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Bad Stereotypes - 11. Monday 27th January 2011
“Bay…” Alex was walking his fingers over my chest as we lay in the sun soaked grass, it was unseasonably hot for January. “I know you’re awake.”
A fly began to buzz around near my face, and I waved it away without opening my eyes.
“Go back to sleep.”
Fingers trailed over my chest, skimming the rough edge of my jeans, picking at the seams of my fly. Alex’s breath was hot on my neck, and a small part of me wondered how he could want to go again already.
“Bay…”
I opened my eyes and smiled up at my… at Alex. He was leaning on his side, propped up on an elbow, his other hand hovering over the bulge in my jeans. The day had started like many others, and after school and track practice we had taken it upon ourselves and the good weather to go for a walk up on the hills. And like every other walk, sleepover and time to hang out that we had attempted over the last six weeks, we had ended up kissing, touching and rubbing against one another until we were both messy and sated.
Life could be described as good.
But that needed an addition. Life could be described as good if either of us was actually happy with our situation. Alex wanted to call me his boyfriend, come out to the world at large, be loud and proud and wear pink. Literally. He had bought me a pale pink t shirt for Christmas with ‘Love It’ written in curly glittery letters and I didn’t have the heart to tell him that the first thing I’d done was hide that shirt in a bag, inside another bag containing all the Christmas wrapping paper, then put it out with the trash after boxing day. It hadn’t taken me long to realise that straight-acting Alex was exactly that. Acting. But by then, the temptation of awesome tasty kisses and parent endorsed ‘sleepovers’ was too strong for me to start ignoring him again.
I went along with it. Except in public.
“Yes?” My voice was short and snappy and Alex blanched slightly.
“Nothing…” Alex’s fingernails caught on the emerging ripples of my abdomen, “No, not nothing. I just was just going to say I thought you looked pretty.”
“Pretty?” My voice was acid. This was another thing we fought about.
“Handsome. Whatever.” Alex sat up properly, and his hands returned to his lap, “I was thinking about coming out to my parents.”
“What? When?” I sat up too, wanting to rub bits of grass and soil off my back. Alex was wearing a very determined look, “Now?”
“Yes. I mean, when we get back to town.”
“We?” I could not have sounded less thrilled.
“Yeah.” Alex started picking at the fabric of my jeans again, something either of us only did when we were nervous or horny, “I was… I was hoping you could come with me.”
“What?” I leapt up, distracting myself from Alex’s kicked-puppy expression by brushing bits of grass off my shoulders, “You want me to come with you?”
“Yes.” Alex turned to face me, hands on his knees, “You know, come and support me to my parents… as my boyfriend.”
“No.” I grabbed up my shirt, I could feel my shoulders starting to shake. I felt sick. “No. I’m not your boyfriend.” Alex sniffed, his eyes red, and I backed away from him, from the feeling building in my abdomen like I was making a huge mistake. “I like you Alex, but it’s fun. We have fun.”
“Fun?” Alex’s voice had gone all echoic and disbelieving, “I’m in love with you and you just think it’s fun?”
“I’m not like you Alex. I can’t do this.”
Suddenly Alex was standing, his shoulders firm, his voice shaking, but angry. There was a fire building behind his eyes and I didn’t want to get burned.
“Not like me?” Alex stepped towards me and I backed away, watching where I put my feet without ever actually taking my eyes off his, “You don’t think you’re like me? You think you can spend months kissing a boy and still be, what, straight?” I didn’t have answer for that, which was good, because Alex didn’t give me time to say anything anyway, “Are you that scared of what everyone will think of you?”
“No.” I wasn’t scared. “I’m not like you Alex. I don’t want to wear pink.” The image of Jim-Boy burned in my mind, the way he had twisted the arm of the guy who looked like me if I’d grown up. The snarl in his voice telling me and every other queer to get lost.
“There is more to being gay than wearing pink.” Alex stopped, “You threw away the shirt I gave you didn’t you?”
“Yes.” I felt like shit right then. “I’m not your boyfriend Alex.” I still wanted to be sick, so I turned on my heel, shirt in hand, pleased id left my trainers on, and began to run.
“You can’t run away forever!” Alex’s shout followed me down the hill, pounding along with my feet. I wanted to cry, punch someone, break something, throw up. I swallowed all the feelings and ran. There’s nothing wrong with a getting a good head start.
The following day at school, Alex announced to everyone that he was gay. The news was taken surprisingly well. He was a popular guy, so the shit the morons and bullies tried to throw at him either didn’t stick or got shoved right back at them by kids who stood up for themselves and their friend. I didn’t speak to him all day.
At practice, I changed in record time and didn’t look at him as we headed out to the field. On the track I fell in step with Zach Sarver, our slowest teammate who had begged to be kept on, promised to do better. Sarver was a nice guy, so I pushed him, and he ran well. After that, I started to do a lot more training with Zach, it kept my mind busy. At our next big race, Alex came in a paltry twelve out of twenty, and as a team, we came in third, even though I’d come in a hair below the front runner and got silver. Pissed, I’d let loose at Alex, blamed our loss on his ‘pansy’ running and stormed off. Alex joined the school’s drama club and started hanging around with different people. He quit cross country.
Our school wasn’t big enough that I wouldn’t see him around, but as the weeks went by I stopped recognising the boy I’d spent so much time with, stopped seeing the Alex I’d wanted to kiss and hold. He changed his hair, went in for straighteners and flashes of colour, wore skin tight jeans and outrageous shirts, got a pair of brothel creepers and wore eyeliner to the school’s mid-term disco. He was no longer the boy-next-door teammate who’ made my heart thump and shudder.
Beginning of March I happened upon him and some of his new friends in the corridor on my way out for training. He smiled at me, and I could just see a glint of the boy I had once known. It wasn’t enough.
“Hi Bay.”
His friends giggled.
“Faggot.” I snarled, and walked away.
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