Here the Whole Time(36)
“And that wasn’t even the worst part!” Caio adds, trying to hold back a laugh. “When I realized the party was going to be a disaster, I decided I was going to kiss the first person who showed any interest in me. I ended up kissing this boy named Denis. He was kind of cute, actually …”
“He was not,” Becky interrupts again.
“But Denis’s kiss was the worst thing I have ever experienced in this life,” Caio goes on, disregarding Becky’s interruption. “The big problem was, Denis liked to bite while kissing, and I don’t know who came up with this idea that biting and kissing should mix, because they shouldn’t. Denis was just chewing on my mouth for like five minutes until a Black Eyed Peas song came on, and I had to pretend I liked it. I said, ‘Ohmygod, I gotta dance ’cause this is my jaaaaam!!!’ And then I went on to dodge the guy for the remainder of the night.”
Becky and Mel are laughing along, and I have a tight smile on my face as I’m trying to delete the mental picture of Caio’s mouth being chewed on by another guy. Whose name is Denis. Who most certainly is not fat.
“Your turn to tell us a kiss story, Felipe! Good or bad,” Becky says, and the three of them stare at me.
I’m nervous and exasperated and feel like disappearing. In the background, I notice the band is playing a forró cover of Britney Spears’s “Toxic,” which is at the same time horrible and wonderful.
I take a deep breath and a long gulp of my beer, then tell them the first story that comes to mind.
“I have a great-aunt, Lourdes, who comes to town every year for All Souls’ Day. One time, when she came to say goodbye, I moved in for two kisses, one on each cheek, but she surprised me with that old saying, ‘You need three if you want to get married!’ Which doesn’t make any sense whatsoever. I wasn’t expecting a third kiss, so I turned my head by accident, and that’s how I ended up kissing my sixty-four-year-old great-aunt on the lips,” I say.
Everyone goes silent.
The next second, the three of them are guffawing. And I start laughing, too, because what else can you do after admitting to having kissed your great-aunt on the lips?
I look at the beer cans on the table, and I’m overcome with gratitude. Because if it hadn’t been for the beer, I doubt this story would actually be funny.
We share stories for the rest of the night. Some are really fun (the time Caio’s dad gave him his mom’s Christmas present by accident, and Caio opened the box to find a red lace thong and decorative candles), while others are tragic (like when Mel had to get an emergency heart surgery right on the day of her college admission exams, so she couldn’t take the test and ended up with a huge scar on her chest).
And we change subjects like that, from thongs to surgery, from cake recipes to internet memes, from politics to TV series. I contribute when I think I should, laugh more than I’m used to, and after the third (or fifth) beer, I can’t even remember the name of the boy who kissed and/or chewed on Caio’s mouth. (That’s a lie, I do remember. His name was Denis.)
The booze makes me hungry, and when I look around trying to find the corn booth, my eyes meet his. Bruno. I feel the smile fade from my mouth as I stare at the guy who makes my life a living hell. Jorge appears right next to him, and Bruno points in my direction. I shouldn’t have stared, but the part of my brain that tells me to look down isn’t working.
When the two of them get close to the table where we’re sitting, Caio is telling a story, but he’s interrupted by Jorge’s strong (and drunk) voice.
“Butterball! You’re already here taking care of all the food at the party!” he says.
Bruno laughs a high-pitched laugh and comes closer to me.
At the same moment, I can feel my face go red with anger. Becky, Mel, and Caio look surprised, and the three of them turn to me with expressions that say, “Do you know these two?” I don’t know how to wriggle out of this one.
“What? You’re not gonna introduce us to your friends? Blondie here is kinda hot,” Jorge says, pointing at Melissa.
Becky slams the table with her fist. It looks like she’s about to lunge at him at any moment.
“Nobody wants you here. Go away, dude,” Becky says in a hard voice, then scoots closer to Mel, who’s obviously embarrassed, and grabs her hand.
“Aaah, so Blondie here is a dyke?” Jorge asks, his voice dripping with scorn, and Bruno is still laughing.
That’s when Jorge notices Caio at the table. He pauses for a second to watch us, and then goes back to staring at me with a confused expression.
“What the hell, Butterball! Is this your little boyfriend? You trying to tell me that you’re not only fat, but now you’re a fag, too?”
And then it all happens very quickly. Bruno bursts in a loud laugh and starts poking my back. Caio looks at me in desperation, and I can see his eyes filling with tears. Rebeca is pissed off and threatens to get up, but I do it first.
I don’t know if it’s the booze that makes me brave, or if it’s the desire to defend my friends. Maybe it’s just the fact that right now I have friends. All I know is that I get up, and for the first time, I’m facing these two without looking down. Without feeling small. In fact, I suddenly realize I’m a little taller than Jorge, and way taller than Bruno. And that makes me even braver.
At first, I don’t know how to stand up for myself. I’m not going to lie to them. Yeah, I’m gay. And, clearly, I’m fat. Denying either of these facts isn’t going to win me any arguments. So I don’t think I have much choice.