Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda(13)

“And Nick played guitar,” Abby says.

“Nick’s very talented,” says my mom.

“Oh, I know,” Abby replies. “Girls were like swooning over him.”

“That’s why I keep telling Simon to learn guitar. His sister used to play.”

“I’m going to bed,” I say. “Abby, are you good?” My mom has Abby staying in Alice’s room, which is hilarious, considering Nick has been spending the night on my bedroom floor for about ten years.

It isn’t until I’m in my room that I can finally relax. Bieber is already passed out at the foot of my bed in a nest of jeans and hoodies. My dementor robes end up in a heap on the floor. I did aim for the hamper. I’m kind of comically unathletic.

I lie on top of my bed without getting in it. I hate messing up the sheets before I absolutely have to. I know this is weird, but I make my bed every single day, even though the rest of my room is a hellscape of paper and laundry and books and clutter. Sometimes I feel like my bed is a lifeboat.

I put in my earbuds. Nora and I share a wall, so I’m not supposed to listen to anything through the speakers after she goes to bed.

I need something familiar. Elliott Smith.

I’m wide awake and still kind of electrified from the party. I think it was good. I don’t have a lot to compare it to. It’s a little bit crazy to think that I had a beer. I know it’s astonishingly lame to even think that about a single beer. Garrett and all the soccer guys probably think it’s crazy to stop at one. But they’re not me.

I don’t think I’ll tell my parents about it. I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t get in trouble if I did. I don’t know. I need to spend some time in my head with this new Simon. My parents have a way of ruining things like this. They get so curious. It’s like they have this idea of me, and whenever I step outside of that, it blows their minds. There’s something so embarrassing about that in a way I can’t even describe.

I mean, telling my parents was easily the weirdest, most horrible thing about having a girlfriend. All three times. It was honestly worse than any of the breakups. I’ll never forget the day I told them about my eighth-grade girlfriend. Rachel Thomas. Oh my God. First, they wanted to see her yearbook picture. My dad actually brought the yearbook into the kitchen where the light is better, and he was perfectly silent for a full minute. And then: “That girl has some eyebrows.”

I mean, I hadn’t noticed until he said it, but after that, it was kind of all I could think about.

My mom was the one who got obsessed with the idea that I had a girlfriend even though I had never had one before. I don’t know why that came as such a freaking surprise to her, since I’m pretty sure most people start out never having had one. But yeah. And she wanted to know everything: how Rachel and I got together, and what my feelings were, and whether we needed her to drive us anywhere. She was just so bizarrely interested in all of it. It didn’t help that my sisters never talk about boys or dating, so it was like a huge spotlight on me.

Honestly, the weirdest part is how they made it feel like this big coming out moment. Which can’t be normal. As far as I know, coming out isn’t something that straight kids generally worry about.

That’s the thing people wouldn’t understand. This coming out thing. It’s not even about me being gay, because I know deep down that my family would be fine with it. We’re not religious. My parents are Democrats. My dad likes to joke around, and it would definitely be awkward, but I guess I’m lucky. I know they’re not going to disown me. And I’m sure some people in school would give me hell, but my friends would be fine. Leah loves gay guys, so she’d probably be freaking thrilled.

But I’m tired of coming out. All I ever do is come out. I try not to change, but I keep changing, in all these tiny ways. I get a girlfriend. I have a beer. And every freaking time, I have to reintroduce myself to the universe all over again.





6


FROM: [email protected]

TO: [email protected] DATE: Nov 1 at 11:12 AM

SUBJECT: Re: hollow wieners

Jacques,

I hope your Halloween was excellent, and that your simplicity and badassery hit the mark. Things were really quiet around here. We only had about six trick-or-treaters. Of course, that means I am contractually obligated to eat the leftover Reese’s cups.

I can’t believe it’s already almost homecoming. I’m excited about it. Make no mistake, football is still my least favorite sport, but I actually really like going to the homecoming game. I guess it’s something about the lights and the drumbeats and the scent of the air. Fall air always smells like possibility. Or maybe I just like ogling the cheerleaders. You know me.

Are you doing anything interesting this weekend? We’re supposed to have suck nice weather. Excuse me, dick nice weather. ?

—Blue

FROM: [email protected] TO: [email protected]

DATE: Nov 1 at 5:30 PM

SUBJECT: Reese’s are better than sex Very funny, Blue. VERY FUNNY.

Anyway, I’m sorry you got stuck at home last night for only six trick-or-treaters. What a waste. Next year, couldn’t you just stick the bowl on the porch with a note telling the kids to take two? Granted, the kids in my neighborhood would have taken candy by the fistful while cackling with villainous laughter, and they probably would have peed on the note for good measure. But maybe the kids in your neighborhood are more civilized.