Riding With Brighton(9)
Jay takes a seat on the end of my bed and tells me, “Your parents seem cool. Like they really love each other.”
“You think? Jesus, they’re sickening,” I say, but I’m smiling. I like how in love they are. Relationship goals.
He chews on the inside of his cheek, and I wait patiently for him to say whatever it is he has to say. “Don’t take this the wrong way. I know I’m gonna totally sound like an idiot, but you don’t seem gay.”
“Yeah.” I laugh, kicking my feet up on the bed, preparing for a long conversation. I’m definitely thinking he’s got some issues he needs to work through. “I get that a lot. From straight people. I still haven’t figured out why people think that all gay guys are feminine. Like we can’t just be normal men.”
“But most gay guys are… feminine, aren’t they?”
“There are plenty of lacy guys out there—”
“Lacy?” he interrupts.
“You know… the kind of guy you think of as gay. But I’m obviously not that type of gay.” I smile so he knows I’m not offended. Living as an openly gay guy in a town like this means this isn’t my first gig as the representative of the entire gay community. I actually like it when people want to talk about it. It’s better than just getting stared at like you murdered someone. You know what they’re all thinking: That guy likes assholes. He nods at me but doesn’t say anything. “You got more questions?”
He raises his eyebrows at me then turns back to the Wall of Wonders. “Yeah. What kind of jobs did you have to get to afford your other obsessions?”
“Hmm… well, I started making those little Japanese cartoon-looking characters when I was twelve.”
“Wait.” He stands and goes back to my shelf, picking one up. “You made these, like from scratch?”
I laugh at his wording. “Yeah, from scratch. My mom is a ceramic artist, so that was my little hobby for a few years. I would go out back in her studio with her and make those little guys. So technically I didn’t have to pay for them.”
“Seriously? That’s… awesome.” He picks up another one and inspects it. “You still do this?”
“No. I’ll go out there and chill with her, whip up a vase or whatever. But no, not obsessed anymore.”
He turns and gives me that smile, plopping down on my bed, leaning back on his elbows. “What about the music?”
“Yeah… that shit I gotta pay for. I gotta little painting business going.”
“Like houses?”
“No, like hand-painted advertising. Mostly I do buildings, but sometimes it’s on vehicles—trucks, cars, motorcycles….”
He looks over his shoulder at me. “Can I see that?”
“What? The painting?”
“Yeah.”
“Sure. I gotta go collect a payment at a drugstore I just finished up. You can come along.”
“Right. We gotta get going.”
“Whenever. No rush.”
He looks back to my wall. “Looks like your taste is eclectic, judging from the bands I recognize.”
“I guess. I go through my stages.”
“You get that stuff off Bandcamp?”
“Mostly. Are you into Bandcamp?”
“Into it? I don’t know. Bought a couple albums off it.”
“That’s cool.” He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who would have to get his music off of anything but iTunes. Figured him for a hot-100 type of guy. Or not a music kind of guy at all.
“Maybe someday you can school me on all these bands I’ve never heard of.”
“You think I’m gonna want to hang out with you again?” I ask, my subtle attempt at flirting with a guy who is very possibly straight.
He laughs. “I guess I don’t know why you would. You must think I’m boring as hell.”
“Why would you say that?”
“I don’t know.” He lies back on my bed. I’m distracted by the sight and by how comfortable he seems to be here with me. “I don’t do anything but play sports and party.”
“What are you supposed to be doing?”
“This, I guess. Playing sports and partying. I don’t know what the hell else I would do.”
“Is there something you want to do?”
“I hope so.”
“But what… you just don’t know what that is yet?”
“God, that sounds so stupid. I’m eighteen years old. I should know who the hell I am by now.”
I laugh out loud at that. “Says who? No one knows who they are when they’re eighteen. Most guys our age are serious about two things—getting laid and masturbating. No one has any real shit figured out.”
He stutters a laugh but doesn’t comment. I don’t know what that means. Maybe he’s agreeing or maybe he thinks I’m stupid. “You got a girlfriend?” I know he was in a relationship for at least a year with Colette Kennedy—they were the golden couple of our school—but I don’t know if he’s with anyone now.
“Yeah. Sadie Newcomb.”
I try not to be disappointed by that. “She’s a junior, right? Blonde… cheerleader?”