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“Oh yeah, my mom loved Ryan Kruger. He ended up being a D1 football player, then got drafted to the NFL.”
Ryan Kruger. I bite down hard to keep jealousy at bay.
“My dad loved him too,” Oscar continues, staring off in thought. “But like I said, physical prowess means more to my family. It doesn’t matter what gender you are. They only have an issue if you’re too delicate and can’t lift a fifty-pound weight. My dad wants all his children with athletes who can take a hit.”
I try to expel a breath. I am an athlete. But I’m not sure if I can take a hit.
What are you worried about, dude? It’s not like Oscar wants me to meet his parents. But yeah, I’d want to be liked by them. Accepted. Welcomed.
When he first brought up his parents valuing physical over mental skill, I was fucking nervous. I just kept thinking, they won’t like me. I attended an Ivy League. I’m a documentary filmmaker. A producer. I can’t punch worth shit. All my trophies are for art, not athletics.
Though, again, I was a college athlete.
It seems like my only in into the Oliveira family. Then again, swimming is a non-contact sport.
Oscar is studying me too much, so I ask, “How’d your friends take it? You said you were most nervous about them knowing you’re bisexual.”
He rubs his knuckles. “Yeah, all my close friends in high school were straight. I was afraid they’d treat me differently. Some did. I wasn’t invited to hang out with the guys anymore; if I brought up dating, they were suddenly not interested. Other friends stayed the exact same.” His mouth curves upward. “Those are the best. They still make the same crass jokes, still ask about who I’m with—even if it’s a dude.”
I smile off his smile.
He holds my gaze. “You know it wasn’t until I went to college that I had friends who weren’t straight. I joined LGBTQ clubs, learned more about gay culture, and I also learned something important.”
“What’s that?”
“Some people will tell you you’re not ‘gay enough’ or ‘bi enough’ or ‘this enough’—that you don’t do X,Y, and Z—and even when you think you’re around the most inclusive people, someone will try to set requirements and a checklist that you feel like you need to complete to be accepted.”
I recall what he said earlier, They can’t tell you who you are. The fact that they’re trying to says more about them than about you.
“That happened to you?” I ask him.
“I definitely felt pressure to belong my Freshman year of college. I overcompensated at first. My dorm room had rainbow flags, rainbow coasters, rainbow pillows—don’t get me wrong, I love rainbow, but not when it looks like a Care Bear took a shit in my dorm.” We laugh together, and he adds, “I still love drag shows. A lot of slang like realness and throwing shade originates from the drag community in the 80s. Especially from trans women of color.”
I nod, actually knowing this because of a documentary about New York’s ballroom scenes. “I’ve seen Paris Is Burning. It’s one of my favorite documentaries.”
Oscar grins. “You have good taste, Long Beach.” He collects his thoughts. “What I’m trying to get at—you don’t need to have a dozen rainbow flags or attend drag shows. It doesn’t make you any less into men. We’re all human, and humans have different interests. You do you.”
It sets me more at ease knowing it’s okay if I don’t fit a “mold” of the perfect gay guy or bi guy or whatever-label-I-choose guy. That the label I pick isn’t just one type of person. All it defines is my sexuality. Not everything about who I am.
I inhale a bigger breath, and I think about coming out. To my family. And Jesse. And so I ask Oscar, “How’d your brother take you coming out?”
“He was only six,” he reminds me, “and Jo was even younger, so they’ve really always just known me as liking boys and girls.”
I nod again, my gaze falling to my hands.
“You nervous about coming out?” he asks me.
I start to shake my head, then shrug. “I don’t know. Changing the status quo on them feels like a big deal.” I take a pause. “I had always imagined my future with a wife, but my parents painted that picture with vivid colors. Especially my dad. He loved whenever I brought a girlfriend along to family trips.”
Oscar nods with understanding.
So I keep going. “My ex-girlfriend always hung out with my mom. She was another woman to talk to when my Lola wasn’t around. So it might not be easy for them to just burn my old future into the trash and replace it with a new one.” I let out a laugh. “It’s not like it’s been easy for me. So can I really expect it to be easy for them?”
