Дэвид Левитан - Boy Meets Boy

"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 beenlost."

"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 —he's the 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.