I'd Give Anything(35)

“Hey, Zinny,” he said.

“Hey, Gray.” It came out in a whisper.

Gray handed me one of the blankets, then billowed out the other to lay it on the ground, and he’d performed this very same act in that very same spot so many times that for a second, the last few days disappeared, and we were us.

But we didn’t lie down, and I didn’t cocoon us both inside the second blanket. I put the blanket around my shoulders, and we sat, first me, then Gray, with our backs against the garage wall and two feet between us that may as well have been a mile. For the first time since we’d started being friends, even including the time I screamed at him in the ACME parking lot, I couldn’t think of what to say to him, and I still understood him enough to know he was feeling the same way.

Finally, I said, “I could never hate you. And I don’t think you lied on purpose. I’m sorry I said those things.”

Gray let out a long breath. “Thank you. But no way can I let you apologize. Everything is my fault.”

“No, I was horrible.”

“No,” said Gray.

For a long time, we just sat there, our two separate breathings ghosting and vanishing, ghosting and vanishing in the air.

“My dad always told me that if I tried my best, I would succeed. And he was right. About football, about school. I’m not a natural at anything; I have to work hard. But it’s always paid off. And I know that makes me lucky,” said Gray, in his same exact voice as ever, the voice I loved. Love.

“And I felt for a long time that I might be gay, but I also thought that if I tried my best not to be, it might work,” he said. “And then there you were.”

“You used me. Is that what you’re saying?” It didn’t come out angry. I didn’t feel angry. But I had to ask the question.

“I guess I did, now that I look back on it. But that’s not what I thought then. You’ve always been gorgeous and fearless. You’ve always seemed like this magical creature to me.”

“Oh!” I pressed my hand over my mouth.

“Zin?”

“It’s just—” And I was crying.

“I’m sorry. I just wanted to explain,” said Gray, upset. He might be different from a lot of boys in some ways, but he gets just as freaked out by a crying girl as any.

“No,” I said, gasping. “Give me a sec.”

When I could breathe again, I said, haltingly, “I’ve just been so worried that you might, all this time, have thought I was—not pretty, or maybe even—disgusting. And you had to force yourself to be with me.”

“Zin, no. Never. You’re so beautiful. And I love being with you. You’re my favorite person. I wasn’t lying when I said I loved you. I did. I do.”

Those words. From that boy. I knew they didn’t mean what I wanted them to mean, but they still made my heart jump. Poor heart.

“It’s why I thought maybe I could be different,” he said. “There were times when I thought I was almost there.”

“But it never happened,” I said.

“One night, I realized it was no use. And I knew that if it couldn’t happen with you, beautiful, amazing Zinny who I love so much, it wouldn’t happen with any girl.”

I knew what night he meant.

“I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,” he said. “I couldn’t figure out how.”

“It’s okay.”

We talked for a long time, until it was almost morning. Somewhere in there, I told Gray that I loved him, too. And I said that he had to let himself be himself, and everything would be all right. I think that’s true. I hope he believed me. I hope that for once, I was his “Let It Be.”

I’m making it sound like this conversation tied everything up with a nice bow, but, right now, tonight, everything isn’t all right. Almost nothing is. I still want this to all be a bad dream.

Maybe it is. Maybe I’ll wake up one day and Gray and I will still be in love.

But in this here and now, this dream or not-dream, I told my friend Gray I would stand by him. And I will. I am.





November 10, 1997

Tonight, Gray told his dad. He called me afterward. He said that his father didn’t yell or even get visibly upset.

“He just sat there for a long time. And then he said, ‘Are you sure?’ And I said yes. Then, he got really quiet.”

“Oh,” I said.

Gray’s dad never got quiet. He was the talkingest man I’d ever met.

“I know,” said Gray. “Then, later, right before he went to work, he said, ‘Announcing it that way took guts anyway.’ I guess it was kind of a compliment, but: anyway? He didn’t wait for me to answer, just walked out.”

“It’ll be okay,” I said.

“What if he never talks to me—like really talks to me—again?”

“He will,” I said. “He loves you.”

“He loves who he thought I was,” said Gray. His voice made me ache for him.

“You are who he thought you were,” I said. “You’re still you. And he loves you. He loves the you in you.”

I hope I’m right. I have to be right, don’t I? I hope Gray’s dad is as kind and decent as I think he is. I hope he’s who Gray has always thought he was.