Here the Whole Time(45)

I’m smiling because it sounds like just the kind of thing my mom and I like to watch.

“Okay, practice round! Which band inspired Lady Gaga’s stage name? Clock’s ticking!” I almost shout.

“It was … It was …” Caio gets into character immediately. He sits on his mattress to think about it. “Queen! Queen! Queen’s ‘Radio Ga Ga’!” he finally yells, shaking my arm.

“Ssshhh.” I try to keep it down because my mom might be asleep. “Correct. But that was an easy one, too. You have six points.”

“Give me another one!” Caio says in a near whisper.

“What is Madonna’s real name?”

“I need a hint,” Caio says quickly.

I make up the rule on the spot. “If I give you a hint, the right answer will be worth only half the points.”

“I’ll take it.”

“All right, then. It starts with an M.”

“Mary … Jane?” he guesses.

“Incorrect! Her name is actually Madonna!”

“Not fair!” Caio whispers, trying really hard not to shout. “That was a trick question.”

“Nobody said it was easy! You lose twelve points.”

Caio laughs out loud. “Your points system makes absolutely no sense!”

“I know! My show, my rules. Next question,” I say, taking the whole TV host character thing very seriously. “In which year was the movie The Adventures of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert released?”

“I need options for that one!” Caio pleads.

“All right, 1994, 1995, or 1996?”

“’94?”

“Is that your final answer?” I ask, in a terrible imitation of Regis Philbin.

“No! It’s ’95!”

“Wrong!” I say. “It was ’94!”

“I suck at this game,” Caio says, pretending to cry.

And we go on like that for quite some time. I make up questions and decide how many points each one is worth, and Caio does his best to get them all right. Sometimes I add easy questions because I’m nice and don’t want to see Caio lose.

When we’re done playing and my eyes finally close to sleep, I still have a smile on my face.





STAYING UP LATE THINKING OF gay culture trivia questions for my imaginary TV show made me wake up late today. The morning flies by, and suddenly it’s already time for my weekly appointment with Olivia.

I try to organize my thoughts on the way to therapy. For the second week in a row, I have a lot to say, and it makes me anxious and a little worried.

When I get to Olivia’s office (drenched in sweat, as usual), I sit in the armchair, grab a yogurt candy from the table, and don’t even know where to begin.

“So, Felipe, how did the week go?” Olivia asks, kind as always.

“You’ll probably think I died and was replaced by someone else,” I answer. She looks puzzled. “A lot happened in the last few days. Things that never, ever, under any circumstance, have happened in my life.”

Her puzzled look suddenly turns to worry, and I rush to explain.

“No, don’t worry, it’s nothing illegal. Well, maybe just a little bit.”

“Start from the beginning, then,” she says, always suggesting the most obvious option, which, up to this moment, hadn’t occurred to me.

“The good news is that I completed the challenge. I talked to Caio during the day, and we talk a lot! All the time, actually. It’s way easier now.”

A wide smile appears on Olivia’s face, and I’m happy that I’m able to elicit such an emotional response from someone like her.

“That’s a good thing, Felipe. Really good,” she says, pushing the jar of candy toward me so I can get another one. Apparently, that’s the reward for winning the challenge. I grab another one and shove it in my pocket.

And then I start telling her about everything that happened. I talk about how good it was to hang out with Caio and meet Rebeca. Olivia seems happy that I’m making new friends. I talk about how we went to the pool together, and even though I spent the afternoon sitting in a chair just watching, I felt like part of the group, which was good. Olivia is happy that I’m widening my horizons. I even tell her about my new pajamas, but she doesn’t say anything because that doesn’t seem very relevant at the moment.

Finally, I get to the part I’ve been trying to avoid. Because I don’t know how she’s going to react. But I need to put it out in the open, so I spit out one sentence after another, not even stopping to breathe.

“So. On Saturday. We went to a party. I drank beer. Jorge and Bruno showed up. I told them to go fuck themselves.”

I swallow hard, waiting for the police to walk in and take me away in handcuffs for underage drinking and (maybe) because I said fuck in a therapy session.

“Is this the part where I should think you died and were replaced by someone else?” she says with a laugh that I wasn’t expecting.

I nod.

“Tell me more about it.”

And I do. The party at the square, the cans of beer, the insults, my sudden bravery … all of it. After listening to everything intently, Olivia takes a deep breath, scans her notes, and starts talking.

“Well, Felipe, about drinking …” she starts.