Here the Whole Time(29)
“And you never told anyone?” I ask.
“Just Becky. She’s always known about everything and always had my back. She’d stand up for me when she could, and I felt safe. But the thing is, she graduated last year, and this year I’m on my own. I know there are only six months left to go, but I can’t stand it anymore. And then there’s my mom, scolding me over the one person who’s ever … taken … my side … this whole …” He doesn’t finish his sentence because he starts crying.
And the sound of his crying breaks my heart into a thousand pieces.
I wish I could force the words out of my mouth to say something reassuring. Say that I can’t take it anymore, either. Tell him I understand his pain.
I’m not sure I completely understand his pain, because I’ve never been a victim of homophobia. Being gay is something that’s inside me, and when people look at me, they don’t go beyond my appearance. But I do know what it’s like to spend five hours surrounded by people who hate you. And I’ve come across disgusting nicknames written on my desk a bunch of times. So I guess, in the end, I actually do understand his pain.
I feel like hugging him, but I don’t. Maybe I would if we were both standing, but how do you hug someone who’s lying down? Without making it a super-intimate thing, I mean.
So I place my hand on his shoulder and don’t say anything. And that seems to be enough because, little by little, he stops crying.
“I’m sorry for making a scene,” he says, embarrassed.
“No need to apologize.”
“Thanks for listening.”
And then he turns to the side to try and get some sleep. My hand is still on his shoulder, and I leave it there until my arm starts going numb.
“It’s going to be okay,” I whisper, but I think he’s already asleep.
ONE OF THE THINGS I hate the most about polite society is when someone who doesn’t even know you starts a conversation about the weather. Pretty chilly out there, eh? Looks like rain’s coming, doesn’t it? Good lord, it’s a scorcher.
But right now, I need to be that awful kind of person. Because I can’t ignore the fact that yesterday I went to bed chilly, and today I woke up in hell, it’s so hot. The sunlight pokes through the window early in the morning, burning my face, and there’s no way I’m going to fall back to sleep.
When I wake up, Caio isn’t in the bedroom anymore. I get out of bed with all the excitement of someone who’s just woken up in a pizza oven, and when I get to the living room, I find Caio and my mom slouched on the flowered couch, each holding a glass of lemonade. The ceiling fan spins lazily overheard, not making a difference.
“Good lord, it’s a scorcher,” my mom says.
I let out a lazy moan because it’s the best I can do in this situation.
The morning news is on the TV, and a reporter shows data about how today might be one of the hottest winter days in our state since 1996. I grab a glass of lemonade in the kitchen, and when I come back to the living room, I end up sitting on the floor because it seems cool-ish. And also because it’s impossible to sit on the couch without touching both Caio and my mom at the same time. Mixing my sweat with theirs doesn’t seem like the best idea. The ice I put in my lemonade melts in two seconds.
For a few moments, the three of us are silently focused on the TV, letting out the occasional sigh. The news anchor introduces a segment about what to do with your children during the school break, and the suggestions are the same as always. Summer camps, movie theaters, public pools. But my heart stops beating during that last part. Because the TV shows a group of kids getting all wet and having a good time. And Caio’s face opens up with a huge smile, like someone who’s just had the best idea ever. And I feel my sweat drip down harder, because I know exactly what he’s about to say.
“Wanna go to the pool?” he says.
Actually, he shouts it.
My mom chokes on her lemonade, because she knows me well. She knows there’s nothing in the universe that can drag me to the pool. But for a second she seems to forget about that and completely ignores my freedom to make my own decisions.
“Sorry, Caio, I have a lot of work piled up. Can’t even think about having fun. But the two of you are on vacation, so go enjoy your day!”
And after dropping that bomb, she gives me two taps on the shoulder, gets up, and walks to the kitchen.
Caio gets up as well.
And I end up standing, too, because it makes no sense to sit by myself on the living room floor. But, considering that the alternative is going to the pool, I wouldn’t mind just staying on the floor.
Caio’s level of excitement is comparable to my level of despair. He dashes into the kitchen (and I follow because I want more lemonade).
“Can I invite my friends?” Caio asks my mom, almost jumping up and down with excitement.
“Which friends?” my mom asks, but with curiosity, not suspicion.
“Becky—Felipe met her yesterday—and her girlfriend, Melissa. I hope that’s okay. I mean—”
“Lesbians?!” my mom yells in a terrified voice, feigning surprise. And then laughs out loud. “No problem at all. You know, I was almost a lesbian myself for a while in college.”
Caio and I go silent, absorbing this information, and then he runs out to grab his phone, leaving my mom and me alone in the kitchen. I muster all the irony I have inside me and condense it into two words: