Birthday(31)

I peeked around the couch, cookie hanging from my teeth, and saw one of the men running for something—president, maybe—say that of course he would consider nominating a gay person to the Supreme Court, not only that, but a lesbian, a bisexual, or even a transgender person. I didn’t know what transgender meant, but I felt what it meant, and I knew part of me felt good to hear a man that important say something like that. But then the host grinned and said, “All rise for the Honorable Justice Chick with Dick!” and the live audience laughed, and my little stomach twisted into knots, and then Mom snickered, and a snort of amusement escaped from Dad.

Even if I tell him, even if he pretends to be okay with my secret, I think I’ve always known I can never, ever forget that deep down, under any smiles and encouragement, he’ll think I’m a joke. A frivolous, useless, hilarious person who could never be something like a judge or a director or … or anything, I guess, but a “chick with a dick,” which I found out much later is a porn term on top of being a punchline. But the other part of me is so tired of feeling this way. Of being alone.

I decide to test him, to give him one chance to push through the cobwebs, to show me he knows me even a little.

“I’ve just been really lonely,” I say through the door.

“I get that,” Dad says.

I rub my temple and sniff. “Maybe … maybe I should get back into sports.”

This is not me. But this is the me he wants. I know it is.

“Really?” Dad says. There’s a note of joy in his voice, like a kid on Christmas morning.

“Mm. Get some exercise. Spend more time with you and Eric.”

Tell me no, I want to scream at him. Tell me you don’t think I can handle that kind of commitment and I need therapy. Sit me down and make me tell you what’s wrong, because no way are you stupid enough to believe this is the solution.

“Well!” Dad says. My shoulders sag and as the last bits of rage ebb away I feel the old pressure behind my eyes. The numbness returns. “Well, I think that’s a great idea. Fantastic! If we start workin’ you hard you might even be ready for varsity next season.”

I sniffle, throw the makeup back in the Kmart bag, and stand on wobbly legs. The makeup is gone, but I still feel its mark upon my face. Dad smiles when I open the bathroom door, but then I walk past him, eyes dead, and stride down the hall toward the door.

“Hey,” he says. “Good. Now let’s eat, okay?”

“I’m not hungry,” I say as I wrench the front door open.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” I say. He starts to argue, but I slam the door, unchain my bike, and ride off into the twilight.





ERIC



“You’re here!” Susan says, beaming and hopping up and down as I walk my bike into Connor’s yard and prop it next to his garage. She runs to me, and when she hugs me she smells like a fancy candle store and, I mean … it’s a lot. I hug her back and cover my pounding heart with a laugh.

“Of course,” I say. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

Twelve of my teammates are here, with ten cheerleaders interspersed. Connor lives on my side of town, and you can tell. Everyone sits on fancy patio furniture around an expensive-looking fire pit, while Lil Wayne blasts from the sound system. Nate already has a girl in his lap and another next to him, both stuck on his every word. Chud has a ring of empties around his chair. They both look up and cheer as Susan and I approach.

Connor jogs over and pulls me into a back-slapping hug. He’s taller than me, almost taller than Chud, but lean and with a stubbled face that’s mature enough for a college freshman, rather than a high school senior. He’s taken me under his wing and sometimes feels more like a big brother to me than Isaac or Peyton.

“Dude!” Connor says, pushing me out to arm’s length and looking me up and down. I adjust my glasses and give him a confused look and he laughs. “Why’d I have to find out it’s your birthday from those jackasses?” He jerks his thumb toward Nate and Chud, who cup their hands around their mouths and howl. Susan snorts and Connor just shakes his head.

“I don’t know,” I say with a shrug. “Aren’t birthdays for little kids?” He wraps an arm around my shoulders and tousles my hair as the three of us walk toward the fire pit.

“Just enjoy it while you can,” he says. “Now hold tight, I’ve got something for you.” He runs inside and I take the empty chair next to Chud. Suddenly, to my surprise, Susan’s bare thighs are on my leg and her arm is around my shoulders. I look up, hoping I’m not blushing too hard, only to find her cheeks turning pink and her eyes dancing nervously.

“Is this okay?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I say. I wrap an arm around her waist, pull her close. “Yeah, this is great.”

“Your attention please!” Connor says. The music cuts off and everyone looks up to find him crossing the yard with a twelve-pack of hard lemonade tucked under each arm. “Let me first say happy birthday to Oak County High’s finest wide receiver in years, Eric McKinley.” Cheers rise from all around the fire and I’m torn between the desire to disappear into myself and the urge to bask in the attention.

Connor drops the drinks next to the almost-empty cooler and places his iPod Nano into a dock by the speakers. “And, second, in honor of our youth, I dedicate tonight to immaturity and guilty pleasures. Bitch beers for everyone, and the playlist is open to anyone who isn’t afraid to let us know what they sing in the shower.”