Mirage(9)

“The phone hasn’t rung, Gran?—” Phone rings. Of course it does. “Witchy! You creep me out when you do that!”

“Embrace the mysteries of life, child. I skipped ahead in time and came back to tell you.”

I run to pick up the phone and smile through my hello when I hear Joe’s voice.

“I have to come hang with you tonight. I’ve caught wind that among this evening’s dinner guests, my mom has invited the son of a coworker as a potential blind date.”

“Why don’t you want to meet him?”

“He’s too clean-cut,” Joe answers. “Looks like a banker.”

“So? You’re all prep on the outside.”

“Yeah, but I’m all freak underneath.”

I laugh. Joe always makes me laugh. And he’s right. He’s Polo over pierced nipples. “Okay, JoeLo, come on over. I’ll protect you from the scary gay banker.”

I hang up and go to my room. I’m thrashed, bonking?—?probably adrenaline from the jump. I crawl atop my bed, flop back against the heaps of pillows, and stare at the galaxy of twinkle lights that reflect off the strings of small round mirrors hanging above me like stars. Undulating circles shimmer on the ceiling and the walls. My room of stars is the only place I can relax.

Usually I would turn on some music, but this time I don’t. I lie on the bed and listen to the silence ringing in my ears and try really hard to hear my song, wondering what will happen if I die without hearing it.





Five


“WAKE UP, SUNSHINE. You’re supposed to be my party tonight.”

I’m bouncing. Why am I bouncing? My eyes flutter open to see Joe’s face and his multitone, spiky hair. “For someone so paranoid about cacti overtaking the world, I wonder why you make your hair look like one.”

Joe is hovering inches above me, staring down with his gap-toothed grin. Except for the twinkle lights, the room is dim with blue dusk. I clamp my hands on Joe’s cheeks and slowly pull his face to mine, reveling in the terrified look in his eyes right before I bite his bottom lip hard. Laughing, I roll out from under him.

“Ow! Rawr,” he says, with his fingers on his lips.

“I made you nervous. Don’t lie,” I say, still giggling.

Joe sits pretzel-style on my bed. “Noooo.” His face admits defeat. “Okay, yes. You have just enough man energy about you to tempt me.”

“That’s because I’m in touch with my masculine side.” I cross my legs opposite him, knee to knee, like we used to do when we were in our “summoning the spirits” phase of life. “Was your mom mad at you for ditching her dinner party?”

“Marginally. It’s a five Hershey’s Kisses infraction.”

“You should own stock. I wish I could buy my parents off with chocolate. Do they sell Kisses the size of a Buick?”

“What’d you do now?”

I wave him off. “Why don’t you want to at least meet the guy?”

“Because I’m pretty certain that my mother’s taste in men is not my taste in men. Exhibit A: my dad.”

“Most gay kids are worried their parents won’t even accept them being gay, and she’s trying to hook you up? That’s pretty cool. It could be way worse.”

He throws up his hands. “Yeah, well there are different kinds of narrow-mindedness. She’s been psycho lately. She even signed me up for a Jewish LGBT mixer. My mom wants me to go because, as she puts it, ‘I don’t care if you date boys. But you’d better date a nice Jewish boy.’”

My phone buzzes next to the bed. A picture of Dom pops up. I ignore it. I also try to ignore Joe’s raised eyebrow. “Blowing off his call? Might I hope that you and Testosterone Tom?—”

“Dom.”

“Whatever. Are you fighting?” he asks with too hopeful a tone.

“Don’t be a Dom-o-phobe. He just pissed me off earlier.”

Joe’s not one for evasions or half stories. His blue eyes fix me with that look that means I have to tell him the story of my big crap-ass day. Except for the part about wigging out in the motor home. How can I explain that someone else’s haunted eyes were looking into mine from the mirror? Bumps erupt on my arms, because just thinking of the eyes makes me feel like they’re watching me now.

After I tell Joe about my dad, the business failing, my risky jump, and the subsequent fight, Joe picks at his nails with a grave expression.

“What?”

“I don’t get the things you do sometimes. When we were younger, you were my hero. It was you who showed me how to be unapologetically me. Full disclosure?—?I totally thought you were nuts, but your bravery made me want to be more brave. You’re the reason I had the guts to come out. I wanted to live as out loud as you did.”

“Thanks?” My jaw clenches.

“You used to thrill me, Ryan. Now . . . now you scare me.”

I swallow hard. “Stop being overdramatic. So I did something risky. Everyone takes risks now and then, especially when they want something.”

“Your idea of risk is very different from most people’s. Why do you have to up the ante all the time? I’d hate for you to find out the hard way that there’s a limit.”

Do I have an answer to this? I’m not sure I’ve ever thought about it. “I need extra stimulus, Joe?—”