AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“You always have been.”
He held on to me, both of us bobbing up and down in the water. When he leaned in, his face rested against my shoulder. “Can I tell you something without you making it a big deal?”
“Promise,” I whispered.
“You look good, Half-pint.”
“Thank you?” I joked, trying to steady my racing heart.
He tickled my back. “No, I just mean like this. The way you are now. I wondered how you’d turn out.” He rested his head on my shoulder, his fingers sliding lightly against my skin. “I wondered about it a lot.”
“Did I meet your expectations?”
He nodded. “You didn’t have to change, though. You got so small. Every time you talk about that dang diet, I just want to shake you and tell you to cut it out.”
“You try being overweight in the gay community and then tell me to cut it out. It’s hard, Gray.”
He scoffed. “I don’t care about the dang gay community.” At first, I took offense to his words. I readied myself to remind him that I wouldn’t stand for internalized homophobia, but he pulled away and stared me in the eyes. “I care aboutyou.If you’re happy, then I’m happy for you, but you didn’t have to change. You were perfect the way you were.” He turned his head and stared off into the distance. “You were always beautiful, Kent. I just wish you would’ve seen it back then.”
“I might not have seen it, but I felt it. Every time you looked at me, I felt it.”
And when he turned and stared at me, the affection clear on his face, I felt it stronger than I ever had.
REASON EIGHT
If you’re ever lonely, I’ll be lonely with you.
Thesecondofficialmeetingof the unofficial Leah Grant-Carter fan club, West Clark Division, took place on the first day of July. Elmyra Foote brought the pink dip (hot sauce mixed with eight ounces of off-brand cream cheese). Myrna Thorpe brought the coconut cream pie. My mother provided the cucumber sandwiches. There were two new recruits in our midst as well. With a vast quantity of bribes and copious threats of blackmail, Rhonda Macknemera brought her gravity-defying beehive and a twenty-four pack of frozen bean and beef burritos, still in an unopened bag, and Kate Sanders came with a liter of vodka and a scowl meant for me and me alone for roping her into the foolishness. I provided an adorable face to be admired at their leisure.
I was wedged between Elmyra and the arm of the sofa, my mother on the other side of the couch, nursing her tea. Across the room, Bernice and Myrna were peering at the autographed autobiography I’d collected a few weeks back. They hemmed and hawed over it, tracing the signature with their fingers like they were holding the Dead Sea Scrolls. Kate and Rhonda sat on the loveseat to Elmyra’s left, neither listening to a word the debs were saying. Dottie was in my father’s old recliner, paying more attention to her phone than what was going on around us. I’d basically checked out as well by the time I overheard my name mentioned.
“Alright, Kent, you’re going to need to find you a red wig and a decent-enough women’s blazer to wear. I took the liberty of printing off a few pictures of what I think might work for the costume at the library. This one has little rhinestones across the lapel, so I figured you might want something like that.” Elmyra leaned in, unnecessarily cupping her mouth before whispering at a volume that did nothing to shield her words from eager ears. “I know how you homosexuals like your sparkles. I just hope Satan doesn’t mind rhinestones, cause Hell is sure to be sparkling like a house on fire.” She chuckled and threw a wink my way.
“Well, that was uncalled for,” Kate said.
“Do burning homes sparkle?” I asked, not really giving a damn one way or the other.
Rhonda glared at Elmyra. She leaned forward, setting her plate of half-eaten cucumber sandwiches on the coffee table before pointing her finger directly at Elmyra’s face. “That’s homophobic. That’s not happening in these meetings. I won’t stand for it.”
“I don’t—I wasn’t—” Elmyra’s face flushed red as she stared at me, shaking her head. “I didn’t mean anything by it. It was just a silly little joke. I’m really sorry if it hurt your feelings. Honest.” She reached over, latching onto my hand. Her skin was slick with excess Bath and Body Works lotion, and the lotion transferred onto me. I squeezed her hand, nodding to let her know it was okay. Pulling away, I wiped my wet hands on the couch. When I looked up, my mother was glaring at me, her right eyelid twitching like crazy. On that twenty-year-old sofa, Elmyra Foote was the only thing sitting between me and my mother’s rage.
“You’re good,” I said, taking a bite of my sandwich. “Seriously though, why are we talking about wigs and power blazers?”
“For your future career as a…” Elmyra risked a glance at Rhonda, who was working on her third finger sandwich and not paying us a bit of attention. “I don’t know the politically correct term for it, sugar,” she said to me. “They called them ‘drag queens’ back when my brother Elmer used to do his little numbers. He called himself Lotte Fistin. Or should I sayherself?” She looked at me with genuine concern. “I know trans women are she-slash-her, and trans men are he-slash-him, but what about the drag queens? Did I get my pronouns wrong, Kent?”
“I haven’t stepped foot inside of a gay bar in nearly a decade. How the hell am I supposed to know?”
“Not really an effective spokesperson for the gay community, is he?” Bernice said to Myrna.
“It’sshewhen they’re in drag,” Kate said.
“Thank you, dear,” Elmyra said, taking a tiny bite of her cucumber sandwich. “You know I like to try to keep up with the times, but things change so fast, it’s hard sometimes. Anyway, I figure if we want to show Kent our support, we’ve got to make an effort. If that means overlooking Deuteronomy 22:5, then so be it.”
Myrna and Bernice gasped, reaching up and clutching their non-existent pearls like absolute cliches.
Elmyra wagged her finger at them. “No. I’m not about to let you shame him for this. If Kent wants to be a drag queen, we’re gonna give him the support he deserves. Do you think Jesus would turn him away? For goodness’ sake, he broke bread with prostitutes. Kent’s not selling himself on a street corner, he’s just putting on a dress.”
“I have absolutely no desire to wear a dress,” I said, though no one was listening..
