Soul Of Moons: Snowden Mackery... (Part 3)

[zarathrustra_ink]

By the time I was in high school, there was no more effort in trying to hide who I was. Though my dad was openly ignoring who I was, as long as it didn’t cost him the church, I was allowed to be the town fruit fly. Other than every Sunday when he would thank the Lord above for his family, I doubt my dad really cared about me. He would carry on conversations with people as if I were not in the room and by that, I mean if I tried to interject an opinion, he would immediately switch subjects. At first, I thought it was an oversight on his part, but it didn’t take long for me to figure out that when it came to my dad, my opinions had no place in his ears. Whenever I would try to catch him alone, he would throw money at me to get me to disappear.
Needless to say, I was probably the best dressed kid in Morris High School. I spent hours upon hours in the local thrift stores trying to stretch my dad’s hush money. All my clothes had to match right down to my shoes. Each pair of which I had painstakingly sequined to match my outfits. Ninth grade was when I made my first, real friend: Julian Graves. Oh man, it was like someone had taken extra time to outline the type of sexy Julian Graves would grow into, right down to his perfect, chiseled jawline. We were the only two guys in Home Ec. and I knew why I was there. Shit, everybody did. No one forced me. I really did want to learn how to sew. But Julian Graves… He was a man of mystery. Why would someone like him not want to be front and center in Shop so that the girls could giggle and comment on how good he was with his hands? According to something I’d heard Malcolm say to one of his buddies, that was the best reason for anyone to join Shop. Also, from listening in on Malcolm, who I failed to mention was a Junior, I learned that Julian was new to our area. Actually, that wasn’t too hard to learn on my own. He kind of stood out. Besides being Warhol painting beautiful, Julian Graves was one of few white students at our school.
At lunch, he would sit at the table to the far right. My brother used to say that only nerds would dare to sit so far away from the doors, but no way was he referring to Julian Graves. He made those ratty, outdated tables look positively refreshing. I assure you, no matter what I dared to drape across my figure, I did not have the same effect on the décor as Julian Graves. Which was a travesty in itself seeing as how I was also one of the kids fortunate enough to have a table all to himself during lunch. That is, until a rainy Autumn Monday in the middle of November when a wave of blonde hair and bottomless green eyes placed a tray in front of me. At first, I didn’t look up. I was used to Malcolm sending over his friends to antagonize me from time to time. Instead of the usual hateful jeer, I was treated to “What’re you writing?”
I looked up, startled at first. Outside of Piper or Malcolm’s minions, (I can't think of a single time that Malcolm himself had approached that table. Truth is, he did everything he could to distance himself from the label of “The Gay Kid’s Older Brother") people stopping at my table was a rarity. Sitting was damn near unheard of.
“Uh… Uh…”
“And here I thought you were one of the intelligent ones.” Julian joked. And then, it happened. He sat down right in front of his tray. “Is this seat taken?”
Marry me. "Um..." Mentally, I kicked myself. Come on brain, give me this one. “Asking to sit when you’re already sitting defeats the purpose.” He smiled. I nearly melted through the chair. “I’m-”
“Snowden, right?” He shoved his long, slender fingers in my direction.
I shook his hand, careful to keep my squealing safely tucked away in my thoughts. Julian Graves knew my name! “Right.” I said instead.
He skinned his piece of fried chicken breast and started to chew. He swallowed carefully then tried again: “What are you writing?” He nodded at my notebook.
“My suicide note.” I replied wryly.
“I seriously doubt that.” He tilted his head slightly to the right. A habit that had not gone unnoticed by me in class.
“Notes?” I have no idea why I was trying to scare him off, but it didn’t matter because it wasn’t working.
His smile brightened, if possible. Or maybe I was memorizing the way his lip curled slightly on the left whenever he would smirk at me. In my mind though, his entire being was racked with a supernatural glow, which was graciously beaming down on my undeserving scalp. “I can’t imagine a person who puts as much time into dressing themselves as I can tell you do killing themselves.” He drew the word “killing” out as if he were speaking each letter individually.
“I’m a writer.” I admitted, awaiting the ridicule I’d become accustomed to.
“Oh really?” He said skeptically.
“Yeah, why?” I demanded.
I knew it was too good to be true. Malcolm probably put him up to it because he’s the one person I wouldn’t immediately suspect. Tears stung my eyes. I snatched my notebook from the table and retreated to the first available door in the hallway: The boy’s bathroom. The door slammed as I dropped rather unceremoniously on the toilet. Tears spilled from my eyes though I was fighting them with everything I had. This was a different kind of pain. As sure as I was that Malcolm despised the very ground I walked on, I didn’t think he would hurt me like this. As silly as it sounded, all I wanted was a friend. Any ol’ friend would do.
I listened to the bathroom door's old age groaning in protest under the pressure of someone pulling it open. I could see the pair of black tennis shoes beneath the frame. Three sharp whacks on the door caused my tears to dry faster than a raindrop in the Sahara.
“Occupied.” I snapped, wiping furiously at the few strays hopping from my eyelids.
“I am aware.”
Shit. Even in a poorly decorated boy’s bathroom, Julian sounded like sex on a stick. Two sticks. Legs. I sighed a long, defeated sigh. “I know Malcolm put you up to this.”
“Who is Malcolm?”
Through a tiny crack, I could see him standing there staring at the door. He reached out to knock on the door again.
“I heard you the first time.” I grumbled, hugging my notebook to my chest.
“You forgot your bookbag.” He held up the bag that I’d carefully sequined a large “G” on the front flap to the stall. “What’s the G stand for?”
Gay. I thought, recalling the years of mockery despite wearing who I was as a badge of honor. “You can slide it under the door.” I replied, sidestepping the inquiry.
“You can come out.” He countered.
“What do you want?!” I wailed. Gah, I wanted to flush myself down the toilet so bad.
“You to come out.” He said. I watched him sit my bag on the floor against the wall. He crouched down on the floor. Stunned beyond words, I watched as Julian Graves lowered his belly to the floor in order to crawl the few centimeters it took for him stick his head beneath the door. He turned at a weird angle so that he could face me. “Unless you want me to come in.”
“I’m coming out! I swear!” No matter how much I fantasized about being in close quarters with Julian, the idea of actually doing it was too far above my pay grade.
He disappeared, and I unlocked the door. Before I could completely open it, he dangled my bookbag in front of himself. I stepped out and reached for it. He backed up. One step. Two step. Three more steps until his back was against the door, blocking my freedom.
“Like I said, you forgot your bag.”
I wanted so badly to slither back into the stall where Julian Graves and his perfect hippie golden locks couldn’t see me. “You’re kidding, right?”
“I’ll give you your bag if you answer my question.” He gave me a quick once over, pausing on my bedazzled shoes. I pretended not to notice. Everyone always noticed my style of shoes if they didn’t notice anything else about me. These were a pair of old penny loafers that I’d sequined tiny shapes on but again, I’m getting off topic.
“Why can’t you just give me my bag?” Is what my face started to say. I had the smooth, masculine edge to my voice too, but for some reason, it came out as: “Okay.” I have no idea what happened.
He held the bookbag out at me. Slowly, he started to sway it from side to side. “So, Snow…”
“Snowden.” I corrected.
“Why not Snow for short?” He shrugged, still swaying my bag. “You’re a classic. Be a classic.”
I stood before him, Julian beautiful god-like (Don’t tell my dad I just said that) creature Graves as myself, Snowden who sits alone by himself because he’s an outcast Mackery and the longer he was swaying my bookbag, the more I wanted to just let him keep it and run.
“Why do you eat lunch by yourself every day?”
I watched as my bag continued to swing on his finger. I reached for it. This time he didn’t move.
“Nobody likes me.” I replied, placing the bag on the floor so that I could tuck my notebook away.
He looked on, probably wondering why he wasted his perfectly good lunch chasing down a loser with a shoe fetish.
“I find it hard to believe nobody likes you.” He said after I had slung my bag over my shoulder. “As long as you like yourself, there isn’t much room for background noise anyway.” He shrugged. “Never let the background noise of the world become your permanent soundtrack.”
“You asked why I eat alone. You didn’t ask if I let it effect me.” I snapped.
“True.” Julian Graves nodded his Julian Graves’ nod then he opened the bathroom door. “Shall we?”
We? I almost fainted.
From that day forward, even in Home Ec., Julian and I were inseparable. My days started with him and no matter what occurred in the middle, they also ended with him. I went from the gay kid to the gay kid who hung out with Julian Graves virtually overnight. All of a sudden, people who were openly shunning me only days before were walking up to me in the hallways gushing about how great Julian was and how awesome I had to feel to be blessed with his presence. Okay, there’s a chance it wasn’t worded exactly that way, but the fact that becoming friends with Julian brought me a sense of celebrity was baffling to me.
One day, on our walk home, Malcolm came up behind me and hissed: “It’s because he’s white, ya know?” He nudged me with his shoulder, hard. “Do you really think a guy like that wants to hang with the gay scene? You’re both outcasts.”
“That’s not true!” Is what I said, but secretly, I’d voiced those same concerns in my diary.
“Oh, it isn’t? What pure bred American in their right mind wants to be your friend, Snowden?”
I choked back the angry tears that were threatening to make an appearance. “It’s Snow!”
“Leave him alone!” Piper shouted at him, but it was too late. The damage had already been done.
“He’s using you.” Malcolm laughed in my face. “What’re you going to do? Cry?”
The next day in Home Ec., I stomped past Julian to sit in the back of the class, alone. Every thirty minutes or so, he would glance back at me, only for me to exaggerate an interest in improving my cross stitch. After class, before he could stand up, I was out the door and up the hallway, fully prepared to return to my life as a pariah at lunch. I was almost inside the double doors when a hand reached out and grabbed my bookbag. I whirled around, fully prepared to kick Malcolm in his balls.
“What’s up with you?”
Julian Graves was my first life lesson in not believing everything on face value. After I explained what had happened on the way home, he grabbed my hand (!!!) and all but dragged me over to where Malcolm and his goonies held court. Malcolm, whom had always been quick, was on his feet and balling his fists before Julian approached them. Julian didn’t even speak. He swung his left fist. It connected with the right side of my brother’s head. Malcolm stumbled, but didn’t lose his footing. He swung. Julian caught his wrist and pulled. Malcolm tripped over his shoes and landed, face first, on the cafeteria floor.
He turned to me and put his hand out. My eyes shifted from Malcolm glaring at me from the floor to Julian. I could help my older brother off the floor, or I could admit that my brother wasn’t worth the time it took our parents to make him. It was my choice and mine alone to make. No longer willing to wait, Julian took my hand in his and led me to our table underneath the window. I took my seat across from him as life slowly breathed its way through the cafeteria once more.
“We don’t have any food.” I said finally, breaking the tension.
“Let’s get some.”
He made a move to stand up. I reached out to stop him. “It’s fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
He wasn’t looking at me. I didn’t have to be a brain surgeon to know who he was glaring at and I wasn’t about to add fuel to the fire. Julian Graves had flung my brother on the floor and the whole school would know about it by the end of the day. Malcolm wasn’t about to let that slide. “If you’re hungry, we're eating.” Julian said firmly.
I opened my mouth to voice a few concerns when someone came up beside me. I had seen her around school many times, but Jasmine Waters and I didn’t have any of the same classes. She sat down beside me as if she’d been doing it her entire high school career. Julian broke the death stare that he and Malcolm were holding to wonder if she were lost.
“Are you lost?” He said it just like that. No pauses. Gone was “Kumbaya my lord” Julian Graves.
“No, I'm Jasmine. Lost kind of sounds like the name you give a kid you want to fail in life.” She replied curtly. “Is this seat taken?”
“No.” I said quickly.
Julian’s shoulders relaxed slightly. He applied his focus to our guest. “You don't strike me as a failure.”
"Far from it." She took a bite out of her school lunch supplied burger. My stomach rumbled at the sound of the lettuce snapping between her teeth. She nodded at Julian after swallowing. “We have first period together, remember?”
He tilted his head slightly to the right. “You sit like, two rows up, right?”
She nodded again.
From that day on, it was Julian, Jasmine and I. We were our own version of The Three Musketeers. We weren’t allowed to hang out at my house for obvious reasons, but my mom encouraged me to hang out. Honestly, I think she was secretly relieved that I wasn’t destined to die alone in a cave. For the most part, we lounged around Jasmine’s house. Her mom worked nights, so we pretty much had the run of the place.
“Where’s your dad?” I had asked the first time we were invited.
She had sighed as if it were a question she’d been answering longer than desired. “My mom left him when I was like, five.” She twisted the key in the lock to push open the door. “I don’t remember him and I’m not about to ask my mom if she keeps polaroids of the dude who used to put his hands on her.”
Julian shot me “a look” but there was no way I could unask such a question. Once it’s out there, it’s pretty much out there. “Dads aren’t so great.” I’d said, shrugging.
“Oh, I know. We drive thirteen miles every Sunday just so that we don’t have to go to your dad’s church.”
I had laughed until I saw the photos on the living room mantle. Jasmine’s mom was the one and only Ms. Dandelion. I had seen her around town so many times. Always alone. I wondered did the congregation know that the woman who kept their tongues wagging was a single mom. Now that I’m older… Wiser… I know not only did they know, I understand that they had to of known about Jasmine every time they sat in front of a plate of my mom’s cookies to gossip about Ms. Dandelion. My mom, as the pastor’s wife, had to of known too. That’s what unsettled me the most.
On this particularly bright, snowy Wednesday afternoon, we were curled up on Jasmine’s bed like alley cats doing what was quickly becoming our favorite pastime: Gossiping about our classmates.
“Did you hear about Mason and Abby?” I asked. My head was nestled against Julian’s shoe. We were in tenth grade now and hanging out in the afternoons was expected, neither of my parents bothered to question it now.
Jasmine made a circular gesture over her stomach. “I heard her parents are sending her to live with her mom’s family in Vermont. Nobody is supposed to know why.”
“Sounds like a poorly kept secret if both of you know.” Julian chuckled.
“What secret?” I shrugged. “Mason keeps blabbing to every ear that’ll have him. I heard it from Kevin, who heard it from Evette, who heard it from some guy on the football team. There’s no telling who all knows.”
A pregnancy in high school wasn’t handled the way it is now. You didn’t get to waddle to all your classes. Whether you kept the baby or not, all of it was handled in private. We either saw you after it was over, or we never saw you ever again. In a deeply religious community, having me showing my face was blasphemous enough. I could be covered up; blatantly lied about even. Having Abby Hendrix’s baby bump on display was an entirely different dragon.
“That’s not all I heard.” I said. “I heard that this Wednesday at prayer meeting, it’s going to be posed for Mason to go to Military school.”
“Why?”
I looked up at Julian. “Supposedly, this sin can’t just be prayed away. He’s getting the out of sight, out of mind treatment.”
“That’s bullshit.”
“Your mom and her hens stay clucking.” Jasmine laughed humorlessly. “I seriously doubt some school will stop Mason’s dick from getting hard.”
“Especially with all those men in uniform.” I added, pretending to swoon.
“Now see, this is why we can’t have nice things!” She chuckled, shaking her head. I could hear an air of humor this time but only for a second. "Okay, Snow… If you could kill anyone at our school knowing you would get away with it; no evidence, no witnesses, not a single day behind bars, who would you kill?" We were always playing games like these. "Who would you have sex with?" "Who would you marry? "Who would you appoint President?" "And why...?" You can't forget the "And why...?" because the question was just the spark. The "why" was the flame. Who would I kill? Malcolm was the first name that manifested at the edge of my thoughts, but no. That wasn't who I was. I wasn't the person to joke about death... Even in our game. Even with my friends.
"Nobody."
I could tell Jasmine didn't believe me. "Nobody?!" She wasn't exactly trying to hide it.
"Nope." I said, shaking my head. "I am not about to get my clothes all bloody. You've seen the news. People fight and a fighter I am not. Screw all that. I know how to kill without even lifting a finger. No blood, no body... All gore."
Julian shifted. I followed so that my head was now propped up by his ankles. "You can't kill people without touching them unless you put a hit out on them and that's going to take money."
I poked him in the leg with my index finger. "So, you wouldn't kill for me, Julian?"
He winked down at me.
"Wait..." Jasmine interjected, "I wanna hear this. How do you kill someone without touching them?"
"Allow them to fall in love with you. Dangle the prospect of a beautiful, fairy tale life right in front of their nose like a carrot and just when they reach out for a taste, snatch it away. Move on but be mindful about keeping them in your life. Tell them you just want to be friends and own that shit. You're going to need them front row center to watch the existence you create unfold like an origami swan, fluttering to the ground in a silent pirouette before their eyes. That way, each day, a tiny piece of their soul, who they are... Their very being will fade away and die out; obsessing over what could have been."
I could almost see the words marching through Jasmine’s mind. Finally, she whistled. "Who knew beneath all that glitter was a mind so dark and twisty?"
"I did." Julian said, winking down at me again. "Snow's going to be a famous writer someday and all of us will be looking back saying we knew him when. Isn't that right, Snow?
"Well..." I thought about the prospect. "Maybe." I sat up. "But never too famous to forget about you guys."
"I know!” Jasmine clapped her hands. “You should work at a newspaper. I would love to start my day with grits, eggs, and style."
I laughed. So did Julian. Our eyes met and for a fraction of a second, Jasmine's presence went completely forgotten. He held my gaze for longer than necessary before her voice ripped through my thoughts: "Get a room, you two!"
Both of us snapped to attention.
Julian cleared his throat nervously. "Bathroom break." I sat up so that he could shuffle off the end of the bed. His feet were barely out of the room when Jasmine pounced: "What was that all about?"
Maybe I should have gone to the bathroom too. Aloud: "Nothing."
"I don't get it. Everybody already thinks you guys are the gayest of unicorns and Julian never argues against it so why not?"
Why not? I thought, sighing. It wasn't as if my morning didn't start with thoughts of Julian and end the exact same way. Julian's perfect jawline positioned just so, beneath his memorizing, piercing green eyes. Not that I'd noticed, of course.
"It's not some crap that Malcolm said, is it?"
I averted my eyes, embarrassed.
"What did he do this time?"
I continued to stare at the ripple in her sheets where Julian's head used to be.
Jasmine cleared her throat. "Hello? Earth to Snow?" She tugged at my arm. "Was it that bad?"
I inhaled a deep breath. "He told me if I so much as breathe on another guy, I'm going to catch AIDS." It came out in one gush, so it probably didn't sound nearly as eloquent as how I’m saying it now.
"Huh?" Judging by the look on her face when I looked up, this assessment was correct.
"AIDS. Malcolm said I'm going to catch it."
"Oh. Is that all?" She smirked. "What did you say to him?"
"I told him sometimes I use his toothbrush when I'm feeling a little sick... Then I coughed super dramatically and slammed my door in his face."
Jasmine's expression contorted as she did her best to not burst out laughing. She folded her face back into a neutral position before speaking: "Malcolm's an uneducated jerk, you do realize that, right? Please tell me you know that, Snow."
"I want to know that so bad." I whispered fiercely.
"Do you know why out of every community, ours was the one hit hardest by HIV and AIDS?"
I shook my head. No, I didn't know, but I certainly wanted to understand.
"Lack of education. Fear. Bigotry." She paused. "Need I go on?" I didn't move. "You see, in our community, nothing is more damming than a gay child. It is seen as a symbol of failure. I'm sure you know that." I nodded. I knew a little too well. "African Americans were throwing their gay children out into the streets by the thousands and those were the lucky ones. Some were killed by families that they thought loved and wanted to protect them. Can you really blame them for walking into a closet and nailing the door closed? You knew the risks. If you didn't want the same fate, you kept up the charade. They were on the down low, so to speak." I had no idea what a "down low" was. I did, however, get the sense that it was a lonely existence. "To this very day, people will huddle, freezing their toes off, in front of some prison gates chanting 'Free whoever the hell' even if he committed armed robbery and shot two people on the way out the door before they'll stand for the little gay black kid who didn't do a thing to anyone. I wish I was lying but you have no idea how hurtful it is to know that in our community, it is more acceptable to support a dude who pumps drugs into the veins of our own rather than support someone whose life does not directly affect your own. I mean, the black man is supposed to be a strong, kingly figure so a gay man is not accepted with open arms but a man who abandoned his own kids because he couldn’t handle the responsibility is more times than not welcomed with open arms to the dinner table. The one who you know beats his wife or girlfriend? Again, more times than not, accepted. Have a seat. Pass the gravy. His gay brother, uncle, cousin or whatever the fuck? Again, more times than not, thrown away like trash. Treated as if they were never born. It's amazing what is accepted in our community versus what is condemned." Angrily, she wiped a few loose tears as they tried to escape. "You think I don't know what people say about my mom?" Whether in passing conversation or sitting in my mother's kitchen, everybody knew of Ms. Dandelion. "My dad used to beat her. Does anybody ever mention that?" No. "A day didn't go by where she would somehow earn herself a bruise by his fist. He only had to hit me once for her to leave. Years and years of abuse she endured and yet, he barely tapped me, and she packed me up and bailed. I bet he’s accepted at every table amongst his family but you..." She placed her hand on my leg. "Even in my own home, with a mother as strong as mine; the same woman whose own family wants nothing to do with us because in their eyes, she gave up on her family. Not she protected herself. Not she protected me. They blamed her and turned their backs... Even with a woman who knows exactly what it's like to be shunned, I have to lie. I have to keep who you are a secret. That's why HIV and AIDS spread through our community like it did, Snow. We would rather accept the worst from our own than call to order an epidemic that's wiping us off the planet one by one. AIDS doesn't see sexual orientation. Our ignorance does."
"Couldn't have said it better myself." We both jumped at the sound of Julian's voice.
"Sad part is, my dad would probably be more welcome with my mom's family than she is." Jasmine said, shaking her head.
"How long have you been standing there?" I said, adjusting so that he could get back on the bed.
He didn’t move. “Enough to know it’s time to ask a very important question.” He replied, leaning against the open door.
“What’s that?” Jasmine and I asked at the same time. She laughed at the accident whilst still dabbing the tears from her eyes.
“Would you like to be my boyfriend?”
“Huh?” And that, dear reader, is how I died. With the goofiest, happiest, most stunned lop-sided smile on my face. Is what I wish were true. Honestly, at fifteen, had my life ended the second that question fell from his lips, my life would have been short, but do you know what else it would have been? Worth it.
“You heard me.”
“I did.” I said slowly. “I’m just making sure you heard yourself.”
“I want you to be my boyfriend.”
I have no idea why. The way he said ‘boyfriend” turned my brain to mush. I had so many things I wanted to say. Starting from when he was my only friend and anywhere else my mind would take me, but anything I could scrape together felt as if it wasn’t enough. Julian deserved so much more than just words. “Okay.” Is all I could manage.
“Okay?” Julian tilted his head the same way he always had only this time, this tilt carried the weight of the world and all my emotions along with it. I wanted to scream.
“Okay.” I repeated, nodding.
Jasmine screamed. She dove on top of me and hugged me tightly.
“I… can’t… breathe…” I wheezed.
She jumped off the bed to hug Julian. “I’m sorry. I’m just so…”
I laid there for almost a solid minute. I never wanted this memory to be any less clear than it was in that moment. Julian reached out so that I could be included in their embrace. I had no idea what we were all so emotional about. People started relationships all over the world, every day. Up against my “Okay”, there were probably thousands of people replying to the same question all over the world and probably with more eloquently versed responses. Not my fault. Out of every scenario I imagined with Julian (Get your mind out of the gutter!), not once had I imagined this. I mean, I was me. Up until the day he sat down in front of me, no one wanted anything to do with me and now there we were, our own little trio. How my heart craved our bubble being infused with its own super powers to withstand anything, but as with any bubble, it could pop; and pop ours did.
The next year, Ms. Dandelion’s name was all over the church. I mean, one could argue that it was always all over the church, but this was different. This time it travelled all the way to Julian’s neck of the woods. Usually Jasmine and I would school him on the ins and outs of our community, but this time there was no need. He already knew and to make matters worse, it unfolded in my backyard.
Without all the gory details, a couple months into the year, it was my dad’s shiny leather, preacher shoes seen leaving Ms. Dandelion’s back gate. At first, there were only murmurs but that’s the thing about a rumor: The juicier it is, the more life gets breathed through it. By the end of May, right before school let out, every lip was telling their own version of events. Oddly enough, the only people silent on the matter were Ms. Dandelion and my dad. My dad wouldn’t even discuss it with our mom. Dinner became a tense affair. It felt like every breath and every word were measured and analyzed. Malcolm did most of the talking. Piper would try but she couldn’t carry a conversation quite like our older brother. As for me, I was always too busy watching our parents. Conversation was one thing, but only a moron couldn’t tell that the real show was in their facial expressions. They were practically screaming at one another without uttering a peep. It was remarkable really.
I couldn’t talk to my siblings about the situation so as usual, I found myself sitting amongst Jasmine and Julian.
“What did your mom say?” Julian asked.
“She said he came over to see if she would consider rejoining the church.” Jasmine said, doing everything not to meet my eyes.
“Wait, did something happen?” I whispered.
She didn’t answer. She didn’t have to.
I wanted more than anything to comfort her. It’s not like I didn’t know my dad was a hypocrite. Preaching against adultery on Sunday, only to be committing it by Wednesday. There had been whispers around town about my dad for years. This time was different though. This time he’d actually been seen. A rumor with no legs is just that: A rumor. A rumor with witnesses is an entirely different narrative. My mom had always taught me that the hardest thing to separate someone from was their truth.
“Our preacher’s sermon this week was about the power a woman has over man. How a woman can convince even the godliest of men to betray his robes, all she needs is to whisper in his ear.” Jasmine’s head snapped to attention at Julian’s words. “He said that a woman’s design is to entice the senses and weaken the mind. He started talking about how Eve convinced Adam that just a tiny bite from that bright, juicy, red apple would be of no consequence to them… That the smooth, silkiness of a woman’s voice is a dangerous weapon. The body is the root of temptation but the tongue… blah, blah, blah.” He smirked.
“All I heard was it’s being spun that my mom is a succubus.” She pointed at me with her pinky. “And your dad is some poor, unfortunate wilted flower in all this.”
“That’s the way the religion works in this town.” I shrugged. “My dad hasn’t so much as breathed in my mom’s direction since all this started. I guess she was fine when it was just rumors.”
“We’re moving.” Jasmine blurted.
I’ve seen the word “gasp” several times in written works, but this was the first time I’d seen the act in action. I clapped my hands over my mouth.
“What? Why?” Julian grabbed Jasmine’s arm.
A tear dropped on his hand. “My mom said it’s best we move on.” She sniffed. “She didn’t even ask what I thought. Just: ‘Jasmine, we’re moving.”
We huddled around Jasmine as we always had, whether the news be good or bad.
The next day, Jasmine was gone. If I couldn’t recount so many memories of her, it would have been as if she never existed. After school, there was no sanctuary to gossip in. For the first time in almost three years, I was walking home with Malcolm and Piper. He had already graduated, but until he went off to college, my mom insisted Malcolm walk Piper home since I had plans. For some reason, it'd slipped my mind that he would be there. We were barely out of the school parking lot when Malcolm turned on me: “I wonder if your friend was just as easy as her mom.” He thought it over. “If she was, she couldn’t have been any good ‘cause you still look gay to me.”
Before I could consider repercussions, my fist was already connecting with Malcolm’s cheek. He tried to punch me back, but I dove on top of him and kept swinging. Each swing was for something different. Every hateful name. Every snide comment. Every chance he had to be my brother. Every time he chose not to. He tried to fight me off, but to avail. Make no mistakes, I knew it wasn’t because I was stronger than him but right then, none of that mattered. I just kept swinging until Piper started to drag me off him. As she was pulling, I managed a swift kick to the back of his left leg. I didn’t realize I was sobbing until I felt a new, significantly stronger, set of arms gather me up.
“Let me go!” I shouted, fighting against the grip.
“Snow! Stop! Stop! It’s me!”
All the fight left my body instantly. “J-Julian?” What on Earth was he doing there?
“I was going to walk you home, but one of Piper’s friends said you guys were already heading home.”
“So you followed us?” Malcolm spat blood in the dirt. I could almost imagine what our mom was going to say about his busted lip. “What kind of sense does that make?”
“Hey man, I just saved your life.” I could hear the laughter in his voice. “Don’t I at least get a thank you?”
Malcolm’s right eye was already beginning to darken. “He got a few lucky hits.”
“Lucky? So that’s what they’re calling an ass whooping these days.” He didn’t release me though. “Start walking, dude.”
Malcolm’s eyes zeroed in on Julian clutching me. “Faggots.” He spat in the dirt again.
Julian shrugged. “I could let him go, you know.”
Malcolm’s gaze left me. I could tell he and Julian were staring one another down. Finally, he gave one last spit before turning on his heel. “Let’s go, Piper.”
I glanced at my sister. Always the yin to Malcolm’s yang, she gave me one last look before following him. Julian waited until Malcolm was far away enough to loosen his grip.
“Wow. I didn’t know you had it in you.” He was doing everything not to laugh, but I could tell not only was he shocked, he was genuinely impressed.
“He said something about Jasmine.” Was all I said.
“Malcolm’s full of shit.” Julian said. “And after all that, he’s probably full of dirt too.”
“Ah ha. Ah ha.”
“Here I thought I was going to surprise you.” He dragged me to my feet and helped dust off my clothes.
I spit on my fingers so that I could wipe some of the dust away from my shoes. It had taken me all night to glue the little purple glitter flowers to them and now they were in desperate need of attention. “My shoes!” I wailed.
“Come on, I’ll walk with you to Tabbies.”
Tabbies was positioned in the middle of town and it had everything; right down to the glitter I needed to fix my shoes. Mostly, people went there when they couldn’t afford the mall. Which meant the majority of our town frequented the establishment. The double doors swished open with our arrival. You had a choice when you entered Tabbies: Turn left and you were flourishing your grocery list, possibly designing a menu for a Sunday feast. Everyone knew after church you gathered together for Sunday dinner. It was an unwritten rule passed through every family from generation to generation. Turn to the right and it was a smorgasbord for even the pickiest of shoppers. It didn’t matter what it was, it was sold in Tabbies. As a matter of fact, the glitter I was searching for was four aisles up from the guns.
“What shade of purple are you looking for?” Julian asked.
I froze. Out the corner of my eye, I could see Miss Calvin. I could tell by her humming that she had yet to notice that we were on the same aisle. The more time I spent with Jasmine and Julian, the less I saw of her narrow face. Our run ins had been reduced to church on Sunday. Did I mind? Of course not.
Julian waved his hand in front of my face. I blinked back to reality. “Miss Calvin is on this aisle.” I hissed at him.
“So, um… Am I supposed to know who that is?”
Still humming what I now recognized as page forty-seven in our church’s hymnal, clearly distracted by the list in between her fingers, she was only a few feet away now. I had two choices: Grab Julian and bolt without my glitter or confront the interaction head on. I grabbed Julian’s arm to flee. The second my fingers grazed his bare arm, I swear the powers that be saw fit for her to see me and of course, she was quick to note where my hand was. A smooth, conniving smile twisted across her lips.
“Oh, is that you, Snowden?”
“Of course, it’s me. You see me every week at church.” Is what I wanted to say, but I knew Malcolm was probably already filling our mom’s head with his version of events from earlier. I wasn’t about to add my disrespect of one of the deaconesses to the list. I settled for a deflated sounding “Yes ma’am.” Instead.
“Who’s your friend?” She said the word “friend” with the same disgusted tone I’d heard from her mouth before.
“Julian Graves.” I was so glad his vocal cords still worked. Meanwhile, I was busy wishing the floor would swallow me. He extended his hand. For the tiniest of moments, I thought she would ignore the gesture, but her fleeting Christianity wouldn’t allow her to be openly rude.
“Oh,” It had always annoyed me when she would start her sentences with “oh”. Today was no different. “How do you know our Snowden?”
Our? I rolled the word both backwards and forwards in my mind. This lady couldn’t stand me last I checked.
“We go to school together.” And there was Julian chatting away like he wasn’t carrying on a conversation with The Wicked Witch of The South.
“School? But…” She cleared her throat to allow the rest of her sentence to die out. She wanted to ask in what world would Lydia Mackery see fit for her bouncing baby boy to be seen with a gorgeous piece of man meat in public. Okay, so there’s a chance I exaggerated her thoughts for my own entertainment, but I’m the one telling this story so never you mind.
“But… What ma’am?” Julian, being Julian, knew exactly what she meant. He just wanted to see if she would dare say it.
“Nothing.” She replied quickly. “I just realized I’m on the wrong aisle.” She held up the momentarily forgotten list in her hand. She stepped away from us then moved to pass. She was nearly seven inches away when she turned and looked dead at me. “Oh, Snowden, be a dear and tell your mom I said hello.” Is what she said. “Tell your mom I’m going to ask her point blank did she forget the town’s already talking about where her husband’s dick vacations. Does she really want them talking about you parading your lifestyle down the arts and crafts aisle too?” Is what I heard. I don’t know. Going by the way she said it, I wouldn’t be surprised if she was on the porch when I got home so we could walk in together.
I grabbed the purple glitter with my now shaking hands.
Julian put his hand over mine. “She goes to church with you, I’m guessing.” He squeezed it for a few seconds.
“She also visits my mom’s house to gossip about everybody over cookies.” I said, nodding.
“And here I thought all our gossip sessions were unique.”
“They were. None of us ever baked cookies.”
When I got home, Miss Calvin wasn’t on the porch, but my mom was. I sat down beside her, still clutching the purple glitter.
For what could almost be measured by an eternity, we sat together on the porch, silent.
Finally, my mom's voice pierced the edge of our peace: “Malcolm said he got jumped by some guys after school.” She spoke in a quiet, worn down tone.
“I- ” What could I say to that?
“Piper told me it was you.” She said in the same tone. “She told me that he said some hateful things and you stood up for yourself. Is that true, Snowden?”
Now, as a professional, up and coming member of the human race, one thing I knew as sure as the color of my skin was that if a mom asks you “Is that true?” more times than not, she already knows the answer. She’s only testing to see what kind of a person she has raised. Tell the truth and whatever punishment she has concocted won’t be so bad. Lie and you cause the type of pain she’ll never show you. You’ll never know it’s there because she’ll never say but deep down, a part of her will feel as if she failed you as a mother. So as I sat there with the sun setting in the distance, I ran the pros and cons of both outcomes and then I asked myself: Am I still the “good boy” my mother raised?
“Yes ma’am.” I said finally.
She sighed. “Good for you, son.” She stood up, reached down and patted the top of my head like she used to when I made it through a day of school without complaining.
“Miss Calvin told me to tell you she said hello.” I said as she was opening the screen door. “I saw her in Tabbies.”
“I know. I just got off the phone with her.” Was all she said as the door slammed behind her.
For a long time, until the sun had completely disappeared for the evening, I sat on the porch in silence, wondering what kind of strength it took for a woman like my mom to soldier on.
The following year, on an unusually cool, summer afternoon, before the start of my senior year, my mom drew her last breath.
My whole world came crashing down in a matter of moments. Only a few days before, she’d been in Tabbies helping me color swatch fabrics. I wanted to make an outfit for school. I’d spent the whole summer perfecting my sewing and there was no way I was going to waste my new-found talent. It was going to be a black smoker’s jacket with bright, red trim. I’d already sequined a pair of Piper’s old Mary Janes for the occasion.
Instead of sitting in front of my sewing machine, I was sitting in the back pew of our church, listening to our dad make funeral arrangements. None of which, the Lydia Mackery I knew would approve of. Did my dad even know his wife? When I tried to interject, he swatted me away, so I left. My retreat found me back at home. The phone was ringing off the hook. It hadn’t stopped since the news had made the rounds. My dad wasn’t exactly an unappealing man so most of the calls were probably trying to take my mom’s place before the dirt was tossed on the coffin. You know, just in case there was a slim chance she could rise from the dead and reclaim the throne at my dad’s side.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Every couple seconds, I could hear the sound. Tap. Tap. Tap. I looked all over my room, including beneath my bed. Nothing. Tap. Tap. Tap. It was driving me nuts. I flung open the curtains only to be greeted with Julian’s smiling face. I opened the window. “What are you doing here?!”
He dragged me into a hug. “Are you alright? I was going to come yesterday but when I got here, your yard was covered in cars.”
I smirked. “You saw all those mourners.” I did air quotes around the word “mourners.” “Are you hungry? Just about everybody brought a dish.”
“Remember how Jasmine used to say white people made the best funeral food?” Julian said.
“White people make the best funeral food. You can taste all the tears, sorrow, and regret that went into each dish. It's therapeutic honestly.” I remembered, nodding. I shrugged. “We still reign supreme over Sunday dinner though.” How I wished I could call her. I missed Jasmine so much. Julian reached for me. Though I knew I would be joining my mom in the ground were my dad to walk in on us, I clung to Julian’s shirt. He tilted my face towards his. I allowed his kiss to wash over me. Desperately, I yanked at his shirt. He didn’t hesitate to tug it over his head. I pushed Julian back on my bed and attacked every naked inch of him.
I sat up suddenly. “I love you, Julian.” He needed to know. I needed him to know.
The sound of my voice pulled his attention back to my face. His silence was unnerving to say the least. He reached up to place his hand against my chest. “I love you, too.” Our lips met once more. In hindsight, I would say I wished my super powers were more useful. Had they been, I probably would have heard the car pull up. I would have heard my dad come into the house. Most importantly, I would have known he was standing in the doorway as I was undoing Julian’s belt.
The sound of my name was enough to freeze the blood in my veins. What happened next is all a blur. I remember my dad screaming at us. I remember Julian jumping to defend me. I remember my dad threatening to tell his family about us. What I will always remember no matter how old I get is that Julian didn’t back down.
“We love each other!” He spat in my dad’s face.
My dad seized one of Julian's arms. I dove from the bed to protect him. He shoved Julian into the hallway. Julian tried to reenter but my dad slammed the door and locked us in.
“You can’t stop us!” He shouted, banging on the door.
I fought against my dad until there was no fight left. He pushed me on the floor. I knew practically every homophobic slur, but I’d never known them from him. I laid there in the fetal position, begging my dad to either let Julian in or let me out.
“You’ll be on the first bus to military school!” He shouted at me. “Do you hear me, Snowden?! This will be your last night in this house!” The window rattled as he slammed the door closed.
I waited a few seconds. Once I was sure, I ran to my door. I opened it to the tiniest of cracks. The hallway was empty. I could hear him stalking around every inch of that house, searching for Julian.
I didn’t go to military school, but my dad was right about one thing: It was my last night in that house.


 

"And then what?” Zo asked, her glossy eyes widening with each word.
“I ran away.” I replied. “I’ve told you that before.”
“Wait…” Archer wiped some loose tears from the corners of his eyes. “What happened to Julian?”
I averted my gaze to the table. “Tears stung the edges of my eyes. “Knowing him, he was probably going to get help. That’s who he was, you see. Always trying to protect me."
"What does that mean?” Raina asked.
"J-Julian’s dead?” Coral reached out to take my hand in hers.
"No.” I wiped my eyes to face them. “Julian got hit by a car that night. He’s....” I sighed. “He’s been in a coma ever since. I keep in contact with his mom. Sometimes I send her songs she can read to him. She knows how much I still love him.”
Raina took Zo’s hand in hers. It was a small gesture, but their rings glistened under the kitchen light.
“And you guys know the rest.” I said, still eyeing the silver bands.
“Wait, didn’t you say once that you didn’t attend your mom’s funeral?” Garrett asked. “Where were you then?”
“Already coming to the realization that the streets weren’t for me.” I admitted, shrugging. “I tried to go back to make amends, but the for-sale sign was in the yard and my family had turned into a blip in time. They moved on without so much as a new address. For a long time, every time I spotted a UHAUL, I would think it was them. Or maybe I was hoping that my dad wasn’t the type of man who would move away and leave me behind. Be they for the good or for the bad, every step I took after I realized I’d been left behind brought me to today where I am able to be here for you guys.” I cleared my throat. “But enough of that. I have a show tonight and my gown needs a few finishing touches.”
I closed the door to my room. Perhaps one day I would tell them about my life on the streets, but for now, I dragged a trunk from my closet. I sat on the edge of my bed before unlatching the lock. At the very top, was a picture of Jasmine, Julian and I at our table in the cafeteria. I cradled the picture in my hands and cried. Once they were free, I couldn’t stop them. Tears sprang forward for all the years I couldn’t or wouldn’t, for that matter.
I cried for Jasmine.
I cried for my mom.
I cried for Julian.
But more than anything, I cried for the Snow I was underneath it all, still waiting for my love to come home.