After School Activities (23 page)

“Wait,” he said, and I did.

The silence stretched on.

“Is that Kai’s car?” he finally asked.

“Yeah.”

“What, did you steal it and run out here the second you heard?”

“Pretty much.”

“I thought you couldn’t drive.”

“Oh, I can’t. But I had to come.”

“’Cause you were worried about me?”

I shrugged.

“Thanks,” he said, and for the first time, his expression changed. He

smiled. I smiled back. “Aren’t you going to ask if I’m okay?” he asked.

“That’s a dumb question. Of course you’re not okay.”

“It’s what everyone else keeps asking.”

“Everyone else is dumb. This isn’t news,” I said. He laughed, and I

felt a part of me relax that had been tense for months. At the same time,

we both moved forward, stepped halfway around Kai’s car until we were a

mere few feet apart. I ached to close the distance. I think he did too.

“I really should go,” he said.

“Oh.” I wasn’t quite able to contain my disappointment. “Okay.”

“I left pretty early,” he explained. “Pete’s probably all alone. I don’t

want him to think I just ran off, like… you know.”

Like his dad. “Of course. You should probably get back.”

“The funeral is tomorrow morning. It’s just for family. But, um, there

wil be a wake in the afternoon for everyone. It’s at my house.” For some

reason, Adam had fixed his eyes firmly on his toes.

I wasn’t really sure how to respond. “Sounds nice.”

“Will you come?”

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“What?”

“You don’t have to,” he rushed to explain, still staring at the ground.

“I’m not trying to guilt you. You don’t have to feel obligated. I know how

you feel about me….”

“I’ll be there.”

“You will?” He was the portrait of relief.

“Great. Well, um, I should probably go….” Before he could move, I

stepped forward and threw my arms around him.

“Listen,” I said, hugging him tight. “I’m here for you, okay?

Whatever you need, however you need me. As long as you need me. I

promise. Understand?”

“Thanks,” he said, hugging me back in one brief squeeze. He pulled

back. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then?”

“Definitely.”

Adam glanced at Kai’s car. “Maybe have someone else drive you,

huh?” “Nah, it’s cool. I’m a quarter crash-test dummy, on my father’s

side.” I was graced with another smile for my efforts, though it might have

seemed a little forced. Then Adam got in his car, and I waved as he drove

away. “Well,” I said to Kai’s car. “It’s what, almost time for second

period? Guess I might as well get that detention out of the way.” I climbed

back into the car, this time remembering to sit in the driver’s seat. “Wait,

how does this thing work again?”

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CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

THIS WAS the first time I’d ever been to Adam’s house. It was a small,

two-story building nestled in the woods near the edge of town. It was

absolutely packed with people. I had been a little nervous before I came.

What if the entire football team was there, and I spent, like, an hour

cornered by Will Davis? But when I got there, all I could see were adults

standing around in too nice clothes, eating off small paper plates and

talking solemnly amongst themselves, and small kids running around,

ignoring their parents’ pleas to behave and not dirty their brand-new

clothes.

I wasn’t sure whether I should ring the doorbell or come right in. I

saw a bunch of people going in and out the front door, so I assumed the

latter. A number of men stood on the front porch, smoking. They were

old men, mostly overweight, with large unkempt beards and ill-fitting

suits. It was pretty warm for February, but I was still surprised that none

of them wore jackets. I had this sense that the only jackets they owned

were ratty old things, which had been forbidden by wives who had also

forced them into the suits they had worn when they were much thinner

men. I assumed they were friends of Adam’s father, though I didn’t see

him among them. They made me nervous in that way groups of old men

with that air of conservative masculinity had always made me feel. I was

very self-conscious of my neat new suit, my polished shoes and styled

hair. After all, these were probably the kind of men Adam had grown up

around, grown up feeling like he could never come out.

They nodded to me as I stepped onto the porch, a respectful hello.

One of them held the door open for me. Honestly, I was a little surprised

they didn’t turn me away, tell me to leave like they could sense the

gayness rolling off me.

Maybe I was being unfair.

I found Adam toward the back of the living room. I waited as he

talked with two old—bordering on ancient—women. He noticed me as I

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got closer. He spared me a quick smile, but then turned back to his

conversation with, I’m guessing, his great-aunts.

They did most of the talking. Mostly comments on how short life is,

how unfair, taken too young, etc., all interspersed with
tsk
ing noises and ponderously shaken heads. Adam barely got a word in edgewise. It was

obvious that, despite being the one who’d just lost a mother,
he
was the one doing most of the comforting today.

The little old ladies finished, and I finally had my chance to talk to

Adam.

“You look nice,” he said as I stepped up.

“Thanks. You do too.” He really did. Dark suit, a tie. He cut a

really dashing figure. It was a shame he didn’t dress like this more

often. “I, uh, brought a casserole. ’Cause apparently that’s what you

do.” “Thanks. You can set it over there with all the others.” He pointed to

a table already laden with food. I saw at least four other casserole dishes,

as well as a few cakes, several plates of cookies, and what looked to be an

entire turkey. Apparently the idea that sadness could be somehow

mitigated with food was universal.

We stood there awkwardly for a moment. At least,
I
felt awkward. It

was a little hard to tell what Adam was feeling. I’d never really interacted

with him before in public, so I was kind of at a loss as to what I could say.

I probably couldn’t give him a hug in front of everyone. I mean, I’d

noticed a good amount of interguy hugging in there already, but that was

clearly more platonic, “we’re obviously cousins or something” kind of

hugging. I couldn’t shake the probably irrational fear that everyone would

notice the gayness radiating off any overt affection coming from me.

“Listen,” Adam eventually said. “I should probably mingle with my

family. Almost all of them are here from out of state.”

“Yeah, totally. I’ll just set this down with the others,” I said,

indicating the casserole. “I guess.”

Adam reached out and gave my arm a tiny squeeze, then stepped

away to talk with some guy holding a baby. I was a little ashamed that
he
was the one giving
me
a reassuring arm touch. Good God, I was terrible at this. Not knowing what else to do, I set my casserole with all the

others, snuck a cookie from one of the opened cookie tins (okay, it was

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like nine, don’t judge me, I was stressed) and started walking around

Adam’s house. People who I passed gave me restrained smiles and

polite hellos. None of them seemed to care who I was, or why I was

there. Looking around, I noticed several other people—usually in

couples, but sometimes alone—who also didn’t seem to know anyone

else there. People who showed up to pay their own respects for a

neighbor, or a coworker, or something. Noticing this made me feel a

little more comfortable. A little more anonymous.

In the hallway by the stairs, I found a row of pictures. Many of them

were of Adam and his brother Pete throughout the years, two little blond

boys roughhousing, grinning at the camera, or posing with various sports

equipment. It was a very weird experience for me. I remembered Adam at

all of these ages, but in my memories he was usually sneering, this imposing

figure who always loomed over me and terrorized me. Even after everything

that had happened between us, I realized I had still held on to this image of him—of us—as kids.

In reality, he had been a smal kid, cute, and often overshadowed by his

older brother. In one picture, he was trapped in a headlock, though he smiled.

In another, his brother stood holding a new toy on Christmas morning, while

little Adam sat on the floor amid the wrapping paper, waiting his turn. In

many he stood right behind, always letting Pete be the focus, almost like he

was trying to hide. He looked out of those pictures with a sadness I knew al

too wel —the sadness of knowing you’re different, and trying not to show it.

Eventually, the pictures began to show Adam as he was now. That

sadness seemed to lessen with each passing year, but I knew better. He’d

merely gotten better at hiding it. His smiles started to seem more genuine,

and he rarely stood in his brother’s shadow. But I knew that, inside, he

was still that sad little kid. I knew it, ’cause he had shown it to me, in

those times we were alone. I realized that, without me, he probably didn’t

show it to anyone.

Then there were the pictures of his mom.

This was the first time I’d seen her. She was a small woman, very

thin and very blond. She was practically dwarfed by her children, but

despite that, she seemed to dominate the picture. She had an aura of

warmth that I could almost feel through the frame. Her smile made her

glow, and I recognized it instantly. It was the same smile I’d seen on

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Adam’s face those times when he’d been truly, happily carefree. Those

few times we had been alone together.

In fact, the more I looked, the more I could see how much Adam

looked like his mother. Pete, on the other hand, clearly took much more

after their father. His hair had grown darker after puberty, and he sported

an almost identically square chin. I couldn’t find very many pictures of

Adam’s dad to make some more comparisons. There didn’t appear to be

any of him, outside of the few with the whole family. There were a few

lighter spots on the wall, where it looked like pictures had once hung. I

wondered what they had been of, why they had been taken down.

Short of going upstairs, I ran out of house to explore. So I watched

Adam as he moved effortlessly from person to person throughout the

room. Each time I couldn’t shake the sensation that he was the one doing

the comforting, never receiving comfort. He radiated strength, even

warmth, that I could now recognize as coming from his mom. He was

clearly trying, with all his heart, to be like her today. In his attitude, I saw that sad little boy, spending years imitating his mother, only now he was

forced to go on without example. I doubt anyone else noticed. He made it

seem so effortless.

A few times, I saw Pete across the room. I remembered Pete from

school, and though he had graduated two years ago, he might have

recognized me. He might have questioned why I was there when no one

else from school was. Not only that, there had been quite a stir when I

came out, the only kid at Oak Lake to do so in memory. It would be even

worse if he not only recognized me as a kid from school, but as
that fag

Adam had bullied for all those years. Best-case scenario, he would think I

was there to gloat at my bully’s pain. Worst case, he would guess the

truth. So I played it safe and kept groups of people between us whenever

possible. There were a few times when I could almost swear he was

looking across the room, right at me. But most of the time, he was gone,

somewhere or other, leaving Adam alone to mingle with all the guests.

The day passed. I didn’t get another chance to talk with Adam. He

never had a spare moment. Occasionally I’d notice him frantically

scanning the crowd, looking like the facade he had so carefully crafted

was about to slip. His eyes would find mine, he’d smile and turn back to

his conversation. It was like knowing I was there gave him the strength to

continue, or at least that he didn’t want me to leave.

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Eventually, as night fell, the crowd thinned as people started to

leave. I finally got to sit on the big armchair in the living room. I’d been

eyeing it for the last two hours, but it hadn’t been unoccupied until now. I

sat and watched as Adam consoled his aunt.

Adam’s glances in my direction became more and more frequent, until

barely a minute passed between them. It was obvious he wanted to come over

to me, but he never did. One by one, the remaining guests interrupted their

conversation to give Adam their good-byes. His aunt barely paused in her

monologue of grief each time, and soon she was the last one there—except

for me, of course. Adam remained dutifully at entive throughout. Pete was

nowhere to be seen.

After what felt like another hour, Adam’s aunt finally finished, and

he walked her out. A minute later, her headlights disappeared down the