Page 32 of Forgotten
“You don’t know them.” I mumble in the water and the bubbles swallow the words.
Sydney doesn’t hear them. He stands up and walks out of the river then finds a higher rock. He climbs up and jumps back in close to where I’m currently floating. “Why do you wanna tell them now, anyway? Fancy dating someone?”
“What do you think, Syd? Everybody hates me at school.” It’s not entirely true, but I’m feeling particularly sorry for myself today.
“Actually, don’t think so. I think James from English class fancies you.”
“You are only saying that because he’s the only other gay guy at school.”
James is one of the untouchables. He’s the only guy in a group of all pretty popular girls, and they call him Prince James because his family is rich and he wears posh clothes.
And I guess that’s also because he’s one of the most beautiful boys I have ever seen. With blonde hair and blue eyes, pale white skin covered with freckles and ridiculously shiny blue vests, he reminds me of a basic Ken doll. When he’d come out last year, James’ friends from football all ditched him and the girls had adopted him in their group.
This is not the first time that Sydney has tried to push James and myself together, but each time hasseemed less genuine than the last. “Maybe I am.” Sydney wiggles his brows, “Or maybe he asked me about you the other day and I’m setting you up.”
I lift a finger and then I align my palm up, threatening Sydney with a wave of water. “Quit messing with me, man.”
“Cross my heart,” he promises with a giggle.
I can never trust this guy. I start splashing him and he splashes back, throwing his full weight against me in the chaos. I close my eyes, try to block my nose but I end up inhaling some water and coughing it back out. With strong arms Sydney grasps my shoulders and pushes me down, himself up.
“Tap out, Bergman,” he urges, wrapping his legs around my torso.
“Get off me.” The water is so close now, cold, inevitable and overwhelming. I wiggle but I’m always the skinny boy, always too weak.
“Ashley and James, sitting in…”
I take a breath in and let myself be pushed down in the river, and as soon as I feel Sydney’s hold weaken, I turn quickly and push him away from me. When I re-emerge, Sydney is giggling.
“Just tell your parents, Ash. And come hang out if they’re not okay with it. We can get burgers with Darsh.”
It’s always so simple, the way Sydney puts it.
I know it won’t be.
That night, I ask Mom and Daddy to sit on the couch. They look at me weird, as if me requesting to spend time with them is unusual and somewhat inconvenient. Erikis finishing homework in his bedroom and the twins are allowed to play video games longer during the weekend. I can hear them yell at each other from downstairs.
I take the armchair and Mom sits across from me on the couch. Daddy stands behind her, one hand on her shoulder and one hand resting at his waist. I wish he would sit down and look at me like he has all the time in the world to give me.
“I have something to tell you,” I start, and it doesn’t go bad. It doesn’t go well either.
I tell them I don’t like girls and I would like to date boys sometimes and Mom asks, “What boys?”
I don’t tell them about what Sydney said about James. I shrug, almost as if reassuring Mom that there is no boy, there never has been one.
I do not think of Ford.
Mom asks why I like boys and I struggle to find words. Must there be a reason, I wonder? I try to explain about that time that Darshi kissed me and I didn’t like it and I tell them that when I look at girls, I simply don’t like them like that. Daddy says nothing and Mom is the one asking the questions, again. The wordgayis on the tip of my tongue but I can’t bring myself to actually say it, to actually make it real outside of my mind.
“Maybe you just didn’t like Darshi, honey. She is Indian, after all. Have you tried someone else?”
And again, I force Ford out of my mind. I push him, and our kiss from two years ago, away. I try thinking of other girls at school, I think of how beautiful and reckless Darshi is. I think about James. “Nope.”
Mom makes an a-ha sound and turns to Daddy, then. “He probably hasn’t found the right one, yet.”
The lines on Daddy’s face soften and his brows relax. He leaves the room, leaving me alone with Mom. She lets out a small breath and lowers her head, brings one hand up to absentmindedly rub on the shoulder that Daddy was holding earlier. There’s a pained look on her face that tells me Daddy must have hurt her but she only adds, “Give it time,” before standing up and retiring to the kitchen.
I don’t ask if that means I must give Daddy time to get used to the idea of a gay son or if I have to give it time before I meet the girl that will change my mind. I hope it’s the first option, because there is no chance in hell I will ever want a girl.
