Just For the Week

We meet early at Tyson’s house. After our run, Tyson offers me the shower first. Twenty minutes later I’m in black jeans with a purple polo, half tucked in, half out. I’m even wearing a belt. Tyson tells me that I can wait in his room if I want. While he showers, I sneak across into the art room. This room was the scene of the crime five days ago. His stunning creations are as amazing as anything we’ll see at the museum later. To me anyway.

As I head back to his bedroom, Miranda intercepts me in the hall. Even though the shower is on and there’s no way Tyson can hear us, she leans in and whispers, “I’m guessing Tyson didn’t tell you, but Sunday is his half-birthday.”

She sees the confused look on my face and explains. He turned 18 six months ago, but his whole life, their parents didn’t think it was fair to him to have to celebrate his birthday just after Thanksgiving and so close to Christmas. The weather is bad, people are busy, you get gipped on presents… So, they always celebrate his half-birthday instead.

“Our parents won’t be back from New York yet and, well, I just thought you should know.” She disappears down the hall.

Shit. I was already cast to be the villain in our little drama. What the fuck do I do now? Do I break his heart (and my own) at midnight ruining both prom night and his sort-of-birthday, or do I wait, making it worse later? Either way, is anyone on planet earth a bigger asshole than me?

No, no, no. I have to remind myself that the right decision isn’t just the right decision for me. He has a whole world of opportunity ahead of him as well. No matter what direction he goes in, I know Tyson Courtland will win at life. I have no right to stand in his way.

I have to stop thinking. Fuck.

~~

It’s our ninth day together, but I can’t help getting a giddy feeling about being in Tyson Courtland’s bedroom again. I mean, come on, he’s Tyson Courtland. The Tyson Courtland. His room is as neat and clean as the first time I was here. Other than a couple pairs of Shaq-sized sneakers in the corner, everything seems to be in perfect place.

When I used to have erotic dreams about Connor, one of them was of me being alone in his bedroom. I would snoop through his things, find his underwear drawer, go through his hamper of dirty clothes, try on his oldest, most beat-up sneakers, steal some souvenirs, etc. As I wait alone in Tyson’s room, it’s not just that I won’t allow myself to do those things…I don’t even feel the impulse to. I don’t want Tyson’s things. I want Tyson.

I sit down on his bed and the shower turns off. Within a minute he walks into the room wearing a pair of jeans, but nothing else. He moves around in front of me like it’s no big deal. I feel my heart rate kick up and I know that I’m blushing. Tyson notices and asks if I’m okay. I just nod and I can’t rip my eyes away from him. Suddenly I wish we were spending the day at the beach or a pool or anywhere that he could remain shirtless. I force myself to divert my gaze before I get caught ogling.

Tyson looks me up and down, “You look good. I like the color.”

I blush again, but I take a chance and say, “You look pretty damn good yourself right now.”

Fortunately, he laughs. I stand and walk up to him. I put my hands around his waist and pull him in close. I crane my neck up and we kiss. Our first kiss was amazing and each one since has only gotten better.

Just then, a throat clears from behind us and Miranda says, “You really should remember to close your door.”

We separate quickly and this time we’re both blushing. Miranda disappears and I say, “Oops.”

Tyson slides his big feet into socks, pulls on a shirt and says, “I guess I should talk to her…soon.”

I step up to him again and take his hand. “Speaking for myself, getting busted was totally worth it.” I give him my best charming smile and he squeezes my hand.

The museum awaits. “Let’s bounce.”

~~

My parents are gone all weekend for my older brother’s college graduation and my kid brother is sleeping over at a friend’s house. I cook Tyson dinner at my house. After, he offers to help clean up. We’re standing side by side in front of the sink. We turn and face each other. Tyson spreads his legs about three feet apart so that he doesn’t have to crane his neck down and I don’t have to stretch up. We’re the same height now. Almost. He puts his hands on my hips and we do my favorite thing. His hands work their way under my shirt and onto my bare skin. I quiver from his light touch and goosebumps spring onto my flesh. In this moment the whole world seems to shrink down to just the two of us, right here, right now. Soft tenderness turns to rough passion. My whole body is responding and I squeeze him tightly. I wish we didn’t have to go to that fucking bonfire. I just want to stay in with Tyson and watch a movie curled up together on the couch. Keep doing more of what we’re doing. But responsibility is like a kick in the dick. I suppose we are the poster boys of inclusion week. Sigh.

We finish the cleanup and I run up to my room, swapping my polo for a hoodie. The temperature is supposed to drop this evening, so better safe than sorry.

I give Tyson a reluctant, “Lets bounce.”

~~

There’s a group of protesters across the street from the school parking lot. As we get close enough to read their signs, we’re assaulted by their hatred and ignorance. Their chants match the hate-speech on their signs: “GOD H8S FAGS”, “YOU’RE GOING TO HELL”, “AMERICA IS DOOMED” and “FAGS ARE BEASTS”. Tyson reaches over and squeezes my hand as he passes by them and turns into the parking lot. I recognize about half of them as people from our class, including Hannah, Stacey, Kevin and Ricky. My heart rate kicks up and my face flushes in anger.

Tyson says, “They don’t matter.” He squeezes my hand harder. “I could turn around and we could leave. I think people would understand.”

I would have jumped at the chance to stay home with Tyson an hour ago, but now that we’re here…I say firmly, “No. They don’t get to win.” I have to remind myself that they are the minority. “We shouldn’t be surprised. Based on the Facebook comments going all the way back to our promposal post, we should have known this was coming.” I turn and look at him, “What about you? Some of those people used to be your friends.” He cringes.

“Besides questioning my own judgment and intelligence...”

“No. Don’t. You don’t know who people are until they show you. This isn’t on you. Fuck them.”

We find our fellow council members and offer our assistance, but Ellen and Heather have everything under control.

Mrs. Horan is also here as the nominated school representative to ensure safety and appropriate behavior. She informs us, “The police have been notified of the protesters and they plan to drive by periodically throughout the evening to ensure the protest remains peaceful. We’ve been asked to not engage with them. We should call 911 immediately if the situation changes.”

Somehow Mrs. Horan’s announcement leaves me feeling less comforted and more uneasy. But the protest is across the street. I look around and I see friendly faces. I see Danny, Layne, Troy, Gabe, Ellen, Heather, Connor, Natalee and many others. We’re good here. We might as well enjoy the night.

There’s a s’mores-making station. Even before I gave up sugar, I never liked s’mores. I don’t get it. No matter how perfectly a marshmallow is toasted, it will never be hot enough to melt a square of chocolate. And marshmallows gross me out anyway. They’re like eating sweet foam rubber. Yuck.

The music is loud and the fire is roaring. There’s a Glow Stick Capture the Flag station and a Team Scare Competition. Tyson and I defeat all challengers in capture the flag. As the evening progresses, couples begin to gather around the fire. We’re standing near Danny and Layne and Natalee and Connor. Tyson is holding my hand, but most of the couples are kissing. Tyson and I are not “out” in general. Hand holding is one thing, everybody knows that we’re “together” for the week, but kissing in front of everybody? Tyson leans down and whispers, “Follow me.”

We slip away from the group, away from everyone. Tyson takes me under the bleachers on the “home” side of the football field. This is even farther away from the protesters – farther away from everyone. Nobody else is around. Because there’s an outdoor school event, the field lights are on, but under the bleachers it’s shadowy and dark. Tyson says, “We haven’t really talked about public displays of affection beyond handholding. I thought we could use a little privacy.”

I rest my forehead against his chest. “Hmm. PDA is a weighty subject. What are your thoughts?”

“I already told you, there is only one person whose opinion matters to me. I’d rather make prom week more memorable for us than worry about what others think. But if you’re not ready, then I don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“We should talk about it, but right now, we’re alone.”

We begin to lean into each other and I hear something. Urgent pounding footsteps. Someone is running and the sound is getting closer. Suddenly the runner is upon us, slamming full force into Tyson, who, with an oomph, literally goes airborne and lands ten feet away.

I can see now that it’s Kevin Johnson. Kevin looks down at Tyson as he’s splayed on the ground and says, “I knew you were a fucking fa-”

“Hey, asshole,” I cut him off. I stop him from saying that word, but he barely registers my presence. Either I don’t matter to him or I’m just a slight nuisance, easily dealt with after Tyson. I can see that Tyson, still on the ground, has had the wind knocked out of him. He’s desperately trying to breathe in but can’t. He can’t do anything right now. Kevin’s attention is 100% on Tyson and he begins to move toward him. I’m no physical match for Kevin Johnson, but I have to at least buy Tyson some time. I have to give him a chance to recover and find his air or Kevin will kill him. I remember what Tyson had told me about Kevin being strong, but slow. Just don’t let him catch me. I also remember how Tyson goaded him into throwing a punch.

I try to get his attention again. “Hey, Tiny Dick!” This stops him. As he turns to look at me, I notice that Stacey, Hannah and Ricky are all watching from a distance. Those three homophobes are the only other people around. No support for our side anywhere. It looks like Hannah has her phone out and is recording the scene.

Kevin is facing me now. “What the fuck did you say?”

“I called you by your new name, Tiny Dick! Because everyone knows your steroids left you with a micro penis. I’d try kicking you in the dick, but the target is so small, I’d probably miss.”

I must have said the magic words, because now he seems to have forgotten about Tyson and he moves to grab me. I easily twist away. He lunges again and I dart again. Now he runs straight at me, but I run too and I’m quick and agile while he’s slow and stiff. I have to balance not letting him catch me with staying close enough to him that he doesn’t decide to give up on me and turn back to Tyson. It’s a delicate dance and not easy to do. I also attempt to keep his attention by continuing to antagonize him. I call him, “needle dick” and “teeny peeny” and he roars in anger as he continues his pursuit.

I’m having no problem keeping ahead of him, but there are too many dark shadows and I trip on an angled metal support beam that I don’t see in time. I can hear a laugh in the distance from our small audience as I land hard, face first on the jagged rocky surface. Kevin pounces and he’s on me. He’s all muscle and over 250 pounds. I’m probably 135 soaking wet. He has a knee on my upper back, one hand pressing on my lower back and the other hand mashes my face hard into the stony earth. He crushes every last bit of air out of my burning lungs and I can’t breathe. I’m trapped and helpless. All I had to do was stay ahead of that fucker and I failed. He’s gonna kill us both and it’s all my fault. How long does it take for a person to lose consciousness? Or to die?

Just then, Kevin is ripped off me. I inhale a lungful of sweet cool air and roll over. Tyson. He must have had just enough time to recover. He drags Kevin aside and gives him a chance to stand up. Kevin is the strongest guy in our class, but Tyson takes second place. Plus, Kevin is slow and stupid. He winds up for a big, powerful but deliberate punch that Tyson easily dodges. Kevin’s follow through carries him forward and Tyson takes advantage of that momentum by delivering an uppercut to the gut. Kevin collapses in a heap.

At this point, Ricky realizes that his friend might be in trouble and he starts running toward them. Tyson has his hands full with Kevin, who’s back up again, so I scramble to my feet and run to intercept Ricky. I slide into his path and trip him. He catapults forward and lands face-down on the gravely ground. I approach Ricky as he attempts to stand. He’s on his hands and knees when I give a powerful kick to his ribs. I hear a crack followed by a yelping gasp and he crashes back down. I squat, kneel on his back and speak into his ear, “If you try getting up again before Tyson and I walk out of here, the next kick will break your jaw.” I stand up straight and emphasize my dominance by stepping on the side of his head and pressing his face harder into the sharp rocks. I look back to the Tyson and Kevin show.

Kevin takes another swing and misses again. This time, Tyson connects with his face. Kevin’s head snaps back, but he stays on his feet. Tyson is done toying with him. He delivers a quick one-two to the solar plexus, followed by one more to the jaw and Kevin falls.

Stacey and Hannah are both screaming from their spot on the sidelines. Hannah still has her phone out and is wailing, “Assault! Help!”

I take my foot off of Ricky’s head and approach the shrieking girls. We’re a good distance from the bonfire and I know that the loud music is drowning out their cries. Even if anyone hears, it’ll take a few minutes before help or witnesses arrive. I walk up to Hannah Vaughn and snatch her phone right out her hand. She screams, “Hey! What are you doing?”

I look at her screen, press stop on the recording and delete the video. I say, “Once and for all, Hannah Vaughn, shut the fuck up.” I whip her phone to the ground and stomp on it three times. Satisfied that it’s beyond repair, I pick it back up and slip it into my pocket. I look at Stacey and speak what I believe are the first words ever passed between us. “Where’s yours?”

She holds out her empty hands for me to see. “It never left my bag.”

I say to the two of them, “I don’t think either of you saw anything here tonight. Now get the fuck out of here.” They scurry away.

Tyson appears at my side and I take a quick look back to make sure that neither Kevin nor Ricky is moving. I say, “You know how in horror movies, you think the guy is dead but he comes back to life for one more attack?” They remain still and quiet.

Tyson says, “They’re not dead and this isn’t a movie.” He hooks his arm around my shoulders, “Are you okay?”

“I don’t know why I need to be constantly saved from that guy.”

“Hey, you saved me. I had the crap knocked out of me. I couldn’t move.” He squeezes his arm tight around me, “You are a fucking idiot!”

Not what I was expecting, “What?”

“You should have run. He wasn’t interested in you. You should have gotten the hell out of there and stayed safe. Look at you.” He angles my face to get a better look at the damaged left side. I wasn’t really aware of it before, but now it feels wet and sticky.

“And leave you there defenseless? You couldn’t breathe. Seriously? We’re in this together. You have to know that running away was never an option. Then I tripped and…” I trail off.

“You were brilliant and brave and stupid.” We stop walking. “If anything had happened to you…” He sounds genuinely terrified and tears run down his cheeks. “I don’t know what I’d…” He sniffs. “You should have run and saved yourself.”

“You couldn’t breathe! He would have killed you!”

“And he almost killed you.” He hugs me so hard; my feet leave the ground and I almost lose my air again. He lets go and we resume walking.

I say, “I guess we saved each other. If I could go back, the only thing I’d do differently is not trip on that fucking beam.”

Tyson almost chuckles, “We make a pretty good team.” He puts an arm around my shoulders.

We walk past the school gym and I take Hannah’s phone out of my packet. With all my might, I hurl it and it lands on the gym roof. Tyson looks at me and says, “You do realize that they attacked us, right? We were the victims here. Video doesn’t lie.”

“It could with creative editing. What if the recording started with me taunting Kevin and calling him names? He finally catches me and you swoop in and attack him. She could have manipulated the video to make it tell a completely different story. It’s not worth the risk. Neither of us is getting expelled over any of those assholes.”

Tyson looks at me, “I hate to break it to you Pearson, but there’s evidence of what happened tonight all over your face. And I mean that literally.”

~~

“Where are your first aid supplies?”

“I’ll get them.”

He steps in front of me. “Before you look in the mirror, just know that it’s not as bad as it looks. I’ll get you all cleaned up.”

That scares me. I go into the bathroom and flip on the light. I’m a terrifying sight; like a creature from a slasher film. Dried blood trails on my face. Even though I’m not feeling the pain, I begin to crack. I start shaking and shuddering. Tyson is nearby and swoops in. He carries me to the couch before dashing back into the bathroom and reemerging with the first aid kit.

I look up at him, “I did this to Ricky.” I point to my own fucked up face. “I didn’t have to. He was down. He was done. Did I need to mash his face harder into those rocks? Did I need to crack his ribs? Did I really need to threaten to break his jaw? I didn’t know that was in me. It’s like I got angry and hulked out. And you... Kevin could have killed you.”

“Your quick thinking saved both of us.”

“I thought I was an idiot.”

“A heroic idiot.” Tyson continues to clean and disinfect my wounds. “Ricky made his choice. He picked the wrong side. Don’t waste one more brain cell thinking about that asshole. It’s not like he was some innocent victim. He so deserved what he got.”

“When did you get the shiner and the new bruise on your jaw?” The old bruise from last week was finally almost gone.

“Kevin got a few elbows in while I was dragging him off of you.” He finishes dabbing my face and uses his phone’s camera to show me. “See, it’s not nearly as bad as it first looked. You’ll be scraped up for a while, but in the meantime, you look like a freaking badass with street cred.”

I almost laugh. It’s after 10:00 already and I worry that he’ll be leaving soon. I’m still shaking and rocked by what’s happened. “It’s just so unfair. Why do some people get to be who they are out in the open with no fear of consequence and others can’t? I mean ‘normal’ is subjective. My normal, your normal, our normal might be different from many others, but that doesn’t make it wrong.” He puts his phone away and I lean against him. “And what the fuck? Go ahead and don’t like it. You do you and let us do us. How are we hurting anyone? We’re not. What the fuck is with the anger and violence?” I shudder as I take in a broken breath.

He squeezes me tighter. “I’m not leaving you alone tonight. Someone needs to be here. Danny? Your brother? Or me? I mean, like, I’d stay on the couch or something. Nothing is going to… I mean I just want to be here. With you. If you want.”

It’s cute that he’s embarrassed. I look at him and he’s blushing. “Yes, that’s what I want.”

“Good. Just let me text Miranda.”

He’s gone a long time. When he finally returns, he hands me a mug of hot cocoa. He also has the comforter and pillow from my bed and he’s wearing just a t-shirt, boxers and socks. He says, “I don’t mean to be presumptuous, but when I said I didn’t want you to be alone, I didn’t just mean alone in the house. I need to be with you. You know…to make sure you’re okay.”

I smile at him and take my hot cocoa. It’s perfect. Not too sweet but just sweet enough. Hot, but not too hot to drink. I click the remote and mindlessly channel-surf as he sits on the couch next to me and pulls my feet up onto his lap. I sip my drink while Tyson gently massages me. It’s really nice. Between the hot cocoa, the warmth of my comforter and the foot rub, I’m beginning to feel human again. I set my empty cup down on the table, stand up and pull off my hoodie and jeans. We lay on the couch and in our underwear with Tyson spooning me. His muscled arms are wrapped around me. Tyson pulls the comforter over us. I can’t remember the last time I felt so warm and safe. And loved. Sleep hits me hard.

Nine days down and one to go.

~~

Light streams through the family room window. We’re still in the same position we fell asleep in; me the little spoon. I suspect, by his breathing, that he’s awake too. I slowly turn onto my back and see his open crystal-blue eyes. He smiles. He brushes my hair off my forehead and trails his finger down the undamaged side of my face, down my jaw line, down my neck, down my chest, makes my stomach quiver and stops just before reaching my boxers. He circles around my navel and trails back up to my chest. I’m lost in those eyes as he finger-draws on my bare skin. 

I wish we could stay in all day. I would happily skip prom and not move from where I am right now. But we have commitments. Responsibilities.

He asks me, “Did you sleep okay?”

The couch is a tight fit for two people, but in Tyson’s arms, I slept like a baby. “Yeah, I did. Thanks for staying. I really needed that.”

“I needed it too. If I’d gone home, I would have just been up all night worrying about you being alone. Head injuries are nothing to mess around with.”

“I’m cut up and bruised, not concussed.” I suspect he stayed awake all night intentionally to watch over me. “You couldn’t have been too comfortable smashed all night between the back of the couch and my ass.”

He laughs. “I had trouble sleeping, but it wasn’t from a lack of comfort. Holding you in my arms all night was not the worst way to spend eight hours.”

“So why didn’t you sleep?”

“Do you really want to know?”

Maybe I don’t. “Yes, tell me.”

“I couldn’t sleep because I don’t want midnight tonight to ever come. I want to remember every minute with you. I told you that I’d win you over this week, but I’m not so sure I succeeded. And the attack last night doesn’t help my cause. I said I’ll respect your decision, whatever it is, and I will. If you kick me out of your life tonight, I will be gone. I’ll be broken, but I’ll be gone.” His eyes brim with tears.

I wrap my arms around him and kiss his forehead. “If I say no, you have to know that it’s not because of anything you did or didn’t do. You said you’d win me over this week…you won me over the first day. When you knew Vienna and told me it was one of your favorite songs. When you took me to your house and showed me that collage. When you gave me my first sushi experience and revealed the real you. When you showed me your art and told me about your true passion. When you told me that you ‘like-like’ me too and that I am the best friend you’ve ever had. You won me over and over and over.” I take in a deep breath. “So if I say no, you’ll know there’s only reason why. To protect us in the long run. If we break now, there’s time to heal.”

He says, “But if we don’t break now, you don’t know that we will break later. You can’t know. We might never break. Sure, it would be hard. Life is hard. We already know that life will be harder for us, whether we’re together or not, because of who we are. But it could be better together.” He sniffs and another tear rolls down his cheek. “What if we weren’t really…” He trails off.

“What if we weren’t really what?” I ask.

“Nothing. Well anyway, that’s why I couldn’t sleep.” He taps at his phone for a minute and lets out a sigh.

“Is it your dad? What’s wrong?”

“No, nothing like that. The Bulls lost last night. It’s over. They’re over.”

I can see in his face that he’s afraid the end of the Bulls’ season is a metaphor for our relationship. “That sucks.” I stand up. “Follow me.” I lead him to the bathroom and offer him a new toothbrush as I grab my own. “This isn’t the movies; it’s real life. I have morning mouth.” He smiles and we brush in unison. The mirror tells me that I still look a little like something from a Stephen King novel, but the night made some of the redness and swelling fade. Tyson’s black eye, however, looks worse.

I say, “Look at us. Tonight’s prom. What do we do?”

He says, “Well I’m going to slip on a pair of Ray-Bans and look even cooler than usual. I don’t know what you’re going to do.”

I playfully elbow him in the ribs. Our fresh mouths find each other, but the mood is off and the streak is over. We’d peaked and now we’re on the other side. I whisper in his ear, “Someone recently said something wise. Something about taking life as it comes.”

He gives me a tragic smile and my heart breaks a little more.

~~

After a sleepless night and a vigorous run, Tyson is knocked out on the couch.

Not waking him, I sneak down to the music room. I’d been working on the lyrics to my song in bits and pieces for days. I’m so close and I really want to finish it. In some ways it’s like it wrote itself. So much of what we’ve done and said together this past week is in the song. I wonder if I’ll ever play it for Tyson.

~~

Tyson says, “You shouldn’t have let me fall asleep. If this is our last day...” He drifts away for a second, then clears his throat, “We were together when it started and we’ll be together until the end.” He rubs my shoulders and says, “We should start getting ready.”

“Your tux isn’t here.”

“I’ve got it handled. Mills is on his way with it.”

So, I jump in the shower. As I towel off, I look at my face in the mirror. The swelling and redness have lessened, but the scrapes and scabs remain. There’s nothing I can do about it. Or maybe I can distract from it a little. I grab my brother’s hair goop and try to sculpt something on top of my head. Tyson opens the bathroom door and watches me in amusement. I say, “I’m obviously not good at this.”

“Let me,” he runs his fingers through my hair a few times and it molds into a decent looking shape with some lift and movement.

“I should have let the artist do this from the beginning.”

Finished with my hair he slides his fingers down my spine, then back up again. I tingle in response. I am suddenly aware that the only thing I’m wearing right now is a towel precariously tied around my waist. He kisses the back of my neck, giving me goosebumps. I turn to face him and kiss him deeply. We’re back on track – a new streak has begun. I put my hands on his shoulders and he slides his fingers up and down my bare sides and across my abdomen above the cinched towel. Said cinched towel is now tented over my erection. “Fucking prom. Do we really have to go?”

He turns me around, probably so I don’t stab him, and wraps his arms around me from behind. Looking at me, at us, in the mirror he says, “If it were anything else, anything…I’d say let’s skip it.” He kisses my ear, which does nothing to help my “condition” subside. “Prom was kind of how this all started. People are counting on us.” He lets go of me with a sigh. “With any luck, this will be ‘to be continued’.”

~~

I step out of the bathroom and he closes the door behind me. His shower starts but I can still feel his touch on my skin, on my lips. I walk into my bedroom and Tyson’s tux is laid out on my bed next to mine. That damn student council. If we weren’t in student council, we wouldn’t have to be early to prom to help set up. If we didn’t have to set up, dinner wouldn’t have to be so early. If dinner didn’t have to be so early, who knows what could have happened in the bathroom just now? And it’s the same thing after prom. The official after party at the school goes to midnight. We’re obligated to attend. Other kids get to go off and have fun with their dates. Some will head out to the lake on cruises. Some will go formal bowling. Others will… Well, it’s prom night, right? Fucking student council. Of course, if it weren’t for student council, I never would have had this opportunity to be with Tyson at all.

It's a few more minutes before things have “relaxed” enough for me to put my pants on. I just finish getting dressed when Tyson walks in like me earlier, only in a towel. I can’t handle watching this show right now so I say, “I’ll see you downstairs. If I don’t walk out of here immediately, we might not walk out of here at all.”

A few minutes later we’re both downstairs, fully dressed and ready. I had decided to forego the bow tie and put on a vintage necktie I bought at a thrift store last year. It’s thick, wide, colorful and paisley. I can’t be sure but I think it’s from the 70’s. Tyson tells me, “It’s perfect, but it’s crooked.” He crosses over and his hands go to work making adjustments.

As I stare into his eyes, I tell him, “Of course it’s crooked. I’m not good with straight things.”

Tyson cracks up.

Except for our embattled faces, we step outside looking like the perfect couple. Like we should be on the top of a big, gay wedding cake.

~~

Tyson brings me to The Sushi House in Naperville. Two boys in tuxes having dinner together on prom night without two accompanying girls means we draw numerous stares and whispers all through the meal. What century are we in?

~~

We walk into the banquet hall and it’s immediately obvious that news about last night has spread. No one is shocked by our battle wounds. Instead, we’re greeted by fist-bumps, hugs and requests for tabloid-like details.

Eventually, Danny and Layne arrive. When they see me, they immediately pounce. Danny wants to say something but Layne actually pushes him aside and hugs me fiercely. “Jackson Pearson! You scared the shit out of us! What have you gotten yourself into?” She grabs my chin and angles my face for inspection. “I told you two to be careful! I told you two to take care of each other!”

“We did. That’s why we’re here and those four aren’t.”

Danny says, “You should have called us, or at least texted. Let us know you’re okay.”

Properly chastised I say, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what you knew. If you hadn’t heard, I didn’t want to freak you out. It looks worse than it feels. I was going to tell you all about it tonight.”

Danny, more curious than angry now says, “So…tell us.”

I wave Tyson over and have him retell the story for about the eighteenth time.

Danny says to me, “I’m not much into comic heroes, but you’re like Iron Man or something.”

Does Iron Man blush?

Tyson puts his arm around my shoulders, “He saved my life last night.”

Praise makes me uncomfortable, “He’s got that backwards.” I hook my arm around Tyson’s waist and appraise my friends, “You two look incredible. What are your plans for later?”

Layne sighs, “If you’re asking if we’re going to your lame after party at the school, yeah, just for you, we’ll make an appearance.” She steps in close, “I don’t know how early you two got here. Maybe they weren’t organized yet, but now, just like last night, there are protestors out front. The same hateful, ugly messages. There are at least as many as yesterday. We couldn’t tell if our favorite foursome were among them, but either way, you’re not walking out of here alone tonight. Not even together, alone. We leave as a group. This is not up for debate.”

Tyson spots more of his friends making their way in and excuses himself.

Danny asks, “What are you telling your parents tomorrow when they see your face?”

“In all honesty, I haven’t thought about it. I’ve been…preoccupied? Tomorrow is Future Jack’s problem. I can’t think past tonight right now.”

Layne can’t help herself, “Midnight, right? What are you going to say?”

I scoff, “I love you dearly, Layne, but this is one thing you will not be the first to know. Look, I’m not 100% decided yet, but none of my reasons, none of my concerns, none of my fears have been proven invalid. I should probably stop talking now before I say something none of us wants to hear.” I back away from them. “Go have fun.”

~~

I’m not a dancer. Dancing is everything that I am not. It’s showy, loud, flamboyant, attention seeking… It takes a special kind of self-confidence, arrogance almost. I am not a dancer. But tonight, I dance with Tyson.

~~

The DJ announces a five-minute break and Tyson steps up to the microphone to introduce me. I sit at the piano and perform Rainbow. My haunting, stripped-down rendition seems to captivate them.

During my performance, hardly anyone danced. They watched, they swayed and some of them cried. The song seemed to have an effect. As I step off the stage, the applause begins and a chant of Jack, Jack, Jack breaks out. I walk to the center of the dance floor where Tyson steps toward me, closing the space between us. His eyes are moist too. He doesn’t have to say anything, I can see that my performance moved him. I look him up and down. He’s still put together perfectly; every hair is in place; his tuxedo is fresh and wrinkle-free like he had just gotten dressed moments ago rather than hours ago. I feel disheveled. Tyson either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care. His eyes have not left mine. He is the tallest, handsomest, most popular guy in school and he’s my date, my boyfriend.

We continue to sway with the song and I feel the eyes of the room on us. My performance is over, I am no longer on stage, but I still feel like the center of attention. Despite everything that’s happened these last few weeks, I’m still not used to being noticed. I’m one who has always blended in, not stood out. The person whose arms I’m in, he’s the standout. He removes his head from my shoulder and we’re now damp cheek to damp cheek. I feel like this is all a dream. The thing is, I don’t know what’s about to happen any more than anyone else does. Then, standing there, swaying in the middle of the dance floor with most everyone watching us, he kisses me. It is a long, deep kiss. It’s not discreet, it’s not hidden in any way. And it’s certainly not part of any “stunt” or “statement” or “thing” that we’ve been doing all week. It’s real and it’s right there for everyone to see.

There are soft gasps and when we come up for air, everyone cheers. Tyson says in my ear, “I hope that was okay.”

I’m flushed and wobbly, “I’d score it a 9.8.”

He laughs, “I mean I basically just ‘outed’ you…us…in front of everyone.”

I mock-gasp, “There are other people here?”

He cracks up. Making Tyson Courtland laugh is kind of my favorite thing in the world to do. Well, second favorite.

He says, “It sure felt like it was just us.” He palms the back of my head, fingers entangled in my hair and kisses me again.

He whispers, just for me, “I love you.” And I squeeze him tight. No matter what happens later tonight or anytime for the whole rest of my life, I will remember this moment forever. I won’t remember my scraped, scabby face or the tears I can hardly see through, but this feeling will stay with me forever.

The slow song ends and a fast tempo, upbeat song about partying on the weekend begins. I need a moment and I head off the dancefloor. I stagger to our table and I find that Tyson has followed me. We’re nearly alone; it’s truly a party at this point and everybody’s dancing.

“You alright?” Tyson asks.

“I just need a minute. Don’t worry. I’m good.” I take his hands in mine. “I know I told you that I never planned on a relationship in high school. Maybe not even in college. But that didn’t stop me from fantasizing about going to prom with the boy of my dreams. I never knew who that boy could be, just that he would be perfect, and the night would be perfect.” I sigh, “It was just a fantasy; I knew it could never actually happen.”

Tyson keeps listening without interrupting me.

“It fucking happened. And with Tyson Freaking Courtland! Who, by the way, just gave me my first ‘public’ kiss. For the whole rest of my life, wherever life takes me, I will always remember that kiss.”

The next song keeps the energy up and the electricity in the room is palpable. There is a buzz and it’s contagious. I nod at Tyson and he leads me back out to the dancefloor.

~~

We stay through the last dance, but not just out of obligation. I actually didn’t want prom to end. That would have been unimaginable just a few short weeks ago. Danny, Layne, Connor and Natalee insist on walking us all the way to Tyson’s car before breaking off. The protest has thinned out from what Layne described earlier, but there are still over a dozen of them chanting, circling and waving those disgusting signs. Their path actually comes close to where Tyson is parked and I’m glad our friends are with us. I see no evidence of Kevin or Ricky, but Hannah Vaughn is right there in the thick of it. Tyson and I are in the middle of our gang with Layne and Danny on the left, closest to the protestors. As Hannah circles by, she trips and falls forward, mangling her poster and snapping its post.

Layne gasps, “Oh, honey, are you okay?”

Hannah clambers to her feet, “You Bitch! You tripped me!”

Layne feigns shock, “Oh my goodness no, sweetie. Of course I didn’t. It’s dangerous marching in the dark, you can’t see where you’re going. You know, I’ve warned you before to watch your step. Somebody could get hurt.” Layne winks then stares her down, daring her. Hannah huffs and stomps off.

~~

The after-party is set up in the gym. Canned beverages, store-bought cookies and vending machine candy bars fill a cheap folding table that looks like it’ll collapse if you breathe when you walk by. As nice as dinner and the dance were, this is… Actually, it’s kind of perfect. Just hanging out and chilling for a while with my favorite people. I have no complaints about any part of this night. I take a cold bottle of water and drink half it in one long swallow. This night, this day, this week has been so fraught with emotion, I just can’t even begin to imagine bowling or doing anything crazy right now.

Danny, Layne and Tyson all go to get something to eat and for a moment, I’m alone. But only for a moment because Connor sits down next to me. He looks at me, puts his arm around my shoulder and says, “So you’re gay? For real?”

I hesitate and look at him for a beat. His eyes are kind and I decide he means no harm. He’s just doing his awkward best to start a conversation. I answer, “Yes, for real.” Just a mere ten days ago, Connor Mills sitting next to me, talking to me, hanging his arm around me would have been a fantasy come true. That feels like a lifetime ago. Today, he’s not my secret crush anymore. He’s just a guy. Sort of a friend even.

“So, this thing with Tyson…” Connor tries to find the right words, “It’s not just for inclusion week? I mean Tyson is-”

I raise a hand to stop him, “I don’t speak for Tyson. You two should talk.”

He says, “That’s cool.”

I eye him suspiciously.

He drops his gaze to his shiny rented shoes, “I wanted to apologize. I can be an idiot. Sometimes I try to be funny or cool or to impress my friends. That’s not really who I am. In student council that day? That was a dick move. I’m sorry. Anyway, I just want you to know that whatever your ‘relationship’ with Tyson is, I’m happy for you both.” He starts to get up but changes his mind. “And it’s totally badass how you beat the shit out of Ricky and helped Tyson with that fucker, Kevin.”

I smile at him, “I actually wanted to thank you again. That day in the cafeteria when you stood with me against Kevin. I was in real trouble there. Thanks for the save. Like, really. Who knows what could have happened?”

“That guy’s been an asshole for four years now. I was just glad I was around.” Suddenly his shoes are interesting again. “High school is just about over. I wish I’d taken the time to get to know you better.” He looks back up at me. “I have to get back to Natalee.”

~~

My friends come back with an assortment of junk food. None of it looks good to me but I take a small dark chocolate almond bar anyway.

Tyson says to Layne, “You are totally boss.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about. She tripped.” Layne sips a Sprite, “I still wish I could have punched her in the face.”

The four of us talk and laugh and just veg out for the next hour. Danny tells me that Layne cried during Rainbow and Layne punches him in the arm, “We both cried.”

I ask if my scraped-up face was visible to the audience while I was at the piano and they all tell me, “No.”

To prove the point, Tyson takes out his phone, taps at it a few times and hands it to me. It’s a still picture he took of me at the piano, showing just my right-side profile. Just then, Connor reappears and tells Tyson that there’s something he has to see over at another table. Tyson excuses himself. I look back down at Tyson’s phone, but it’s gone dark. When I wake up the screen, it’s not on the photo anymore. It’s showing the contents of a folder. It’s a really fucking full folder.

I scroll back and back and back some more. There are pages and pages of photos and videos, all from our ten days together. Some of them I knew he was taking, like the one at the end of the ping pong game. Many of them I had no idea. His collection goes all the way back to that first afternoon in the choir room after I finished playing Vienna. Even the reject photos from the promposal that I made him promise to delete are all here. He chronicled every day, maybe every hour of our time together. This thing meant something to him long before I even knew it was a thing. He has surprised me over and over again. Who is Tyson Courtland? He really is the sweetest, kindest, most generous person I know. What am I doing? Seriously, what the fuck am I doing?

Layne’s voice breaks my trance, “Jackson, I would say that tonight was a raging success. When Daniel asked me to prom two months ago, I thought this night would suck.”

Danny whines, “Hey…feelings over here!”

“Not because of you, honey. Just the thought of prom. But you really came through Jackson.”

“Huh? Oh, thanks,” I look at my watch. It’s 11:30. I realize that my heart is pounding. I suddenly can’t imagine letting another minute go by. I say to Danny and Layne, “I have to go do something. Right now. You two should go too. Get out of here. Enjoy the rest of your night alone. Go have some heterosexual relations, or whatever it is that straight people do.”

They look at me, simultaneously horrified and amused.

“I’ll call or text tomorrow afternoon. I promise. Now go!”

I find Tyson in the center of a large group. Of course, everyone hangs on his every word as usual. I catch his attention and when he sees me his smile widens. He breaks away from the group. “What’s up, Pearson?”

I slip him his phone, take his hand and say, “Follow me.”

~~

I drag and pull him down the hall, away from everyone else. This end of the school is dark and quiet. Only scattered emergency lights are on in the shadowy halls. We get to the choir room door and fortunately, it’s unlocked. If it hadn’t been, I would have been forced to break in. This is where we need to be right now for this moment. Back to the scene where our time together began. I push the door open, flip on the lights, guide Tyson inside and close the door behind us.

He asks, “What are we doing in here?”

“There’s one last song I need to play for you.”

His smile falls.

“Wait. Poor choice of words. There is a song that I have to play for you right now.”

He looks at me skeptically. “Are you dumping me? It’s not midnight yet. I still have a half hour.”

“Listen to me. I told you that we can’t plan our futures around each other. That it would be crazy to make promises we don’t know we can keep.”

“Right,” Tyson sits and folds his arms across his chest. “I’m well aware of your clinical, overly cautious logic.”

I ignore the sarcasm and push on, “Here’s what I realized. No, we can’t plan our futures around each other, but really, we can’t plan our futures at all. It’s the future. We can guess, we can hope and we can try, but we don’t know.” I shift on the piano bench. I’m not sure I’m successfully making my point. I wave my hands like I just erased an invisible chalkboard. “Ten days ago, sitting right here in this room, in this very spot, where we began, I played Vienna. It’s taken me ten days to realize that you are my Vienna.”

Tyson unfolds his arms, “So you want to play Vienna again for me?”

“No. I mean, yeah, sure, sometime, but not now. Now, I need to play you the song that’s been going around and around in my head for ten days, which might be the most beautiful and potentially tragic song ever written. And So It Goes.” I play it.

I let the last notes breathe and fade to silence. I raise my head and, for the first time in three and a half minutes, I look at him. I quote from the song I just sang, “So, yes, I will share this room with you and you can have this heart to break.” I turn on the bench, facing him. “I didn’t say it back to you before, but I’m saying it to you now. I love you too, Tyson!”

“Are you really saying… Is this happening? I didn’t think… I mean I hoped…” He stands and pulls me up too. He squeezes me in a tight embrace.

I manage to croak out, “I want to be your boyfriend. Tonight, tomorrow, all summer and, if possible, forever. I know that 18-year-olds shouldn’t be talking about forever. But I know what I feel. I know what I want. And who’s to say it can’t work out?”

Tyson looks down at me and cocks an eyebrow.

“Okay, fine, I said it. But what the fuck did I know?”

He throws his head back and laughs out loud. “I love you so fucking much!” He put his hands on my shoulders, stares me right in the eyes with a burning intensity and says, “I will never not love you.”

And in that moment, I believe him. I stare straight back. “I want to try. I want to make this work.” I check the clock on the wall, it’s 11:45. “I still had fifteen minutes to spare.”

Tyson kisses me. I can’t know for sure, but I would bet anything that this is the deepest, longest, most passionate kiss in the more than 50-year history of the Chandler choir room. Well, at least top three. No, definitely number one. I score it a perfect ten. When we finally break apart, we look at each other and say in unison, “Let’s bounce.”

~~

Driving us back to my house he says to me, “I lied to you.”

I say nothing and my heart skips a beat.

“I told you that I hadn’t decided what college I’m going to. Well, I did accept at one school.”

Whew. I had no idea where he was going with this. I tease, “Well I know it’s not Berklee. You have zero musical aptitude.”

He scoffs, “Hey. I could play bass, remember?”

“That’s true.” I laugh, “You do rock the bass guitar.”

“No, not Berklee. I’ve accepted at Boston College.”

“Oh…” I stutter, “Oh my god!” My mouth is gaping open.

“I need you to understand, I’m not doing this just to be near you. I mean, you obviously are a huge draw, but it’s really a great school. They have a respected Art program and a competitive basketball team. My point is, I’m not settling for less. I’m not compromising my best possible future. Especially when being in Boston with you is that best future.”

I punch his arm, Layne-style, “Why didn’t you tell me this?”

He feigns injury, “Don’t hit the driver.” He takes in a deep breath. “I almost told you a few times, but I kept stopping myself. I wanted you to make the decision to be with me because of me. Because I was worth it, not knowing where we’d end up. I didn’t want to be an easy, convenient choice. I wanted to be worth the risk. Worth the fight. You had me scared fucking shitless right up to the end.”

“So, you were testing me. You know I’ve been through hell this past week.” I put my hand on his knee. “You are so worth the risk.” I give a little squeeze. I ask, “When did you accept?”

He turns his head and regards me sheepishly. “The day you told Troy about your Berklee acceptance letter.”

I can’t believe my ears. “Was that a coincidence?”

He says nothing.

“But we didn’t even know each other then. Not really.”

“Not yet,” he corrects.

I let that sink in as I again realize again that this meant something to him long before I had a clue.

I ask, “So, exactly how close will we be?”

He grins. “4.7 miles. A fifteen-minute train ride.”

Now I throw my head back and laugh out loud.

He says, “Be honest with me, if you feel that I’m crashing your party out there, you tell me. I’ll give you space. I don’t want to intrude in your college experience.”

“Intrude? Are you kidding me? Are you new here? In case I haven’t made it clear, you are my best possible future too. I expect to see you every weekend.”

He grins, “I can’t believe this is really happening.”

~~

He parks in front of my house and I say, “Please come in.”

He’s already out of the car.

We take off our tux Troyets and hang them on the back of kitchen chairs. I say, “I want you to stay over again.”

“I was hoping you would.”

“But this time, not on the couch.”

~~

We know we’re the only ones home, but we close my bedroom door anyway. I guess we don’t want the cat to be an audience. I turn the lock on the knob and spin on my heel, facing my gorgeous man. Forgetting that these are rented clothes, we practically rip them off of each other.

The room is dark, but my eyes are adjusting quickly. I can see his crystal blues staring back at me. I snake my hands inside his undershirt and…oh my god! I have seen Tyson Courtland shirtless three times before – once glistening in sweat and twice still damp from a shower – but this is my first time seeing him with my hands. My first touch.

I glide my fingers around above the waistband of his boxer briefs and his rippled muscles quiver. How can something so strong be so sensitive? His washboard abs are both hard and soft at the same time. If he’s even 2% body fat, I have no idea where that 2% can be. I pull his undershirt off. He really should be a model. Or maybe he is the sculpted finished product of a proud artist.

My hands and fingertips have not stopped their exploration. They make their way to his concave belly button and Tyson lets out a soft moan. I lower my hands to his hips and steer him backwards to my awaiting bed. When the backs of his knees bump into my mattress, he loses his balance and falls backwards, but his arms are around me, so I fall too – right on top of him. We roll around a little, laughing and somehow, we each find our hands entangled in each other’s hair. We stop laughing and start kissing. I gave the choir room kiss a perfect 10 earlier, so I have no idea how to rate this. It’s off the chart.

We roll some more and now I’m on my back. He’s hard against my thigh and I can actually feel him getting harder. I, meanwhile, am poking him in the stomach, but this time, not with my hands.

He pulls his head back for a moment and asks, “Are you ready? Are you sure you want this now? Just because it’s prom night doesn’t mean we have to-”

I press a finger to his lips. He obviously knows I’m responding and I’m physically ready. But being the sweet, kind, caring, generous man I’ve gotten to know over these 10 days, I’m not surprised that he’s checking in. Making sure. I feel so vulnerable right now under his weight. But I’ve also never felt safer or more loved. I nod and tell Tyson, “I’ve never wanted anything more.”

Suddenly, my undershirt is off. He has seen me shirtless a couple times before too, but right now, the way he looks at me, without even a touch, he makes me shiver. I’m a runner, but that’s it. I have no rumples or ridges. No pecs, no abs. I’m thin, but soft. Unimpressive to my own eyes. But how Tyson sees me…the hunger, the glint, his smile…he likes what he sees in me as much as I do in him.

He dives into kissing my neck and my whole body explodes in tingles. His mouth makes its way to my sternum and begins a slow, deliberate journey south. His hands stroke up and down my sides from my armpits to my hip bones. As my underwear strains against my erection, I realize that I’ve never been harder. Passed my sternum, his kissing and sucking mouth continues downward. His tongue plunges into my belly button and I bite my lower lip. He kisses and plays around my navel for a while and I almost can’t take the anticipation.

But just like with everything else these 10 days, we take it slow. Eventually, his hands grip my waistband and my underwear slides off. I am at full-mast and Tyson takes just a moment to enjoy the view. He shoots back up and kisses me hard before saying, “You are the most beautiful man alive!”

I flush and blush. I shiver and quiver.

Tyson slides back down and without warning, his hands are on me. My eyes bulge and I gasp, involuntarily. This is the first time in my life that someone besides me has touched me there. It’s shocking, jolting, exciting and way better than anything I ever imagined. He’s using both hands, one is working me, like an artist molding clay, while the other gently strokes up and down. I never imagined anything could feel like this. I moan in ecstasy.

At a little shy of 6 inches, I know I’m not huge down there, but Tyson seems anything but disappointed. He seems to enjoy what he’s doing to me as much as I love being on the receiving end. He makes eye contact with me for a brief moment, then returns his attention to my steel rod. Without warning, his gripping hands abandon me, but his warm, wet mouth takes me in. I cry out in elation. He has no trouble swallowing my whole length. I’ve imagined this moment, but it far surpasses any dream or fantasy I’ve ever had. I thought I already was harder than I’ve ever been, but I think I was wrong. I also may have just gained that last quarter of an inch that need to officially make it to 6 inches!

Tyson works me up and down and twists side to side. Sometimes he goes fast, sometimes slow. Sometimes aggressive, sometimes gentle. I don’t know exactly how long it’s been – 5 minutes or an hour – but it’s pretty irrelevant at this point. Tyson has been relentless and I’m ready to explode. I forewarn him by intensifying my moans, but he doesn’t let up. I grip the bedsheets, bend my knees and thrust my ass in the air. He keeps it going. My eyes roll back, my toes curl and I almost scream as the first orgasm of my life (that wasn’t self-inflicted) rocks my whole body. I feel like a blob of jelly as I pant and recover.

Just like he enjoyed doing those things to me, I can’t wait to get my hands (and mouth) on him. I push him down on his back and traverse the rocky road of his pecs and abs. When I pull off his underwear, he too is already at full attention. Tyson is 6 inches taller than me. I figured that everything would be proportionate…and it is. No, he doesn’t have a 12-inch monster – that would probably just scare me and make me duck for cover. No. He looks to be the perfect 7.5 that I’ve fantasized about.

But this isn’t just like in my dreams. Not at all. I don’t lust after Tyson. Okay, maybe I do a little come on… He’s Tyson Freaking Courtland. No. I love him. He’s perfect. He’s smart and funny and kind and sweet and generous… It almost doesn’t even matter that he’s ridiculously hot. Almost. Or that every part of him from his wavy blond hair to his gigantic basketball player feet is flawless.

I can’t believe I almost let this get away. I almost let him get away. I was almost an idiot, but I came to my senses with only minutes to spare. I’m human and I screw up, but not this time.

I turn my attention back to a flawless part of my flawless boyfriend. I can’t quite fit all of his manly length, but I use a hand to complete full coverage. Based on Tyson’s reaction, I think I do okay. By the time I’m done with him, he’s racked with shakes and quakes that last a surprisingly long time.

I crawl into his strong arms and we both fall asleep.

The end of our last day. And the beginning of all the others.

~~

For the second morning in a row, I wake up in Tyson’s strong arms, though today in my bed rather than on the couch. I feel like the weight of the world has been lifted and I just might be the happiest person on planet earth. I turn onto my back and lace my fingers together behind my head. I meet his eyes and we both have big stupid grins on our faces. I never thought I’d lose my virginity in high school, but as of sometime after midnight last night, I just snuck it in under the wire with one week to spare. I guess we both did. We’ve officially been deflowered. Our V-Cards have been swiped. If someone would have told me that this is where I’d be today just two weeks ago… This is so colossally, massively, monumentally fucking insane. Tyson Courtland is in my bed and I can’t stop smiling.

Tyson says to me, “So, that happened.”

“Twice.”

“Each!”

We both laugh.

I nuzzle my face into his chest, enjoying his scent. I say, “And it’s about to happen again.”

~~

As much as I never want to leave this bed, I begin to extract myself. He asks, “Where’re you going?”

“Meet me in the kitchen in 45 minutes.” I pull on a pair of socks, jeans and a t-shirt. “Forty-five minutes. Kitchen.”

He calls out, “Are we going for a run?”

Halfway down the stairs, I yell back over my shoulder, “Not today.”

I begin making eggs in a frame, for two. It’s the birthday that Tyson celebrates, so I will indulge in a bit of bread. I set the table and pour an orange juice for him and water for me. Just as the bacon is smelling like it’s done, Tyson walks in, still damp from a shower. In lieu of his tux or his smoky, dirty bonfire/fight clothes, he’s wearing a pair of my running shorts and my baggiest Bulls sweatshirt, that is not at all baggy on him, with sleeves that end only halfway down his forearms. His humongous feet are stretching out a pair of my Addidas crew socks. He looks like a twelve-year-old trying on last year’s clothes after a sudden growth spurt. I’m jealous of my own clothes right now because they are wrapped around Tyson Courtland’s body, and I am not. He’s ridiculously cute.

He looks around and says, “You’re spoiling me. We could have ordered in.”

“I wanted to do something special for your birthday.” I kiss him. “Happy birthday.”

“How did you-?” He pulls out a chair and sits. “Miranda told you.”

“Don’t be mad at her. She cares about you.”

“But it’s not even real. It’s dumb. Half-birthdays are for infants and toddlers.”

I take his hand, “It’s not dumb. How or when you celebrate your birthday is your choice. This is what your family decided for you and I think it’s awesome.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Besides, it’s super annoying when people have the nerve to celebrate their birthday too close to Christmas. How selfish can a person be?” I grin at him and he gives me one his trademark playful shoves grinning back.

I say, “Seriously, you get to do you and I get to do it with you.” I flush at that, “I mean…”

He laughs, “I know what you mean.” Then his smile fades, “So, you knew when you ‘decided’ last night? I didn’t want my birthday, where I go to college or anything else to influence your decision. I wanted you to…no, I needed you to want it enough on your own.”

“But I do though. I did not choose to be with you out of pity. I swear. I just finally woke up and extracted my head from my ass.” I set my fork down, “Okay, so I just found out about your birthday less than forty-eight hours ago and, well, let’s just say that a lot has happened in that time. I haven’t gone shopping and I honestly didn’t even know if we’d be together at this point.”

“You already gave me us. I’ll never need another birthday present again.”

“I didn’t say I didn’t get you anything. I just didn’t buy you anything. Your present is twofold.” I slide my chair around so I’m next to him rather than across from him. I put an arm around him. “You’ve been the leader, the driver in our relationship. Let’s be honest, you’ve done more for us than I have so far. It’s time for me to even things up a little.”

“That is so not true. You-”

I cut him off with a raised hand, “Stop. It is too and we both know it. So, I’ve bought nothing, but I hope you like your gifts anyway.”

“Well, I’m assuming that breakfast was one of them. That was above and beyond.”

“No. Well, okay, then your gift is threefold. Let’s go get your second gift.” I lead him downstairs to the music room and take a seat at the piano. “I finished my first song and I’m dedicating it to you. You are the first to hear it. Like us last night, your ears are about to lose their virginity.”

Tyson’s laugh makes my heart flutter.

“I call it For Now.” He pulls out his phone and records me as I play him the song.

When I’m done I say, “I know it’s no Vienna or And So It Goes.” I turn and look at Tyson. His eyes brim with tears.

He says, “You really need to keep a box of tissues in here.” Wiping his eyes on his (my) sleeve, Tyson says, “I’m at a loss for the right adjectives, but I know it’s my new favorite song and the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten, by like a million miles.” He takes my hand and leads me up the stairs.

I ask, “Where are we going?”

“When you get the best birthday present of your life, it’s only proper etiquette to reciprocate with an appropriate thank you.” He closes my door behind us.

Tyson’s half-birthday is my new favorite day.

~~

Another hour later, still lying in my bed I say, “And for your third present…” I take a deep breath. “Last night I made a commitment to you. This is for real. No pretending, no hiding, no sneaking around. Your third gift is that today, in a couple hours when my family gets home, I’m coming out to them. I am coming out and I’m telling them about us.”

Tyson looks shocked, “You don’t have to rush your plan for me. Are you ready? I’m okay with your family thinking we’re just friends for now.”

“And I love you for that, but I’m not okay with it. This isn’t just some grand gesture. I’ve given it a lot of thought. Yes, I had a plan, but you know what? My life has changed over the last ten days. It’s changed dramatically and now I need a new plan. Whether I’m ready or not, it’s the right thing to do for me, for my family and for us. And you know what? I actually am ready. Because of you, I’m ready.”

He pulls me into a kiss. I tell him, “Another perfect 10.” I rip myself away from him, “I need to take a shower.”

“Can I help?”

“Well, there are places I have trouble reaching.”

We both laugh. 24 hours ago, I was still a virgin. After that shower, I’ve now lost count.

~~

My parents and brothers get home around 1:00. Mom is the first to notice my injuries.

She grabs me by the elbow, “Jackson Pearson, what happened to you? What happened to your handsome face?”

I let out a sigh, “I was in a fight.”

“A fight? When? Where? Wasn’t this supposed to be prom weekend? Was it over a girl? What happened?”

Between Mom and Dad, I couldn’t even tell who was asking which of the questions. Justin and Josh both stay quiet.

I say, “Please, let’s all sit down. I’ll get to the fight in a minute, but there’s something else I have to tell you first.” All five of us sit on the living room couches. With all four pairs of eyes focused on me, it feels like the air has been sucked out of the room. It’s hardly been twelve hours since I decided that today would be the day that I would do this. Like with Danny and Layne five days ago, I have not prepared a speech. Unlike with Danny and Layne, my parents are extremely Catholic and traditional. All I can do is say the words and hope for the best. Two words. Just two little words and suddenly I won’t be the same person to them that I always was. Two words that, once said, can never be taken back. They can’t be unsaid. In anticipation, I feel my eyes welling up. I rip off the band aid. “I’m gay.”

Mom’s hands fly up to cover her mouth as she gasps and Dad rocks backwards a little, like my words physically assaulted him. These reactions are somewhere in the middle of the spectrum of possibilities I had imagined. Not the worst, not the best. I let the proclamation breathe for a moment. I’m not sure if I’m expected to add anything at this point or if I should just wait and respond to questions and reactions.

Mom lowers her hands and asks, “When did you first think that you were-”

Justin cuts her off, “Mom! It’s not something you think about yourself. It’s not a choice or a decision either. Jack has probably struggled with how and when to tell us this for some time.”

Mom looks at me, “Tell me, Jackson. Tell me everything.”

So I do. I go back 11 days and tell the whole story from the beginning.

Dad reaches out and touches my arm. There are tears in his eyes, “Your mother and I don’t live under a rock. The world is changing and despite you growing up, getting older and becoming independent, we will always be your parents. Whether you’re seventeen, eighteen or fifty, we will always love you and worry about you.”

As he pauses to wipe away a tear and I realize that Dad has a better prepared speech than I do.

He continues, “You’re our son and we only care that you’re safe and happy. We’re not upset or even disappointed that you’re gay, but we’d be lying if we didn’t admit that we’re a little afraid.”

I’m almost crying again.

“Your path is a harder one. You’ll face more obstacles, more roadblocks, more adversity…and apparently meaningless hate and violence sometimes.” He reaches over and angles my face to get a better look at my scrapes. “But you will always have our love and support.”

Dad looks to Mom and she takes in a ragged breath, “Jacob Gleason, you mean the world to us. My reaction a few minutes ago was probably not the reaction you hoped for. I know that and I’m sorry, but it was less what you said than the fact that you said it with your beautiful face all bloodied and bruised. For all the reasons your father mentioned, these are not the easiest words to hear. You see, parents envision certain things for their children, right or wrong that’s just what happens. But that’s for me to overcome, not you. Watching you grow into the fine young man you’ve become has been the privilege of my life. My son is gay. He always has been. It doesn’t change who he is, it’s part of who he is. The new thing, the change, is that we know now. So, really, there’s no difference.”

We find ourselves in one big group hug. I’m the middle of a Pearson Sandwich.

I wipe tears from my eyes before I clear my throat, “There’s one more thing.” I find I’m suddenly nervous again, “I have a boyfriend.” I slide my phone out of my pocket and text Tyson. “My partner for this whole inclusion week thing, it started out as an act but we became friends, then we got closer and it turned into something real. His name is Tyson Courtland and we are together. It’s not just for prom and we’re not just friends. We’re hoping to make our relationship work even while we’re away in college. It won’t be easy, but we think we’re worth trying for.” The doorbell rings. “I’d like you to meet him.”

He still has a black eye and bruised jaw that couldn’t be hidden. Mom looks at him and says, “So is this the boy you’ve been fighting with?”

I say, “No. Well, yes. Fighting ‘with’ or I guess ‘for’, not ‘against’. This is Tyson. My boyfriend.”

Tyson is in his element. He’s charming and social in a way that I could only hope to one day be.

Mom suggests that Tyson stays for dinner. I say, “It’s Tyson’s birthday and we have plans, but tomorrow is Memorial Day. Maybe he can come over for a bar-b-que and we could invite his sister too? Just make sure Dad does the cooking.” Everyone laughs.

Josh looks from Justin to me to Tyson and grins. “Hey, before you two go, how about some two-on-two basketball?”

They’re all eager to play, so I relent. “Only if we can play ping pong after.”

A chorus of “No’s”.

Josh is going to be the next basketball star at Chandler. He’ll pick up where Tyson leaves off. He’s grabbing his sneakers, “What are the teams?”

As if there were any other choice, I say, “I’m on Tyson’s team.” Hopefully I always will be.

But then again, what the fuck do I know?

End.