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When you talk about me, what word do you use? Maybe one that starts withb, ends withd?
He can’t do it. And so he gets stuck in a rut carved by wondering back and forth.
The only time he peers out of that rut is sixth period, when he has Mr. Castor’s American history class. This isn’t because history is his favorite—Ryan doesn’t really have a favorite subject, since they’re all pretty much tied for last place. But Mr. Castor is the only teacher he cares about, the only teacher who’s bothered to connect with him on a human level. A lot of other history teachers focus on dates and places, but Mr. Castor likes to talk a lot about things like how the worddepressionhas three meanings—economic, emotional, and physical. He says they all go hand in hand, and a lot of the time, Ryan knows he’s caught in all three at once. He’s stuck here because he’s dependent on his parents to support him. This makes him sad a lot of the time, being surrounded by people who mostly don’t understand him. And physically it feels like there is a dent in the earth, that his life now is something he’ll have to climb out of if he wants to get somewhere else, somewhere better.
He’s never said any of this to Mr. Castor. But when they talk, Ryan has the strange feeling that it’s an unspoken thing they share. Mr. Castor always treats him like he’ll leave someday, like he’ll get out of here. When Ryan dyed his hair blue, a few of his teachers were disdainful (the worddramaticwas used a lot) and others pretended to ignore it. But Mr. Castor approved. The day after Ryan did it, when he walkedinto class, Mr. Castor went out of his way to say how good it looked. Ryan was embarrassed that other kids might have heard this compliment, but he was also pleased to receive it.
Now Mr. Castor switches to talking about the WPA, and while Ryan isn’t exactly taking notes, heispaying attention. He knows it isn’t the point of what is being said, but he has this daydream about being hired with Avery to make a mural together, just the two of them, in some quiet town neither of them has ever been to before. In his mind, the mural is in a big church that has been converted into a queer youth center—it’s a daydream, so why not? He isn’t much of an artist, but he starts to sketch out a little of what it could look like. At one point, Mr. Castor walks past, sees what he’s doing, and smiles. Any other teacher, Ryan is sure, would yell at him, tell him to put his daydreams away.
Ryan wants to tell Avery about all of this. He wonders again if this makes them boyfriends, the fact that Avery is now the person he wants to tell all his stories to, as soon as they earn their words.
When school finally ends, Alicia tries to convince him that it won’t be breaking the rules if she comes over to keep him company, but Ryan is pretty sure that such companionship won’t go over well with his parents, since it will interfere with the intended isolation and misery.
This is reinforced when he gets home and receives the check-in call.
“You’re home?” his father asks—a remarkable question, considering Ryan has just answered the landline.
A thousand sarcastic answers fill Ryan’s mind, but somehow a simple “Yes, I’m home” makes it through.
“Good. You are not to leave the house again, nor are you allowed to have anyone over. Is that understood?”
“Yes.”
“Your mother should be home at the usual time. She will expect the house to be clean.”
“Understood.”
“Excuse me?”
Perhaps some sarcasm has crept into his voice. He erases it when he replies, “I said I understand.”
“Good.”
His father hangs up, and Ryan goes to his room to call Avery.
They have all this technology to bring them closer, especially video calling. There is a certain intimacy in being able to see one another as they talk, but there is also a disconnect within the connection. Ryan can view Avery on the screen, can hear his voice and his laughter, but the whole time, he can’t shake the knowledge that he is sitting alone in an empty bedroom.
They talk more about the unfairness of the situation, although Avery points out that because he has play practice most days after school, they wouldn’t have been likely to see each other until the weekend anyway. Avery is in a classroom near the auditorium, hiding away as the director blocks a scene he isn’t in. Ryan is on his bed, the phone propped upagainst a pillow so he won’t have to hold it the whole time. For a half hour, they share the details of their days.
“I wish you were here,” Ryan says, both because he means it and because (admit it) he hopes Avery will say it back.
“And I wish you were here,” Avery replies. “Or that we were both somewhere else. The same somewhere else.”
Ryan wants to ask if that makes them boyfriends. But he feels silly asking. It’s too much like he’s setting a trap.
Avery looks at something off-screen, then takes a breath. “Okay,” he says on the exhale, “I gotta go. Call you later?”
“Yes, please,” Ryan says.
“Try to stay out of trouble.”
“It’ll be easy to do, if you’re not here.”
The call ends. Ryan knows he should start his homework.
Instead he closes his eyes and takes a nap. The world is just too much.
—
