Honestly Ben Read online

  When the tears subsided, I picked my head off Rafe’s shoulder and turned to him and said, “I don’t know what I have anymore.”

  And he said, “You have whatever I have.”

  I said, “What if I never get to go home again?”

  And he said, “You’ll have a different home.”

  I wasn’t sure that those simple answers did it for me, but they were all I had, and as we flew over Indiana and Illinois, I said, “I’m tired of being afraid.”

  Rafe squeezed my hand.

  “Sometimes I get afraid too,” he said. “Like, what if you fall in love with some girl? You are still attracted to girls, right?”

  “Yeah, but … ”

  “But what?”

  “Relax,” I said. “I’m a one-person guy. And that one person is you, and that’s all that matters.”

  “Well, we have each other, so that’s something,” Rafe said, rubbing my arm.

  I looked out the window, and the green squares of farmland below us looked like pieces of a seemingly unsolvable puzzle that were already miraculously in place.

  Mr. Goldberg is a lip kisser. At the Denver airport baggage claim, as we waited for my duffel bag, Mr. G. ran over when he saw us and proceeded to lay a wet one first on Rafe’s mouth, and then on mine.

  “My sons!” he yelled.

  I surreptitiously wiped my mouth while Rafe and his dad were hugging, forgetting that Mrs. Goldberg, who hadn’t sprinted over to us, was watching. She gave me a warm smile and a squishy hug into her freckled boobs.

  “Thanks for letting me come,” I said, holding on to her a bit because I needed the comfort.

  “Are you kidding? We wouldn’t have it any other way,” she said, before planting a drier, more appropriate kiss than that of her husband on my cheek.

  As we got on the toll road that would take us north and west to Boulder, I stared at the snow-capped mountains and remembered skiing at Thanksgiving. How Rafe and the Goldbergs had gone out of their way to make me feel at home, and how they didn’t seem to think it was a big deal to give me experiences I’d never had. Dinners out at fancy restaurants with cloth napkins? Sure, why not? Rafe would whine about all the different ingredients, as he was more meat and potatoes. Meanwhile, I’d be savoring every new thing I could try. Aioli. Truffle foam. Gastrique this and that.

  Rafe asked if we could stop at Smashburger for some lunch, but Mr. G. looked at his watch and said, “There’s no t—”

  Rafe’s mom interrupted. “We’ll get you food at home.”

  “Oh no,” Rafe said. “Please no.”

  Over Thanksgiving, we’d wanted to get something to eat after we landed and Rafe’s parents had said the same thing. We’d gone straight to their home, where they’d created a mountain luau–themed surprise party for us. Normally the specter of a repeat would have made me want to jump out of the moving car, but not today.

  “You know what? I could use a goddamn party right about now,” I said. “Bring it on.”

  Mrs. Goldberg glanced back from the passenger’s seat and said, “Thank you. At least one of you has some gratitude. We did this in half a day, Rafe. Have a little fuckin’ grace.”

  Rafe laughed, not derisively. “Whoa,” he said.

  “I’m sorry. I just … We’ve spent all morning getting anyone and everyone we can over to the house. It’s been a lot, Rafe. A lot.”

  “Sorry, Mom. You’re right. Thank you for throwing us a surprise party to honor Ben’s suspension.”

  I felt a jolt in my chest, but then I looked up and saw Rafe was just joking around, and his callousness made Mr. G. laugh, and soon Mrs. Goldberg was chuckling a bit too. I was thinking how incredibly unlike my life this scene was. I’d loved it at Thanksgiving, and I was hoping I wasn’t too much of a mess to love it this time too.

  It turned out to be an inside party. Perhaps because it was set up in a day, there was no overriding theme, or at least not an obvious one. What there was, was a playlist that seemed particularly—something.

  I’m not a music maven, but as Rafe hugged relatives and his best friend, Claire Olivia, and way more kids than were here last time, I could tell the first song was Elton John. As Claire Olivia and I gave each other the I remember you wave and said what’s up, a song that seemed to be called “I Am What I Am” blared. After that was that song about rainbows from The Wizard of Oz.

  “What’s with the music?” I asked when I went over to grab some green-looking punch that I later found out was kale-pineapple juice. Ick.

  Mrs. Goldberg tilted her head like I was an innocent child. “I made this for you, sweetie. It’s a musical trip through gay history!”

  “Thanks,” I said, thinking, Thanks?

  “These are songs you should know,” she said. “As you come out, you’ll find that there’s generations upon generations of talented gay men and women who changed the world and paved the way for you.” She touched my shoulder. “I am so proud of you, Ben. It’s not easy, coming out. Not easy at all.”

  I was too tired to explain to her that I wasn’t coming out as gay, or even bi. Unless she was telling me that there were generations upon generations of talented gay men who were otherwise straight until they met her son, none of this was particularly meaningful to me.

  “I hear you’re transitioning,” an elderly woman said in my ear. I recognized her as Rafe’s grandmother, who was memorable in that she wound up topless after doing the limbo at the last party.

  “Hi,” I said, and she grabbed me and gave me a tight hug, and I tried to figure out if she was Mr. or Mrs. Goldberg’s mom. It was unclear. “What?”

  “They tell me you’re transitioning. I think you’ll make a beautiful, large-boned woman.”

  “Mother!” Mrs. Goldberg said. She gave me an apologetic look. “What I said was that you are in transition.”

  I was so lost. Was this more gender fluid stuff? Where was Toby when you needed something explained to you?

  “Well, whatever your gender orientation, I think you’re a lovely human being,” Rafe’s grandma said, leaving me and Rafe’s mom standing there.

  “That was actually very sweet,” I said.

  Claire Olivia was wearing what appeared to be a World War I navy sailor’s hat on her head. It did not particularly mesh with her outfit: vintage cowboy boots, tight jeans, and a solid yellow long-sleeve T-shirt.

  “Please tell me you’re staying and you’re both enrolling at Rangeview. Pleeaassee! I need my Shay Shay back, and Rangeview desperately needs an out gay couple,” she said.

  “I, um, I have no idea,” I said truthfully. “We just got here.”

  “Fine, but I fully expect to tag along to every single thing you boys do the next few weeks. Everything but the bed stuff, because I’m not that kind of girl.”

  “Okay?” I said, just as Rafe came over to rescue me.

  “Give him a break,” he said, perhaps gauging my bewildered expression. “He’s been a Boulder gay boy for, like, two minutes.”

  She curtsied as a way of apologizing, and we made tentative plans with her to go to a place called the Laughing Goat that night.

  When she walked away, I turned to Rafe. “I’m really not comfortable with everyone telling me I’m gay,” I said.

  He gave me an Aww, isn’t that sweet look. “You’re my boyfriend, no?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I think you’re gonna have to get used to people assuming you’re gay. Or bi. Should we tell people you’re bi?”

  I just looked at him and shook my head. “Can I have a rest, please? Would that be okay? Can I, like, go upstairs? I’m so, so tired, Rafe.”

  He looked hurt.

  “We’re fine,” I said, sighing. “It’s just a lot. I was up ’til three driving. And I have no idea how to do this right now.”

  He took my arm and led me upstairs. At the top of the stairs, he gave me a big kiss, which half made me happy and half made me want to strangle him. “I love you, Benny.”

  “Love you
too,” I said, and I was relieved when he left me alone to take a nap in his bed.

  I woke up in time for dinner, and the party had ended, thankfully. I felt sheepish that I’d ducked out, and I hoped the Goldbergs weren’t mad at me. I walked downstairs, and the family was sitting around on a cream-colored sectional that was crazy comfortable, as I recalled from Thanksgiving.

  “You’re up!” Rafe said, and his mom and dad turned and looked. They smiled when they saw me.

  “Yup. Sorry about wimping out on the party.”

  His mother waved her hand like it was in the past. “Come sit down.”

  I sat on the couch next to Rafe, who put his hand on my leg. I squeezed his fingers and let go, and when his hand lingered, part of me wanted to ask him to move it and I wasn’t sure why.

  “We have something for you. A gift,” Mrs. Goldberg said, and she handed me a wrapped present that appeared to be a book.

  “Thanks,” I managed. “Wow.” I opened it. It was a survival guide for queer teens. I studied the back, or more like I pretended to study the back. Too much, somehow. Way, way too much.

  “The coming-out process can be challenging, so we wanted to give you something really good to read that would help,” she said, beaming at me.

  “Thanks … ”

  “Where’s my present?” Rafe asked, pretending to be pissed.

  “It’s only seeable when the dishwasher is empty,” his mom said, and Rafe groaned. She turned back to me. “How did it go, when your parents found out you were gay?”

  I knew she was a major advocate for LGBT people and all, but I had to just say it, even if it upset her. I gathered my strength and spoke. “I don’t consider myself gay, Mrs. Goldberg.”

  “Oh. Bi,” she said.

  I shrugged and looked at Rafe, who grinned at me. “He hasn’t landed there quite yet.” He lowered his voice and did a stage whisper. “He’s in denial.”

  I stood up quickly. “Please excuse me,” I said to Rafe’s parents, and I headed upstairs. We had the go-ahead to sleep in the same room, but for some reason I went into the guest room and flopped down there.

  A few minutes later, Rafe knocked on the door. “Sorry,” he said. “You’re staying in here?”

  “Need some more rest,” I said, and I studied the baby-blue comforter and waited for him to leave.

  I didn’t know what was going on, but something bigger than annoyance was happening to me, and it felt like an explosion, and I was so scared that if I exploded at Rafe, I’d have nothing. The confusion and conflict felt like jitters in my arms and legs.

  “Wait. Are you doing one of those walking away things?” he said, his tone sarcastic, like he was basically joking.

  “Would you leave me alone?” I yelled. “God, Rafe! Can I have half a day to process that I’m fucking homeless? Without you and your parents telling me what I have to do and who I am? Jesus.”

  Rafe’s eyes got big, and I saw the wound in the crease of his eyebrows. He nodded gently and backed out of the room.

  My dad was always fond of saying that everything “out there” was a dressed-up version of what’s “already here.” By which he meant there was nothing better than Alton.

  “You think them Hawaiian people are so special and fancy? Get near one of ’em when they have a stomachache. You’ll see what they’re made of,” he’d say, and part of me knew that was my dad talking about stuff he knew nothing about, and part of me bought into it.

  Walking along Boulder Creek the next morning, I realized my dad was dead wrong.

  Even with the trees bare from winter, I was pretty sure the creek running through the city was the prettiest place I’d ever been. The sound of the water tumbling over rocks calmed me, and in the distance I could see the Rocky Mountains, which were so much taller than anything we had back home. The sunlight peering through the brittle snow-covered branches lent warmth to the scenery, like you could taste the hot chocolate waiting for you.

  That was never the case in Alton. For me, anyway.

  Rafe’s house was less than a mile away, so we hiked over and strolled along the frozen creek. We didn’t say much at first, and I knew I had some apologizing to do from the night before. A squirrel flashed by our feet, chasing God knows what.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  “What for?”

  “You know.”

  He stopped walking. “I accept, but I kind of want to hear why you’re sorry.”

  I started walking again and he stayed with me. “I’m sorry for being nasty to you last night. I don’t know why I’m mad, to be honest. I have no idea.”

  “I guess it’s a lot.” His gloved finger touched mine, tentatively. I wrapped my hand around his and we kept walking, stepping carefully over downed branches and huge roots.

  “Yeah.”

  We walked some more, and I realized other things were bothering me. All my life I’d let those kinds of things go. But here I was, doing all sorts of things I didn’t do.

  “You know, it really did bother me when you made that joke. The one about denial,” I said.

  “Huh?”

  I stepped over a mud puddle. “Your mom was asking if I was bi, and you whispered real loud that I was in denial.”

  “I was joking.”

  I stopped walking. “I get that. But do you get that I’m not in denial? I feel like I’ve told you a hundred times already that I don’t think I’m gay or bi beyond you, and every time, it’s like you don’t absorb that.”

  He stuffed his hands in the side pockets of his purple jacket. “I just—I feel like you’re me, but a few years earlier and with parents who don’t accept you.”

  “Yeah, but I’m not,” I said.

  I could hear him exhale dramatically. “Well, you’re definitely not straight in bed with me.”

  I looked out at the mountains, fixating on their snowy caps. “That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that I’m Ben, and you are Rafe, and we are not the same, and you don’t know what my future is just because you came out a few years ago. Okay?”

  Rafe didn’t say anything, and part of me was worried that it was too much, that I was being too contrary and that he was going to just walk away from me. But then I thought about the baseball team, and how maybe it was okay to speak your mind and disagree, and not every argument had to lead to someone, well, leaving.

  We started walking again. “I also think you don’t get privilege,” I said.

  “Oh, come on,” he said, and our jackets rubbed together, making a hissing sound.

  “No, I really don’t think you understand. Like, you don’t get how lucky you are to have parents who accept you. And on the plane, when you corrected me. I said, ‘I came from nothing’ and you said, ‘You think you come from nothing.’ I don’t know if you understand how aggravating that is. When I was growing up, if we didn’t have a chicken to process and we were out of eggs, we might not eat that night. Do you get that?”

  “I don’t think you get what I was saying,” he said, and I could hear the defensiveness in his voice. “Being poor isn’t nothing. You still have parents.”

  “Yes. But having no money is still having no money, and you have no idea what it’s like to have literally forty-three dollars in my pocket until June, and no way to get more. Do you get that? How you have a safety net and I have none? How fucking scared I am that you’ll just drop me again, and I’ll be stuck out here with nothing?”

  We walked side by side in silence. I could feel his simmering anger. And then, as we walked farther, it was like the snow dissipated the bad feeling. Maybe he finally heard me.

  “Sorry,” he said. “Am I a horrible boyfriend?”

  I cracked a smile and squeezed his hand. “Nah. You’re just Rafe. Which is pretty great, and totally worth putting up with the fact that you don’t always listen.”

  I could feel him bristle a bit next to me. “Thanks.”

  We walked some more. Water scurried down the creek, which was nearly dry.

&n
bsp; “I guess there’s one thing I don’t understand,” he said.

  “Shoot.”

  “What do you mean you’re homeless? I mean, you weren’t kicked out. You can go home.”

  I knew what he meant. I’d been thinking the same thing. It wasn’t as if I couldn’t go home, and I knew that there were plenty of kids out there who literally couldn’t. Yet at the same time, I felt homeless. I couldn’t explain it. I tried anyway.

  “I don’t know. It’s a feeling. Like I don’t exactly know where my home is. I don’t think you get that. I don’t think you get—”

  “Get what?”

  I stumbled a bit over a particularly high tree root. “Never mind.”

  “Ben, you can say stuff to me. My parents and I actually have arguments and live to tell about it. No offense.”

  I chuckled. “None taken. I’ve noticed that. It’s weird. I’m not used to it.”

  “I know.”

  “I guess … I guess the truth is I’m a little mad at you.”

  “Mad at me? What did I do?”

  “It’s not what you did. It’s what’s happened since I’ve known you. In six months, I’ve gone from being an A student and a standout in two sports to being—this.”

  “I know you’re not pegging your cheating on knowing me.”

  “No,” I said. “Not at all. I’m talking about being confused about who I am and what I want. Unsure where my home is. Having a dad who thinks I’m worthless.”

  “Well, I think he’s worthless,” Rafe said.

  “You sound a little like your mom sometimes,” I said back.

  He exhaled and said, “I’m not sure that’s such a bad thing.”

  “Maybe not.”

  “So you’re mad at me.”

  “It’s not rational, but maybe.”

  Rafe stopped, gave me a quick kiss on the cheek, grabbed my hand, and then we started up our walking again. “Don’t stay mad too long, okay?”

  I squeezed his hand and smiled a little. “Okay.”

  At dinner that night, Mrs. Goldberg had fashioned herself a huge white ribbon that read, MOTHER OF THE FREAKIN’ UNIVERSE. She was wearing it over one shoulder and across her chest and torso.