Chapter 12 – Chapter 12

Chapter Twelve

We weren't even out of the driveway when Mr. Lustig asked "How long has that been going on?"

"What?"

"Don't play coy, Eric. I'm not blind. Or stupid."

"Last night was the first time."

"For you, for him, or for both."

"For both."

"Are you being honest with me?"

"Well, we made out some a couple of years ago. But, that stopped when Steve's friends saw him with me and joked about me being his 'date.'"

"I wondered what happened between the two of you. I asked Steve, and all he would say was 'nothing.'"

"It wasn't nothing to me."

We stopped behind of our building, and Mr. Lustig turned off the car. I knew he wasn't going to the plant.

"Is Steve gay?"

"I don't know. I don't think you can tell with 18 year olds. They experiment a lot."

"I can tell with you."

"I think I'm a special case. I wouldn't make footprints on a beach."

"Maybe."

"Would it bother you if he is?"

"Of course."

"Does it bother you that I'm gay?"

"No."

"Then why would it bother you if he's gay?"

"I don't know. I guess maybe it shouldn't. But it would. It just would. He's my son."

"Please don't ever tell him that. No one should hear that from a parent."

We were quiet for awhile. "You going in?" I asked.

"Yes."

"I'll stay out here."

My mother was at the salon that day 12-8, so she was home when Mr. Lustig knocked. I napped in the car, avoiding whatever filled the 45 minutes he was inside.

Our apartment was visible from many others. Our neighbors had to wonder about the strange car that was always out back or the man that disappeared inside for brief respites. I did not see how my mother's affair was not going to become a public spectacle. I prayed mine would not, if it was an affair I was having.

*****

I didn't talk to Steve all weekend. I didn't call him, and he didn't call me.

I did have to talk to my mother about him. While I napped in the car, Mr. Lustig told my mother that her son and his son had spent Thanksgiving night exploring each other.

My mother was like a high school girl. She wanted to hear all about it. I'm generally afraid of secrets, but this felt like one I needed to cherish, not fear. I deflected my mother's inquiries, insisting it would be weird to share details with her. "I don't want to know yours, and I don't want to tell you mine."

She relented on details, but insisted on knowing the scope of our relationship and where I thought it was headed.

"I don't think there's a relationship," I said. "For all I know, it was a one shot deal." I laughed at my minimization (it had at least been a four shot deal). When my mother asked why I was laughing, I deflected her again.

"Whatever happened with Evans?" she asked, ripping the scab off a pretty fresh wound. I told her about the letter I had received, another secret I had cherished, not feared. I dug it out from under the shoebox I kept in the hall closet and let her read it. Tears ran down her cheeks as she finished.

"That poor boy," she said.

"I can't understand a parent doing that."

"Me, either," she agreed. "It's terribly, terribly wrong. It makes me sad and sick. It makes me want to visit the Fowlers and give them what for. It makes me want to scream."

I knew my mother's rage resided in her fear that Evans' parents' actions would make him feel like he had only one way out. And that he'd take it, like my father had.

"Me, too," I agreed. Tears were now running down my cheeks, too. But mine were tears of happiness, at not being a Fowler, of being an Akers, of not being alone, of having a mother who loved me, accepted me, embraced me, and shaded me.

*****

To my great relief, Steve was at my locker when I got to school on Monday morning. I was pensive about his presence until he said "Hi, Cupcake."

I answered by whispering "I wish you wouldn't call me that."

"I have to. For appearances. Plus, you'd rather be a cupcake than a cookie, right?"

"Right."

"Anyway, I slipped something in your locker. Read it, but not until you get home. Do not read it here. Think about it after you read it. And then let's talk about it."

I was thrilled to find the envelope Steve had left. I folded it over and tucked it in my front pocket for safekeeping.

I read it as I walked home that day:

It's Friday morning. You just left with my dad. I'm going to write this down before I chicken out.

I'm a little freaked out about last night.

I'm not sure why I did what we did. I'm not sure what it means. I've always had a soft spot for you. I'm not sure why.

I'm not sure what happens going forward. But, I know that what happened last night, and whatever happens going forward, has to be vaulted. You can't tell anyone, not even Lori. We have to act at school like nothing's changed between us. We can be casual, but we can't be friends. I'm stronger now than I was two years ago, but I'm not strong enough for innuendo and rumors. I won't run from them (I'm still very sorry about that!), but I can't court them.

I want you to spend the night Friday.

Please tear this into as many pieces as you can and then burn those pieces. Then bury them.

I read the note over and over as I waited for my mother to get home from work. At one level, the idea of "whatever happens going forward" thrilled me. On another, the whole idea of pretending all day every day scared me. Witnessing it over a dinner had sent me spiraling. Doing it every day – and worrying about what would happen if the pretense failed – might overwhelm me.

My mother raised one eyebrow as she read the note. It was a skill I had inherited and that I had used for great effect, especially at school with teachers.

"What do you think?" I asked, when she looked up.

"I'm not sure. What do you think?"

"I'm not sure, either. On the one hand, I'd like to see where this goes. On the other hand, I'm afraid it will go to a bad place, especially if innuendo and rumors start swirling."

"You should plan on that happening. You have over half the school year left. You boys'll slip up, and the fishbowl will fill."

"I know. I'm fine with it."

"That's easier for you, Eric. Innuendo and rumors have swirled around you your entire life. Not everyone has experienced the same sort of scrutiny. Most people don't start a journey together from the same spot. One's always ahead of the other, at least a little. You can't insist that Steve or anyone else be where you are, at least to start."

"So, you think I should be okay with this?"

"I think you have to figure out what you're in for. I think you have to figure out how strong you are. I think you have to figure out what you want. I can't answer any of those questions for you. I can tell you what I would do, but I'm not you. And, you're not me. You certainly wouldn't have made some of the choices I've made."

I was on my own. I had an adult decision to make. I needed some quiet time to think it through.

I was awake most of the night, searching for clarity. I thought I knew what I should do. I know I knew what I wanted to do.

In the end, I followed my heart. I reasoned that, in life, the only constant is change. Neither life nor relationships were static. Today's non-negotiable condition could be tomorrow's memory. When my mother woke up the next morning, I told her I was spending Friday at Steve's.