Pride

Pride

By Stephen Clark

My name is Randy Guerrero, I am sixteen years old and I am gay. I have been all my life, and I’m proud of it. When people ask me now “When did you come out of the closet?” I simply shrug and tell them “I don’t really know, it kind of happened slowly.” But it’s not the truth. I haven’t always been proud, of who I am. There is always a story I have never told them, never told anyone in fact. The only ones that knew were the people involved. I guess there are just certain events in our lives that push us violently into a new set of revelations, and this was most certainly one of them. There are two people that were key elements in this revelation of mine: my best friend, and of course my self. He knew I was gay before I did, and as you can imagine that was quite awkward. Justin Mounkes was his name. We went to the same school together in High School, grew up together, smoked our first cigarette together (something that followed through with him more so than I), everything. We also knew everything about each other; at least he knew everything about me. He could read me like a card, which at times was very uncomfortable for me because sometimes I’m not always ok with someone knowing what mood I’m in when I’m not even sure myself.

Justin was the kind of guy that just let it all hang out. He was proud of who he was and let everyone know it every chance he got and in every way possible, and somehow managed to keep a legion of friends by his side despite his individuality, and his blatant queerness. One day he came to school wearing a black shirt that said “Sorry girls, I like dick” in bright white text with a big yellow smiley face next to it. And there beside him among the sea of watchful eyes scattered through the hallway was me, the best friend and companion to the all-time shock-seeking thrill-loving guy of all time, at least in our school. Being gay just seemed to add even more to his popular mystique. Our school was filled with Latinos because we lived in southern Texas which is basically Mexico for all intensive purposes, just without the abject poverty and bad drinking water. But Justin beat them all out with his “look at me look at me” act he put on more than one occasion. He was the sore thumb and I was the lonely, un-used ring finger that stood steadily beside him, hoping for a chance to shine.

I was very inconspicuous in High School. I always wore a pair of tight jeans and a t-shirt to school every day, even in the winter. T-shirts that said things like “Buck’s Gas Station, fill er’ up?”, and a pair of plastic black glasses some people called me “emo” for wearing. But once again, I was only a mere footnote to Justin’s fashionable, hip way of dressing, usually consisting of smart, well-chosen stripped button-down shirts and top of the line boot-cut jeans. But Justin didn’t care. He didn’t care that I wasn’t very popular or fashionable or hip or any of that stuff that gets eaten up in High School like a child goes for his desert just before dinner, no one cared about spoiling their appetite, or in this case, their grades. It was all about the experience, and it all had to be as thrilling and self-indulgent as possible, every second if it, especially for Justin, but he would slow down for me, when he saw I needed it.
There is always a beginning to every day which starts a series of significant events in our lives, and I suppose that that day was a drowsy, hot August morning in my home town of Sanford, Texas.

It was the day right before the big Friday night Homecoming game at our school. The jocks and cheerleaders were out in force, hanging up signs in the hallways that had the names and uniform numbers of the football players painted on them in school colors. I was pretty down on the whole school spirit mania that had swept the building literally overnight, although to most in the school my type of attitude was considered traitor status.

I walked through the hall in my white and black sneakers to my first class of the day, my head turned down, proudly ignoring the signs and decorations and declarations of pre-mature victory that our school’s student council, or as I referred to it, Pseudo council had created and plastered on the walls everywhere. I had just approached the double doors that lead to the section of the school where my first class was when I heard a loud thud hit the floor. It was Justin, pouncing in front of me, smiling that evil, dimpled smile all the girls so loved but could never have for themselves. He looked at me for a moment, wide-eyed, searching me for some hidden emotion. There was none.

“Aw, what’s a matter Randy? No school spirit?” He teased me.
I smiled and nudged past him. “I’ve been drained of my spirit,” I yelled back to him, but he ran to catch up with me.
“So, what’s goin’ on w’choo?” His long thin legs strode beside mine.
“Nothin’ really, just goin’ to class.”
“Cool, cool. We hangin’ out at lunch today?”
“Yeah, sure, I guess.”
“See ya then” He called back, stopping in mid-stride with an extended hand pointed at my back, watching me continue on down the hall.

I hadn’t really been the same since yesterday when a student, a girl, in one of the classes I’m in asked me suspiciously if I had a girlfriend. When I hesitated, she smiled and asked me “If I was gay or something”. She mentioned Justin and how we always hung out together. I didn’t know what to say. Up until then it was never a question I was asked, even with my skin tight association with Justin, the school’s biggest and brightest “Flamer”. For Justin being gay didn’t carry a stigma like it did for some of the other kids at our school, it was simply an accessory he carried with him that made him all the more popular, although I hadn’t inherited many of his friends. I wasn’t what you would call “cool by association”. I was just “association”. I have always been “Justin’s friend” to people who otherwise wouldn’t have even noticed me in the same class room.

The question pounded inside my head for the rest of that day and, returning to school only brought back the memory of the question I had left unanswered. Thank God for the school bell. When that thing went off, any conversation you were having previous to it is obliterated and it’s time to go. Justin had called me last night, but I had my mom tell him I was sleeping. I didn’t feel like being reminded of my situation by the most obvious queen in Texas. I knew I was gay, and I had for a long time, but there is virtually no way to tell that to someone without feeling like a complete outcast, like a complete fool, at least when you’re that age, and everything seems to be working against you, trying to break you and mold you into something you’re not. So far I had done a really good job of conserving my individuality. I didn’t do drugs, I didn’t smoke. I was “straight edge”. But then I was faced with supplying an answer to a question that left me tilting on the brink of oblivion, the only alternative being, well, some twisted form of normality.
I walked into my first class, but it felt like the end.

Lunch didn’t come soon enough. But it was only a taunting reminder of the fact that I had two more classes to go after that. I walked out of my fifth hour class and down the hall to meet Justin at his locker. I saw him leaning up against his locker talking to a group of giggling, tan-fleshed girls, all with brown hair and blonde highlights wearing T-Shirts that said “School Spirit: Use it or lose it!” I chose to lose it. I stopped beside him, and it took about a minute or two for him to realize I was there.
“Heeey babe, lookin’ damn fine” He said, giving me the once over from head to toe with his sharp blue eyes. I punched him in the shoulder playfully and nodded to the girls standing next to him. “Hmm well listen' babe,” Justin said to one of them, “I got ta go to lunch with my boy. I’ll talk to ya later, k?”
The girl nodded her head and the rest followed in unicent, smiling politely. “See ya Justin!” they called back to him longingly as we were about halfway down the hall.

“Damn they want my ass” Justin laughed to me.
“Not unlike every other person in this damn school.” I said coldly.
“What’s got into you, chico?” Justin said defensively, tilting his head to the side.
“Sorry, it’s just something that happened yesterday, in class.” I couldn’t have kept anything from Justin, even if I wanted to.
“Mm hmmm” he put his finger on his lips.
“Someone asked me if I’m gay.”
“Shit. What you do?”
“Bell saved me. Never got the chance to answer.”
He didn’t say anything, he just kept walking with me, out the doors of the school and across the street to the usual café we hung out at for lunch.
“So I did this really hot guy the other day” Justin said, smiling his ass off, getting right in my face.
“That’s nice.” I said without emotion.
“Yeah, he goes to this school too.” His smile spread further out onto his face.
I sighed and kept walking, watching Justin’s glow radiating from every part of his body as he bounced along the sidewalk into the entrance of the café.
“What you gonna have?” Justin did one last final skip and a bounce up to the counter where a younger looking guy was rushing around in an apron to five different coffee machines taking care of everyone’s orders.
“Dunno” I said looking down at the floor.
“Damn boy, you gotta cheer up. Or at least look up!” He playfully bent down and looked up at my bent head, trying to make eye contact with me.
“Next!” the guy behind the counter called out to us.
Justin pushed me in front of him and I stumbled and tripped up to the counter.
“Um, I’ll have a Cherry Coke.” Justin sighed and rolled his eyes. I know because every time he let out a deep sigh he rolled his eyes back into his head.
I handed the guy with the apron the money and stepped to the side as Justin bounced forward to the front.
“I’ll have a strawberry cappuccino, extra espresso.” He put on his best pair of flirtatious eyes and ran them across the young man’s chest and eyes.
“Coming right up” the guy said with a smile, waiting a few seconds before turning back to get his order. Mine of course took 10 minutes longer than usual because Justin had to cast his spell on the coffee-jockey that couldn’t stop looking back and flashing a smile at him every five seconds. This was the usual routine when we went almost anywhere together. We took our drinks and sat down at one of the tables in the far back of the place. It was dark back there and the only lighting was the luminous glow of the mini lamp that was placed on top of the table.
“What you got planned later?” Justin said sipping his drink.
“I’m probably going to the mall later. I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stay home and sleep all day.”
“Ooh Jeez Randy, what’s going on wi’choo?”
“You know.” I said solemnly, taking intermittent drinks from my cup.
“Yeah, yeah. You’re queer.” He loved to taunt me while trying to get his point across.
“It’s not that I’m queer, it’s that everyone else hates queers.”
“Babe, it’s really not that big a deal. Just tell them. One person, then another, then another, and before ya know it guys’ll be checkin’ you out in the shower!”
“Or beating me up.”
Justin rolled his eyes at me and drank the rest of his coffee drink and we went back to school to finish up the rest of our classes.

“Home!” I yelled, my voice echoing through out the house.
“Oh, hello hijo!” my mother called to me over the roar of the vacuum she held in her hand swinging back and forth over the carpet. She gave a wave to me from around the corner, giving me a visual of only her duster that she was cleaning with at the same time. My mother was a cleaning nut, she always had to have the house spotless, as if company could drop in at any given time and our lives depended on the house being completely immaculate.
I dropped the backpack that had strained my back all day onto the floor next to the stairs, and went up to my room.
I walked in and let myself fall backwards onto my bed. I reached for the TV remote and clicked it to life. The news was on. “The latest legislative proposal on capital hill may prove to be among the most homophobic pieces of legislature the gay community has seen in years. “Great, even the government hates us” I thought, lulling myself into a self-induced state of drowsiness. I wanted to sleep all of my problems away. But since I knew I couldn’t get away with not seeing Justin another day, I decided to get my bike and pedal over there.
“I’m going to Justin’s, mom!” I yelled to her as I double-stepped down the stairs.
“Ok hijo, but you better be back for dinner!”
“I will mom” I replied running out the door.

There aren’t many perks to being 16, and one of those perks I was so robbed of was the ability to drive. The minimum age to start driver’s training is 16 in the state of Texas, and I hadn’t even done that yet. Justin had already started and was well on his way to a full-blown license. He shot around from corner to corner of the city so much that a bike just didn’t do it. He was already saving up for a car, his dream car, a 2001 Firebird. Beyond the name and year, neither one of us knew much about cars. It had a big back seat and it could go fast and that’s pretty much all he cared about. So I grabbed my bike from the garage, pressed the button that unfolded the large garage door, hopped on and took off down the street. It was wet outside and the sky was an interesting shade of gray. It looked as if it were a white canvas that had barely been painted over with a thin coat of gray paint. Large ominous rain clouds hovered above me with the threat of rain in their wicked insides.
I watched all the houses as I pushed my legs into another stride on my bike that sent my wheels rolling forward over the bumpy damp sidewalk. Children played in front yards, a business man rushed into his car with a blown up umbrella even though it hadn’t started raining yet; a cat climbed up a tree and got stuck, and I kept pedaling on, rolling into the earth, going to visit my best friend.
I got up to his house and knocked loudly on the door. Justin always had some sort of dance music blasting loudly, those rare moments when he was actually home. I listened closely, and thought I heard Britney Spears.
“Hey cutie” Justin said to me as he opened the door. He was wearing a pair of tight faded jeans, a t-shirt that said “I’m queer as day”, and a scarf wrapped around his neck colored with every shade of pink in the world.
“Hey, what’s up?”
“Come awn in chico,” he swayed his skin-tight, jean-covered hips from side to side with his arms over his head like some exotic Hawaiian dancer with a grass skirt that only someone with the shape and tone of his body could pull off.
He walked around the corner of the kitchen and barreled down the stairs that lead to his room/the basement, flicking on the light switch on the way down.
“Toxic, right?” I said pointing to the boom box he had lying on the floor with the deafening pop music raging out of it like a genie from a bottle.
“I taught you well” He said turning back, pinching my cheeks. He bent down and pressed the off button on the boom box and turned back around to face me with a devilish smile.
“Oh no.” I knew he had something planned. Something bad. Something wicked. Something so utterly Justin.
“Ooooh yes!” he said coming closer to me, taking a step forward. “I have something planned for us tonight.”
“Ok, what is it?” I said, wanting to get it over with.
He said nothing, taking another devious step in my direction. He finally stopped in front of me and wrapped his scarf around me and pressed himself up against my body, bending his torso backwards as he moved the scarf around my neck back and forth with his hands.
“Is this what you call dancing?” I said with a crooked smile.
With his upper body still bent backwards towards the floor, he laughed. Then his body aligned itself properly again in the upright position. “Oh honey, I’ll show you dancing.” His blue eyes took on a new, mischievous sharpness, a lethal combination. “Tonight we dance!”
An expression of what could only be described as “Oh God” quickly spread across my face, starting with the mouth, ending at the tired, uninterested sarcastic eyes.
“Relaaax” he said, throwing his limp-wristed hand in the air, plopping down on his poofy white leather chair that sat directly in front of the TV. “Well come on, sweet heart, there’s still plenty of room over here for sissies”, he whooped with his feminine Latino laugh. I plopped myself down next to him in the chair that sat beside his, another poofy leather chair, only this one a very ugly brown color. It must have been devastating for his fashion-smart mind.
“Now here’s what I got planned,” he said raising a finger. “We go to the club—”
“Wait, what club? It’s a school night! Plus, we’re not even old enough, and I’ve never been to a—” He didn’t have to interrupt me, I knew by the look on his face and the curvature of his eyebrows that this one battle I wasn’t going to win, so I didn’t bother.
“We dance till dawn, drink till we’re floored,” he continued as if I hadn’t chimed in at all. “Pick up a few hunks in the back room, and if we still have time, get up in one of the cages and give the boys a show!”
I continued to look at him questioningly, voicing my obvious concerns through facial movements and occasional sighs.
“Honey, you’ve never been to a club? Well now you’re going! It’s a school night? So what. And we aren’t old enough? Well tonight, we are.” Then that trademark Justin smile took shape over his thin, palish-dark skin, spread his long teenage mustache that hung out on his upper lip, and I knew I was in for something else.

We stepped off the city bus and arrived at the intersection of Crest and Bay Street. The sun was beginning to set and it cast a shadow over the line of tall, narrow buildings along the never-ending street. We stood in front of a fairly large, wide, three story building with the name “Queer as Day” glowing on the front in bright neon, rainbow colored letters. My memory flashed back to the T-Shirt Justin had worn to school with those words on it, but before my mind had a chance to elaborate this connection any further, I felt the sudden tug of Justin’s arm on my hand, dragging me forward to the front where there waited at least twenty people and at the front of the line a bulky looking black guy in a white shirt and grey jacket stripped with white lines.

As I stumbled my way across the red carpet that paved the way to the front door I got a closer look at the door guy’s jacket; it had a nametag on it that said “Barry”. Justin walked right past everyone in line and went right up to Barry.
“Barry! What’s up man?”
“Yo, Justin! What’s happenin’ man?”
“Not much, just feel like dancin’ man, you know?”
Barry laughed, “Don’t get to do much dancin’ out here babe, but you go right in, your friend too.”
I stood there in complete amazement, not completely aware of what was happening.
“Aw, thanks sweetie pie! I’ll see you layder then!”
Barry gave us a wave as he unlatched the metal pole to let us through, and then turned back to the line full of angry, neglected patrons.
“How long have you been going here??” I turned to Justin, my mouth opened wide and my eyes slowly bulging out of my head.
“Keep that mouth shut around here honey, at least until you need it that is!” He gave me a little wink and continued dragging me inside.
I was immediately blown away by the oasis of lights that attacked my vision. Blinding red flashes followed by the sounds of sirens wailing over loud thumping dance music that pulsed through my ear drums and sent them on a trip they wouldn’t soon forget. But Justin was not blown away by any of this. To him it was all so familiar; another trip to the club, another walk into a place that would drown him in his own sub-culture of hot, horny, mostly shirtless men dancing to the tribal pulse of the music, and separate him from the rest of society, at least for a few hours.
He walked up to the bar, looking back every few seconds to make sure I didn’t get swept away in the tide of dancers. I stepped up beside him at the bar, watching him so gracefully execute his routine. “Hey Dave, I’ll have a rum and coke.”
The bartender then turned to me and nodded. Justin smiled, waiting for my reply. I was on my own now.
“Uh, shot of tequila?” I shrugged. That made Justin laugh his ass off. Dave laughed to, throwing his head back.
“Sweets, is this your first time here?” He asked as politely as he could without breaking into another line of laughter.
“Yeah” I said with a confessing smile. So he handed me a beer and Justin reached into his pocket and gave the bartender the money for the drinks. I didn’t even want to know how he got the money; I didn’t want to know anything at this point, including why I was here.
“So let’s daaaance!” Justin yelled above the trembling speakers and the vibrating dance floor.
“Not really my thing,” I hesitated. Justin shot me another one of his “You better, or else” looks, and I started walking out into the crowd, he followed.
As I did my best impersonation of a young, proud, gay thing, I had to wonder. At this very moment how many people are dancing on this very dance floor, but not inside? How many of them want so badly to stop, but their bodies won’t let them. Maybe they have to keep moving or else they will have to acknowledge that they are alive, and that they have problems outside this club, and that no matter how fast or how hard they dance, those problems will never leave them. I was most likely the only one, at least I felt like it. I watched Justin dance around everyone, shaking his hips, using his arms to lift some invisible wall descending down on him from above, getting stared at by all the hot guys that littered the dance floor.
He teased them, and taunted them, and made them want him, like he did everyone, even the girls at our school. He loved the idea of control, of keeping control that is. He was only sixteen and already he had a hold on every hot guy in an adult gay dance club. And as seemingly justified as it would be for me to be jealous just then, I wasn’t. I felt something else. I felt a kind of sickness deep in my stomach, possibly my soul. I wasn’t sure where the soul is located, they never showed us in biology class, but people kept trying to tell us its there. I continued to watch Justin as he made his way through the crowd, but still looking back every once and a while to make sure I was still in sight, that I hadn’t left, disappeared into the back with some hot young thing, like he was about to.
He sidled up next to a guy dancing, swaying his arms from side to side, as if they were playing a remix of an old Elvis ballad. The guy he was checking out wore a cowboy hat with a cross on the front and twine rapped around the top, as well as tight, sparkling grey club-type pants. Justin looked him over from head to toe, making sure he was just right, grabbed him by the arm, and tugged him off back in my direction. I watched as they approached. It looked as if the man were Justin’s formal escort for an evening of dinner and possibly more; only shirtless and wanting to skip to the “more” part right away.
“Hey babe,” he whispered into my ear as if no music were playing, “I’m gonna go to the back room and, hehe, well you know” he said pointing first to the back of the club then to his muscle-bound dance partner locked in beside him. “I’ll be back in like half an hour”, he then looked at the guy on his arm, “make that forty-five minutes” he said with a smile, his voice trailing off into the crowd and the pulsating heart-beat of the music.
I wearily walked back to the bar and took a seat. The bartender, Dave, saw my expression and gave me a nod of the head. “Looks like you could use another drink.”
“Haven’t finished the one I got yet.”
“Doesn’t matter for most guys in here” he chuckled.
“I think I’ll hold off.”
“You got it” he said, handing someone their beer.
“Besides, my dance partner left me a few minutes ago for another guy.”
“Isn’t that always how it goes” he shook his head with a slight smile. “Not many faithful guys you’ll find in here. How long have you and Justin been together?”
“Oh, no. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s just my friend. Best friend actually.”
“Ahhh, ok. Got it. Well why aren’t you out there lookin’ for a guy of your own, huh? Your gay for God’s sake! It’s your God given right to screw everything that moves!”
“Don’t really feel like it. Besides, I’m not feeling too gay right now.”
“What’s a matter sweetie? Confused? We all have been at some point, at least most of us anyway.”
“Not confused, just…I don’t know.”
“Just…not proud.” The bartender smiled at me as if he had made a breakthrough and was waiting for it to register with me.
“I’m proud. I guess I just don’t know what it’s all about yet. My friend dragged me here anyway.”
“Well then draaag your pretty ass back out on to that dance floor right now! Go for it! I bet there’s a ton of guys just waiting to meet you, so go dance. I gotta serve these alchi’s their drinks, but you go! GO!” He yelled, waving me off the bar stool and back into the crowd. I got up and left, skeptical of my chances out there, hesitant of flaunting any part of myself, reluctant to give myself over to what I had yet to discover as I looked out into the waving, pulsing, living, breathing wave of gay young things, all proud, all beautiful, all unlike me.

I found myself dancing with another guy, my body pressed up firmly against his hard chest and bullet-proof abs. He looked about twenty one years old, had brown hair, gelled up in the front, his shirt off, exposing the hard chest, dancing from his arms that hovered overhead in a hypnotic circular motion down to his tightly-packed, denim-wrapped ass. I didn’t know how or why it happened, but there I was, dancing with one of the hot club guys, stomach to stomach, chest to chest, face to face. But our faces were not the same. His was one of a confident, young, sexy queer and mine was one of an uncertain, pre-maturely aged, unattractive only God knows what. He seemed to be able to read my expression spot on. He looked at me and said, “Your first time here?”
“Yeah, it is.” Everyone here seemed to know a club-virgin when they saw one.
“Something to remember it with” he said as he reached around my side and stuck a matchbook with the club name printed on it in my back pocket, firmly tucking it in, an excuse to feel my ass.
“Thanks” I said back, reaching back to confirm what he had put in the ass of my pants.
“So what’s your name?” The young guy leaned in and spoke just loud enough for me to hear the words “Your name”.
“Randy” I leaned forward into his face.
He nodded with that lustful smile, still swaying to the music, pleased with everything so far. “I’m Troy.”
There was a deep silence for a moment, even with the music pounding inside our eardrums, there was complete silence. My heart raced and my brain went dead. Completely dead. For about three minutes I was a dancing, swaying, waving piece of meat. Then he grabbed me by the arm, much like Justin had, only different. This was a horny, impatient hand that grabbed hold of me, whereas Justin’s was impatient as well, but it was a warm friendly grip, this was cold and pulseless, like the dead.

He bursted through the front door with me still riding behind on his right arm. “Where are we going??” I demanded of him, but it came out much more like a suggestion.
He finally stopped in mid-stride, sending me stumbling a few feet on the sidewalk. Once I gained my balance and looked up at him, I noticed that he still had that smile on his face. He nodded to the car and his smile spread further across his young, sexy gay face. “Wanna go back to my place?”
My temperature rose, and all the blood in my body went to my face and it turned beat red. I could hear the pulse in my ears bang against my head like unhappy miners, going to work another long day, pounding at the rocks, the rocks inside my head.
“I…I don’t think so,” I managed to get out.
His expression immediately changed to disappointment, then impatient, then angry. “Why not?”
“Well, I got…I got school tomorrow, and—”
“School?” He interrupted me with a laugh. “I’ll make it worth your while.” That jolt of confidence, the one I lacked, spread across his face.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” It was a million degrees in my face and the rest of my body. I began to walk away slowly, my hands in my pockets, head down, trying not too look like an idiot or a coward, but it’s what I was, or at least what I felt like. He walked away from his car towards me, putting his arm around me once more, trying to coax me inside.
“Come on man, let’s take off. I know you’re horny.”
“Not really” I mumbled under my breath, my head still down to the ground.
He bent down and looked up to see my coward’s face.
“You even gay?” he said laughing again. “Come on, you know you want me, everyone does.” He continued to pull, dragging me further, towards his car, towards my most deepest and unknown fear. I struggled, but he kept pulling, laughing, trying to convince me it’s what I wanted.
“Hey!” I heard someone yell from behind us.
I looked behind my shoulder and saw Justin standing there in front of the club. I was never so happy to see him in my life.
He walked over to me casually, smiling as always. “Hey babe, who’s this?”
“Who the hell are you?” the guy locked to my arm said, looking Justin up and down.
“I’m this hottie’s boyfriend” he said, swinging his arm around me. “Who are you?”
The guy looked at me weird, and let me go as quickly as he had grabbed hold of me, sending me once again tumbling onto the cold concrete beneath me.
“You got a boyfriend?” he said, a bit confused.
“I…” I couldn’t find the words, not for the life of me.
“Course he does, why wouldn’t he?” Justin just looked at him, branding the confused club guy with his fiery eyes.
“Well, that’s cool I guess. I’m always up for threesomes.” The guy said with a nervous laugh.
“Me too,” Justin said, “But not with trolls like you.” He just kept smiling and latched on to my arm and walked away with me back to the bus stop, that warm, friendly hold I had so missed for those twenty minutes or so.
“Thanks” I said to him, taking a deep breath of relief.
“Anything for you babe.”
“How much did you have to drink??” I smelled the strong scent of liquor on his breath as he spoke.
“Not that much,” Justin said, his body swaying from left to right, a bottle of Jack Daniels in his right hand.
“Jesus you can’t even walk.”
“Well I know I’m the shit babe, but I’m no Jesus.” He laughed and swung the bottle in my direction, offering me some of the intoxicating liquid.
“No thanks,” I said, pushing the bottle back to him. “But thanks, for what you did back there.”
“You’re my Randy” he looked at me, smiling. “Plus, it was kinda my fault. I shoulda stuck around wi’choo instead of leavin’ you on yer own.”
“Damn right it was your fault.”
He looked at me and smiled because he saw I was smiling. Then we continued walking and waited for our bus to take us back home to life as I knew it.


I was able to sneak Justin into my house without problem, meaning we had to crawl in through the small, hinged glass windows on the side of the house that led to my basement. My mother usually goes to bed early, but at this late an hour I didn’t want to chance it. I had not only missed dinner, which in her book was a sin equivalent to murder, but I had also not checked in with her all day and night. Justin, being the carefree vagabond that he was didn’t understand my need to avoid my mother’s wrath and suggested we simply use the front door, as the architect of the house no doubt designed, but my cautious demeanor prevented that from happening. We both collapsed in the basement on one very large futon I had sprawled across the hard concrete floor. Justin removed his button-down shirt slowly, as if taunting me like a stripper taunts their horny, cash-filled audience, but this was not a new sight for me, and he knew it had no sexual effect on me whatsoever. He pulled off his t-shirt that clung tightly to his body under the button-down and began to undress me starting with my shirt.
“I’m quite capable of doing it myself.” I said, moving his hands away from my shirt, a bit agitated. He then began tickling me underneath my arms, a known weakness of mine to him since way back in sixth grade. I struggled for a few minutes between intervals of laughing and cursing him. After he got tired of torture-tickling me he fell back onto the futon and I crawled over to him, pulling a long thick blanket over him, tending to his drunkenness. I collapsed next to him, my head resting next to his, our bodies breathing together, laying together, somehow connected.

I was awakened by the sound of my mother yelling in Spanish at me from the top of the stairs, telling me to get dressed and get my butt to school, and that it was already eight o’ clock, two hours after I was supposed to be up for school.
“Ci Mama!” Whenever she yelled at my Spanish, it was never good and often required me to do the same in order to avoid a further verbal lashing in my native language.
I looked beside me and Justin wasn’t there, he must have gotten up early and left for his house. I hesitantly grabbed hold of the cold metal railing and climbed my way to the top of the stairs where my mother awaited, along with my judgment.
“Go, get dressed, go to school, and get an education, hijo!” She pointed towards the stairs that lead to my room with a firm and steady hand and finger. I walked cowardly and ashamed to my room to get dressed and take a shower to face the day ahead smelling respectfully and decently dressed.


I rode my bike to school and arrived between third and fourth hour. I took a seat at one of the circular tables that filled the empty cafeteria, swinging my backpack off my shoulder and onto the round surface in front of me. I sat there for a few minutes, wondering why my mother hadn’t mentioned anything about coming in so late, or missing dinner, or not even checking in, but I figured she was just too mad and it was too early in the day for her to start any of that; she would leave it for when she had more strength when I got home, it would also give her more time to think of names to call me in Spanish.
I heard the music that played between classes at our school begin, and soon after saw students spew out into the cafeteria from all corners of the building, filling the hallways with sounds of teenage gossip and early morning misery. But the students seemed to look even more miserable than usual this morning, I noticed. I had no idea where Justin was, but there seemed to be a heavy grey rain cloud hanging over all who occupied the school. I got up out of my seat and began walking to my first class when I saw Justin crossing the lunchroom floor, head turned down, his fiery eyes burned down to the wick, and his clothes, he hadn’t even bothered to change his clothes from the night before. This all instantly put me into a state of shock and alarm; I knew something was seriously wrong.
“What is it?” I stood in front of him, stopping him in his tracks, anticipating the worst, but nothing could have prepared me for what I was about to hear.
“He’s dead.” Justin replied, his head halfway between the floor and me, his eyes lost in some morbid world of confusion.
“Who? Who’s dead?!”
“Ian…”
“Who is Ian?” I knew who Ian was; it was Justin’s friend that he was always talking to, almost as much as me. I guess I asked him partly because I wanted to occupy his mind with my questions, if only for a brief moment, but also perhaps because I was still in shock, trying to figure things out.
“Ian Baker,” his head rose up from his limp position and stared me in the face. I could see his eyes were bloodshot, agitated by his tears which still welled in his eyes.
“What the hell happened?!” But he didn’t answer, he just walked away from me, the tears in his eyes becoming too much to hold back. I had never seen Justin cry in my entire life, ever since I had known him from the age of six. Seeing him like this was not only confusing, but frightening as well.
“They’ll make an announcement” I thought I heard him say to me as he walked across the cafeteria and down the long hallway to his next class.
Sure enough, in my next class, Government, there was a loud beep signifying the coming of an announcement over the P.A. I heard a voice, the Principal’s, addressing the entire school in a very dismal tone.
“Teachers and students, we apologize for this interruption, but we wanted to confront and to confirm what many of your fellow students have been saying all day. As you might have heard, we have lost part of our family here at the High School, Ian Baker. Ian was the tragic victim of a hate crime committed last night, taking his life. We mourn the loss of this wonderful young man, cut down in youth of his life, much too soon. There will be a candle-light vigil held in honor of Ian on the football field tonight before the beginning of the homecoming game. We would now like to take a moment of silence in remembrance of Ian.”
The entire class went dead. The entire school went dead. For a brief minute the teachers stopped teaching, the students stopped learning, and the world stopped turning, at least for me. I was in complete shock, even though I was warned in advance by Justin, I was still dumbstruck. How could this happen? Why did this happen? How was he killed? All these questions ran through my head, long after the moment of silence was done and over with and the teachers went back to teaching and students went back to learning, and throwing paper footballs through finger goal posts and passing notes that said things like “Who was that Ian kid, anyway?”
For me the world stopped, and for a few moments in time all my focus and attention was focused on Justin, and how he must have felt. So I sat and thought about Justin, and Ian, and nothing else. Justin and Ian. Justin and Ian. Justin was still alive, and Ian was taken. It didn’t make any sense to me. Ian wasn’t flamboyant like Justin. He didn’t flaunt his “gayness” or flirt with the straight guys or anything like that. He got good grades, had a group of well-rounded, diverse friends, and played on the school’s hockey team. This is not at all to say Justin deserved the fate that Ian had received, but it just didn’t seem fair. None of it did. So for the rest of the hour I sat and thought about death and life and how unfair life is and how we are sometimes taken much too early while others get to live to a ripe old age.

I didn’t see Justin in school until the end of the day. I figured maybe he took advantage of the counseling that the school was offering for those grieving the loss of Ian; even though it wasn’t at all his style to confide in a total stranger, especially with something so private and personal, and with someone who pretty much gets paid to do so at that. It would feel too cheap to him. When I saw him walking out the front door of school at the end of the day I stopped him, putting an arm on his shoulder. He turned around to me and I could still see remnants of those bloodshot eyes that had frightened and confused me earlier in the day. I gave him a hug and told him I loved him. I don’t know it that was the appropriate thing to do, but it felt like it at the time.
“Thanks” he said to me solemnly with his arms wrapped around my back.
“Did you go talk to one of the counselors?”
“Shit no” he said, staring down at the ground.
I managed to crack a half smile and just stood there in silence, out of respect for Ian, out of awkwardness. Justin began walking down the sidewalk from the school to across the street where all the kids hung out after school, waiting for their rides home, smoking. It was fittingly dubbed “Smoker’s Corner”. Justin took out of cigarette from the small box forming a rectangular bugle in one of his pockets and lit up in his mouth, taking a deep breath, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs, hoping that it would travel to his brain and erase all memory of what had happened.
“Are you going to the candle-light vigil at the game?”
“Yeah” he replied, taking another long drag of his cigarette. “Are you?”
“I don’t know.” Now I was the one staring at the ground.
“Jesus, Randy. Someone died, someone we know. Someone who was gay. And he was fucking killed because he was gay.”
“I know. I just…”
“There is no just, Randy. I know you’re afraid of being gay or whatever, but this is fucking important. To me, to a lot of fucking people.” He took one last puff of his cigarette and tossed it to the ground, extinguishing it with his shoe.
“I’m not.” I replied quickly, not wanting to say a loud what it was I was supposedely afraid of.
“Whatever. Don’t go, what the fuck ever.” He took out another cigarette from his pocket and lit it up, walking away. I got on my bike and pedaled away towards home.

When I got home, I expected a long drawn out lecture from my mother about the importance of calling home if I was going to be late, or being on time for school, or something like that. I set my backpack down on the floor next to the stairs as always and proceeded out into the kitchen for what was next to come. I heard my mother call my name, “Randy” she raised her voice, but not in an angry or upset tone, it was one of concern and worry, which should have worried me right away. I walked into the living room and saw her sitting on the couch with her arms folded, her head down, a familiar sight today. She looked up at me with puppy dog eyes and told to take a seat next to her, but I opted to sit in the chair across from her because her demeanor was making me just a bit uncomfortable.
“What is it, mama?” I only said “mama” when I thought she was upset, and it seemed right at the time.
“Randy,” she said to me. “My hijo.” I could see her holding back tears in her eyes.
“Mama, what is it?” I grew even more impatient and distressed.
“Randy,” she continued. “I found something of yours today, in your pants pocket, when I was doing your laundry. She reached into her right pocket and pulled out a small matchbook.
My heart raced and pounded a million miles an hour as I sat in that chair, clutching the arms, hoping to God this was a dream, that the whole day was a dream, but I knew it wasn’t. I knew when I looked into my mother’s eyes, so sad, full of what looked like betrayal and guilt at the same time. I said nothing, leaving my head facing the floor, thinking of some possible explanation as to what a matchbook that said “Queer as Day—The Hottest Gay Club on the Planet!” could be doing in the back pocket of my pants, but I knew there was no such explanation, so I sat there, looking guilty and ashamed.
“I…I should have known, hijo. I should have known, and I should have talked to you sooner.” The wetness in her eyes had turned to full-blown rivers flowing down each cheek. “With how close you and Justin are, I should have known.”
“Mama, I—”
“I still love you, Randy. I still love you. I can never stop loving you.” Looking back, my mother was so wonderful. She took care of it for me, all of it. The sloppy explanation of my “sexual preference” and all of the things that someone as young as I struggled to say to someone so close, someone we are scared to death of losing in our lives, as much as we know that it won’t change who we are, it still matters the whole world to us. Then something strange began to happened, I started to cry. It wasn’t a manly tear, or a brief moment of dampness in one of my eyes, as one could easily pass off as “allergies” and “a piece of dirt flew in there”, but rather a river of tears comparatively large to my mother’s. I got up out of my chair and leaned down to hug my mother, clutching her tighter than I have ever clutched anything or anyone in my life. It was a tightness closer than my friendship with Justin, and certainly tighter than the grip the guy from the club had on me. It was not just a hug; it was a bonding of hearts, a final coming together of mother and son. When I had finally tamed my tears and somewhat erratic breathing, I let go of her and I helped her up, so we both were standing face to face with each other, looking each other in the eyes for the first time since I can remember. It was a feeling of freedom and joy. My mother, still teary-eyed, took hold of my hand, and squeezed tightly, as if to say “I will never let you go, no matter who you are or who you become. You are my son and you will always be my son, my hijo.” But she didn’t need to say it, we had already said enough. Then I let go of her hand, as if to say “Thank you so much mother, I love you. You have no idea what this means to me, now I must go, live my life, and face whatever challenges me lie ahead.”
“I’m going to take a shower now” was, strangely the next thing out of my mouth.
She smiled at me and nodded, and I left her to go upstairs. I took a quick hot shower and changed my clothes and headed out the door.

I spent some time riding around on my bike, and then I went back to the school. I parked my bike and locked it up on the bike rack and started walking towards the football field. The lights were bright, blinding people like me who were approaching the field. It was already pretty dark outside and I walked past the gate that lead to the field. The bleachers were bare, an odd sight to see at a homecoming football game. They were all standing on the football field in one big clumped, congested circle, holding candles up to their chests. There must have been at least a thousand of them. I looked on in amazement, trying to see a familiar face in the sea of parents, teachers, and students, all illuminated by the light of the candles shining brightly in the approaching night.
My eyes scanned across the crowd, trying to find Justin. But then I turned my head over to the bleachers, where there sat one lone person. It was Justin. He was sitting on the cold, rusty metal bleachers looking at the crowd gathered on the field, shaking his head. Then he looked over at the entrance gate near the field and saw me. The first thing I think he noticed was the shirt I was wearing. It was his, the one he left over my house last night. It said “Listen Here, I’m proud to be Queer.” I saw by the light of the candles on the field, a smile spread across his face, and in an instant, the coming to mourn a loss had quickly turned into a celebration of what was to come, for both of us.