’m not a …”

  Sage was standing in the shadows, and I couldn’t see her face. The restrained fury in her voice was unmistakable. “Not a what, Logan?”

  I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “A … you know …”

  Sage swiveled on her heel until her back was facing me. “I know exactly what you’d call it. I changed my mind. Have Tim drive you back.” She passed under the journalism arch and onto the college quad.

  Shit. This wasn’t exactly the let’s show Sage what a wonderful, nonjudgmental guy Logan is evening I had in mind. I wanted to try to get back to normal with Sage, and instead I’d insulted her. I ran after her.

  “Hey, wait!” She didn’t stop. I don’t think she knew where she was going, just as long as it was away from me. I could have easily caught her, but I didn’t think chasing her down in the dark would be the best idea.

  “Sage! Please!”

  She froze but didn’t turn. Slowly, I approached her. “We could talk,” I suggested lamely.

  She turned to me. “You don’t have to act like you want to know, Logan. You want forgiveness, fine, you’re forgiven. There. Stop feeling guilty. Go away.” She was trying to be angry, but even in the shadows, I could see the look on her face. The last thing she wanted was for me to leave.

  “Sage, I’m not going to lie to you and say I’m not freaked out by your … lifestyle. Because I am. I thought I could forget about it, but seeing you tonight, it’s all I can think about. I guess that means I’m a horrible person. Or perfectly normal, I don’t know. But if we just sat and talked for a while, maybe you could help me kind of understand.” I wished there was a teleprompter behind Sage’s head with much more articulate words.

  “Is that what you really want?” The anger in her voice was forced.

  “I want to be your friend.” I wasn’t sure if that was the truth. The thought of what Sage was doing still made me squirm. But at least Sage couldn’t say I wasn’t trying to make sense of her. For some reason, I had to let Sage and, more importantly, myself, know that I was trying.

  In the center of the quad stood six huge limestone columns, remains of a building that had burned down a hundred years ago. Floodlights illuminated the concrete bases. Wordlessly, we each jumped onto a block opposite each other.

  Sage smiled a weary smile, and again I checked her face for masculine characteristics. But there was no five o’clock shadow, no Adam’s apple, nothing that would clue anyone in to her real sex.

  “So where should I start?” she asked.

  “Whatever’s on your mind.”

  The quad was empty and silent. Across from us, the domed administration building was lit up like a jewel. We sat quietly as Sage composed her thoughts.

  “I’m not going to tell you the psychology behind what I’m doing. But I want you to know, I can’t live any other way. It’s just not possible. And you’re the only one I ever voluntarily told my secret.”

  “I’m sorry …” I started to apologize for my reactions.

  “It’s not that. I expected it. And you reacted more calmly than my parents. They pulled me out of school when I was thirteen. Said it was for my safety. But that’s not the real reason. They were ashamed of me. For almost four years they kept me in our house in Joplin. I mean, I’d go out, but only after we got in the car and drove fifty miles so no one would accide
ntally recognize me. It was like I was some kind of crazy relative they had to lock in the attic.”

  “Jesus, Sage.” I’d never thought about that end of it.

  “When I turned eighteen this year, I told them I was going to go back to school. They couldn’t stop me. So just like that, my dad quits his job, pulls Tammi out of school, and moves us halfway across the state. So no one would ever realize what had happened to his … son.” Sage had to force herself to say that last word.

  “Logan, I promised myself I wouldn’t make any friends in school, and I wouldn’t date. I just wanted to have a normal semester in high school before college. But then I met you. And you asked me out that first week. And I thought, ‘Wow! This cute, athletic, funny guy, who could probably date any girl in school, wants to go out with me! I’m really a woman!’”

  I reddened a little at Sage’s stream of adjectives. Then she continued.

  “I could have snuck around and been your girlfriend. I wanted to. I didn’t, so you have to give me credit for that. I wanted to tell you the truth. And I had this stupid fantasy that when I did, you’d understand. I knew if you accepted me, then maybe other people would.”

  A college couple crossed the quad, holding hands. I pretended to be waiting for them to pass before answering. Did Sage honestly expect me to be some new age, politically correct hippie who thought you could just choose your own gender? I was from central Missouri, for Christ’s sake!

  “That was a lot to spring on a guy.” I left it at that. Sage was apparently getting enough shame from her family.

  “We shouldn’t have kissed, Logan. I’m sorry.”

  We sat in silence for a minute, thinking. Sage didn’t have to be totally sorry. I allowed myself to remember our kiss. It still kind of got me in the gut, and not 100 percent in a bad way, either. Just 99.9 percent. I couldn’t deny that last fraction, that forbidden decimal of enjoyment. Like that time when I was twelve and accidentally walked in on one of Laura’s friends changing in our bathroom. I’d been too embarrassed to come out of my room that night. But I wouldn’t have taken it back, either.