Tony's front door is unlocked. I head right to his room. After one look at my face, he asks me what happened, and I tell him.
As I talk, clocks chime throughout the house. A floorboard creaks under ghost steps. Alert, we listen for the sound of the garage door opening or a key turning in the back door.
I tell Tony about Noah. I tell Tony about Kyle and all the things he said. I show him my confusion, my hurt, my anger--I don't hold anything back. As usual, Tony reserves his words until the end, prompting me with nods and listening.
I expect him to tell me that Kyle is off base, that he'd been speaking out of confusion, hurt, and (yes) anger, not truth. But instead Tony says, "Kyle's right, you know."
"What?" I heard him the first time, but I want to give him the option to change his mind.,
"I said, Kyle's right. I know exactly where he's coming from."
I'm so taken aback by what Tony's saying that I look away from him. I look at all the chaste decorations in his room, all the childhood relics--baseball cards, sports car ads--that he hasn't been able to replace with the telltale signs of his present life. Everything that's visible in this room is exactly the same as when I first saw it. Only the hidden parts have changed.
"Paul," Tony continues, "do you know how lucky you are?"
Of course I know this. Although I have to admit I always tend to think of other people as unlucky rather than thinking of my own life as charmed.
"I know I'm lucky," I say, perhaps a little defensively. "But that doesn't mean it's easy. Kyle said it's easy for me."
"That's not a bad thing, Paul."
"Well, the way he said it, it was. And the way you're saying it, too.
Tony is sitting cross-legged on the floor, playing with a thread from his sweater.
"The first time I met you," he says, not directly to me, not directly to the floor--somewhere in between, "I honestly couldn't believe that someone like you could exist, or even a town like yours could entirely exist. I thought I understood things. I thought I would get up every morning with a secret and go to sleep every night with the same secret. I thought my life would start only when I was out of here. I felt that I had learned something about myself too soon, and that there was nothing I could do to undo the truth. And I wanted to undo it, Paul. I wanted to so bad. Then I met you in the city and on the train, and suddenly it was like this door had been opened. I saw I couldn't live like I'd been living, because now there was another way to do it. And part of me loved that. And part of me still hates it. Part of me--this dark, scared part of me--wishes I never knew how it could be. I don't have the courage that you do."
"That's not true," I say quietly. "You are so much braver than I am. You face all these things--your parents, your life."
"Kyle feels lost, Paul. That's all he's saying. And he knows that you're not lost. You've never really been lost. You've felt lost. But you've never been lost."
"And are you lost? Do you feel lost?" - Tony shakes his head. "No. I know exactly where I am, what I'm up against. I'm on the other side, Paul."
I can hear all the emptiness in the house. I can see the way the pennants droop away from the walls of his room. I know that he's not happy, and it breaks my heart.
"Tony," I say.
He shakes his head again. "But this isn't about me, is it? It's about you and Noah and Kyle and what you're going to do."
"I don't care about any of that," I tell him. "I mean, I care about it. But not right here, right now. Talk to me, Tony."
"I didn't want to bring this up. Forget I said anything." "No, Tony. Tell me."
"I don't know if you want to hear it."
"Of course I want to hear it."
"I love being with you and Joni and the rest of the group. I love being a part of that. But I can never really enjoy it, because I know that at the end, I'll be back here. Sometimes I can forget, and when I can forget, it's bliss. But this past week has been hell. It's like I've been pushed back into the shape of this person I used to be. And I don't fit into the old shape anymore. I don't fit."
"So leave," I say--and the minute I say it, I'm full of the idea. "I'm serious. Let's pack up your things. You can live at my house. I'm sure my parents will take you in. Then we can figure things out. We can find you a room somewhere -- maybe in that room over Mrs.
Reilly's garage. You don't have to be here, Tony. You don't have to live like this."
I'm getting all excited. It's like an airlift. Tony is a refugee. We need to get him to a better place.
It seems so simple to me. But Tony says, "No, I can't."
"What do you mean?"
"I can't, Paul. I can't just leave. I know you won't understand this, but they love me. It would be much easier if they didn't. But in their own way, they love me. They honestly believe that if I don't straighten out, I will lose my soul. It's not just that they don't want me kissing other guys--they think if I do it, I will be damned. Damned, Paul. And I know that doesn't mean anything to you. It really doesn't mean anything to me. To them, though, it's everything."
"But they're wrong."
"I know. But they don't hate me, Paul. They honestly love me."
"Part of love is letting a person be who they want to be."
Tony nods. "I know."
"And they're not doing that."
"But maybe they will someday. I don't know. All I know is that I can't just run off. They think that being gay is going to mess up my whole life. I can't prove them right, Paul. I have to prove them wrong. And I know I can't prove them wrong by changing myself or by denying what I really am. The only way for me to prove them wrong is to try to be who I am and show them it's not hurting me to be that way. In two years I'll graduate. I'll be gone. But in the meantime, I have to find a way to make this work."
I am so scared for him. I realize that what he's saying is beyond my scope of comprehension.
What he wants to do is more than I've ever had to do.
"Tony," I say, "you're not alone in this."
He leans back against his bed. "Sometimes I know I'm not, and sometimes I really think I am.
I don't like to get into the middle of things, but sometimes I stay awake at night, petrified that we're all scattering apart. And I know I'm not strong enough to keep us all together and keep myself together at the same time. Plus, you're in love, Paul. You might not call it that, but that's what it is. And I don't want to be the downer to your upper. I know there are only so many things you can float at once."
I don't let him finish the thought. "I'm here," I tell him. "I will always be here. And I know I've been overwhelmed by the past week. And I know you can't always count on me to do the right thing. But I want to help.",
"I don't know if I can do it, Paul." I can tell he wants to. He's decided he wants to.
"You have a much better chance than I would," I say. "You are so much braver than me."
"That's not true."
Yes it is.
The garage door opens. Both Tony and I tense up.
"I'll go," I say, gathering my things, planning a quick escape.
Tony looks up at me and says, "No, don't."
The garage door is closing now.
"Are you sure?" I ask. I don't know what kind of trouble this will bring. All I know is that whatever he wants me to do, I'll do it. I m sure.
The door to the basement. Tony's mother calling his name.
"I'm in here with Paul!" he yells.
Silence. Keys on the front counter. A pause. Footsteps on the stairs.
All those years of us pretending. All the "bible study groups" and midnight curfews. All those times we had to wash the scent of a basement rave out of Tony's clothes, or let Tony onto our computers to go places his parents wouldn't let him go. All those moments of panic when we thought we wouldn't make it back on time, when we thought that Tony would come home and the door would be locked for good. All those lies. All those fears. And now Tony's mother coming into the room--not even knocking--and seeing the two of
us sitting on his floor, him cross-legged and leaning on the side of his bed, me kneeling by the bookcase, not even pretending to be looking for a book.
"Oh," she says--the kind of word that falls like a stone.
"We're going to do some homework," Tony says.
She looks straight at him. "I'm not sure that's a good idea."
All those silences. All those burning thoughts kept hidden. And now Tony is letting them out, carefully. Now Tony is standing his ground.
"Why?" Tony asks --- the kind of word that is thrown like a stone.
"Why?" Tony's mom repeats -- an off-guard echo, an uncertain response.
"Paul is my best friend, and we've been doing homework together for a long time. He is my friend--nothing more, no different from Joni or Laura or any other girl. I am being totally honest with you, and I want you to be totally honest with me. Why could you possibly think it's a bad idea for Paul and me to do our homework together?"
I see it in her eyes. I see exactly what Tony was talking about. That strange, twisted, torn love.
That conflict between what your heart knows is right and what your mind is told is right.
He's called her on it. And she doesn't know how to respond.
"I don't want to talk about this right now," she says. Her body language is pretending I'm not in the room.
"We don't have to talk about it. But Paul's going to stay until he has to go home for dinner."
"Tony, I'm not sure about that."
"We'll leave the door open. We can even go into the kitchen if you want us to. There are some girls at school whose parents have those rules when boys come over, even if they're just friends, so I guess that would make sense for me, too."
If I told this to my parents, there'd be an element of challenge in it, or sarcasm. But Tony's speaking is plain and simple. He is not crossing the line into snarkiness. He is making his point, but being perfectly respectful in tone.
I wish I could know what thoughts are going through his mom's mind right now. Is she trying to dismiss this away? Oh, it's just a phase or It must be that evil Paul's influence-- he's the one to blame. Is she devastated that Tony is beyond "saving"? Is she cursing fate -- or even God--for putting her in this situation? Is she embracing it as a challenge? I can see her thinking, but I don't know the thoughts. I am sitting no more than five feet away from her, but she's in a different world.
She looks at the walls, inhales and exhales.
"Leave the door open," she says. "I'll be in the kitchen."
Tony is speechless. He merely nods. His mom doesn't nod in return. She backs away, out of the door, down the steps. Tony looks at me. I burst out smiling. I clap without making a sound. He smiles, too. Then his smile falls and all of a sudden he is sobbing. He is shuddering and shaking and gasping. He has kept all this white noise inside him, and now some of it is coming out. His face is newborn raw, his arms wrap around his body. I move over to him and hug him tight. I tell him that he's brave. I tell him that he's done it--he's taken not the first step (that happened a long time ago) but the next step. His cry carries through the house. I rock him a little and look up to see his mother in the doorway again. This time I can read her perfectly. She wants to be where I am, holding him. But I know she will not say the things I am willing to say. Maybe she knows this, too. Maybe this will change, too. She looks at my face and gives me a nod. Or maybe she is finally returning Tony's nod. Then she retreats again.
"I'm sorry," Tony says, sniffling back into composure. .
"There's nothing to be sorry about," I tell him.
"I know."
I find my greatest strength in wanting to be strong. I find my greatest bravery in deciding to be brave. I don't know if I've ever realized this before, and I don't know if Tony's ever realized it before, but I think we both realize it now. If there's no feeling of fear, then there's no need for courage. I think Tony has been living with his fear for all his life. I think now he's converting it to courage.
Do I tell him this right now? I would, only he changes the subject. And I let him/ because it's his subject to change.
"What are you going to do about Noah?" he asks.
"Why don't you ask me what I'm going to do about Kyle?" I'm curious.
"Because there's nothing you can do about Kyle right now. But you need to do something about Noah."
"I know, I know," I say. "The only problem being that (a) he thinks I'm getting back with my ex-boyfriend, (b) he thinks I'll only hurt him, because (c) I've already hurt him and (d) someone else has already hurt him, which means that my hurting him hurt even more. So (e) he doesn't trust me, and in all fairness, I (f) haven't given him much reason to trust me. Still, (g) every time I see him, I (h) want everything to be right again and (i) want to kiss him madly. This means that (j) my feelings aren't going away anytime soon, but (k) his feelings don't look likely to budge, either. So either (1) I'm out of luck, (m) I'm out of hope, or (n) there's a way to make it up to him that I'm not thinking of. I could (o) beg, (p) plead, (q) grovel, or (r) give up, but in order to do that, I would have to sacrifice my (s) pride, (t) reputation, and (u) self-respect, even though (v) I have very little of them left and (w) it probably wouldn't work anyway. As a result, I am (x) lost, (y) clue-free, and (z) wondering if you have any idea whatsoever what I should do."
"Show him," Tony tells me.
"Show him?"
"Show him how you feel."
"But I've told him. That night. I made it clear to him how I felt. My words were out there. He didn't want them."
"Don't tell him, Paul. Show him."
"And how do I do that?"
-Tony shakes his head. "I'm not going to tell you. But I have a feeling that if you think hard about it, you'll figure out how to do it. If you want to be loved, be lovable. It's a good place to start.
I think about what's just happened. I think about bravery The risk of making a fool of myself in front of Noah is nothing compared to what Tony's just done. Nothing.
The Snoopy on Tony's clock is doing a disco-Travolta pose. It's time for me to go home for dinner.
"Do you want me to stay?" I ask.
Tony shakes his head. "I'll be okay," he tries to assure me.
"But your father . . . ?"
He'll deal with it."
"You don't have to deal with it by yourself."
"I know. But it would be better if you weren't here. My dad's actually more of a pushover than my mom, as long as things are a little out of sight." He knows what I'm about to say. "I know that's not right, Paul, but that's the way things are. And right now, I'm going to have to work with the way things are."
I nod. "Call me," I say.
"I will," Tony replies. He sounds so sure of it, I believe him.
Three hours later, he calls. My mom answers the phone.
"Tony!" she says, all happiness. "It's so good to hear your voice! I've been stocking up on macadamia nuts, so you'd better come over soon. I can even pick you up or drive you home, just like old times. You're always welcome here."
(Man, I love her.)
"In the next election, I'm voting for your mom to be the next God," Tony says when I pick up the phone.
"How did it go?"
"Well. . ." Tony's voice sounds a little glum. "I'm afraid you're not going to see the inside of my bedroom for a while." irony--
"But you will be able to see a lot of my kitchen. Just be sure to keep your hands to yourself, okay?"
This is what a small victory feels like: It feels like a little surprise and a lot of relief. It makes the past feel lighter and the future seem even lighter than that, if only for a moment. It feels like Tightness winning. It feels like possibility.
I was the first openly gay president of my third-grade class. I have seen men holding hands walking down the street in a big city and I have read about women being married in a state that's not so far away. I have found a boy I just might love, and I have not run away. I believe that I can be anyone I might want to be. All these
things give me strength. And so does something as simple as talking to Tony on the phone after curfew, hearing that we'll be hanging out in his kitchen without having to lie.
It is, as I said, a victory. It might not last, but right now it means everything to me.
Possibly Maybe
It's a fine line between love and stalking. I decide to walk it. I want to do right by Noah.
Show him, Tony said. But really, I'm guided more by what Tony's shown me. I will not hesitate to say who I love.