Two Boys Kissing(39)

“What is it?”

Neil walks into Peter’s bedroom and sees a deep look of concern on his face.

Peter gestures to the screen. “It looked for a second like Harry was going to pass out. Now they’re cutting off his shirt.”

“Who’s Harry?”

“From the kiss.” Peter now points to one of the boys on the screen. “Harry. Haven’t you been watching?”

“I’ve been doing other things.”

“Well, it’s getting pretty intense.”

Neil knows that this is the moment to tell Peter what happened with his family, how things feel a little different now. But Peter’s too focused on the boys on the screen, isn’t asking him how his morning was. And Neil is still piecing his reaction together—he doesn’t want Peter’s take on the situation until he has his own. Or at least that’s what he tells himself, to justify staying silent. The truth is, Peter will understand, but only up to a point. Peter has never had to have such a conversation with his parents. Peter has never felt like an outsider in his own house. He might claim there were moments he has. But he hasn’t really. Not from Neil’s point of view.

“It looks like he’s rallying,” Peter says. “It’s been twenty-four hours. Only eight more to go.”

Neil gets closer. He’s looking at the kiss, yes. But his eye naturally goes to Harry’s torso.



In 1992, when over two hundred thousand of us were infected and over ten thousand had died, Calvin Klein launched a new ad campaign with a white rapper named Marky Mark. If you are young and you are male, most conceptions you have of your bodily ideal can be traced to those advertisements. Every Hollister model that calls out to you, every voice in your head that tells you that abs need “definition,” every ounce of the Abercrombie myth can be traced directly to Marky Mark. Whether you subscribe to these ideals or reject them, they are the unrealistic standard you must face. It’s what’s being sold to you.

Harry’s torso is not like this. It dares to be a regular body as it is broadcast out among all the ideals. He is neither fat nor thin. There is a line of hair from his chest to his jeans. His stomach is not taut. You cannot see his abs.

In other words, he reminds us of the way we were as teenagers, the way we were before the world set in.

Why is Marky Mark smiling in those ads? It’s not just that he has a perfect body. No, it’s as if he knows that soon enough, our bodies will be broadcast. Soon enough, our images will enter the ether. Everyone will want to look like him, because they will feel like they are being looked at all the time.



Harry, of course, knows he is being looked at. But what he looks like is the farthest thing from his mind. When your body starts to turn against you—when the surface value of the skin is nothing compared to the fireworks of pain in your muscles and your bones—the supposed truth of beauty falls away, because there are more important concerns to attend to.

Believe us. We know this.





Avery wonders why Ryan is looking at him out of the corner of his eye, why Ryan would rather watch him than watch the road. Even when friends look at Avery, a small part of him still worries they are looking for flaws, irregularities. In this, Avery isn’t all that different from anyone else. We all worry that looking at is really looking for.

Finally, Avery can’t stand it. The look. Then a knowing smile. Then another look.

“What?” he asks.

This only makes Ryan smile more. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t usually like people. So when I do, part of me is really amused and the other part refuses to believe it’s happening.”



Maybe this is why we like watching you so much. Everything is still new to you. We are long past the experience, although we witness new things all the time. But you. New is not just a fact. New can be an emotion.



“What are we doing?” Avery asks. It is not meant as an existential question. He just wants to know what they’re doing next.

“I figured we’d start with pancakes. Do you want pancakes?”

“It’s hard to imagine a scenario where someone would say no to pancakes.”

So they go to the pancake house. Because it’s a small town, Avery notices Ryan checking out who else is inside before committing to a table.

“Looking for anyone in particular?”

Ryan smiles again. “No. Just habit, I guess.”

“How many people are in your high school?”

“About two hundred. You?”

“Eighty.”

“You must stick out. I mean, with the pink hair and all.”

“I bet you blend right in.”

“Trying to blend in would be like being put through a blender. I abstain.”

Avery finds this funny. “What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘I abstain.’ ”

“Is that what you say when the popular kids try to get you to hang out with them? ‘I’m sorry, but I abstain from blending in. There are just too many perks to being a wallflower.’ ”

“Yup. That’s precisely what I say. But do they stop? No. The popular kids keep bugging me. Calling. Texting. Showing up on my doorstep. Begging like dogs. I’m embarrassed for them.”