Page 119 of When Ben Loved Tim
“Wanna meet me there?” I ask with a toothy grin.
His handsome features are marred by concern again. I remind myself that, for him, this isn’t merely a mental exercise. He actually believes reality works that way.
“If there is a god,” I tell him, “he knows what’s in our hearts. I’m not afraid of being judged by that.” I think of who raised me. “The only creator I can be one hundred percent sure of—my parents—don’t have a problem with what we’re doing. And neither should yours.”
Tim still seems troubled. Which I suppose makes sense. It would take more than a little pillow talk to undo my entire upbringing. “Do you want kids?” I ask.
“Yeah!” Tim says. “Someday.”
“Imagine you had a son, just like you, who met a boy just like me, and they fell in love. What would you do if, one day, he told you about their relationship?”
Tim is silent for a moment. “I’d probably hug him. Yeah. I’d hug him and tell him that I—” His voice strangles to a halt before he shakes his head.
“Does your mom ever say that she loves you?”
Tim nods.
“What about your dad?”
He sits up. “What is this, a therapy session?”
“No,” I say, pushing him back down so I can rest my head on his chest. “I’m just trying to understand. That’s all.”
“I’m not sure I want to,” he grumbles.
“Well you aren’t going to Hell,” I assure him. “No matter what.”
“How do you know?”
“Because they say God is love. And I love you. So if anything, my feelings for you are a manifestation of his will. How’s that for a new religion?”
Tim thinks about it and smiles. “Sounds like heaven.”
* * * * *
Allison and I are sitting cross-legged on her bed while facing each other. Six envelopes rest on the comforter between us. We regard them with nervous excitement, since each has the power to decide our future.
“What do you think?” she asks. “Should we save the best for last?”
I shake my head. “The anticipation is killing me!”
“Okay.” Allison fondles an envelope from a university that specializes in the arts. She could pursue her singing career there while I figure out what exactly I want to do with myself. “I can’t!” Allison shakes her head. “You go first!”
I pick up my envelope from the same school. We’ve dreamt about how amazing it would be to move across the country and begin the next phase of our lives together in one of the nation’s biggest cities. I tear into the envelope and pull out the letter contained within, my eyes darting around the page even as it unfolds, trying to find a hint.–pleased to inform you that your application has been accepted and approved–“I got in!” I cry. “Open yours!”
Allison hurries to do so, her eyes wide with excitement. I watch them dart back and forth before the muscles of her face go slack with disappointment. “They don’t want me.”
“What?” I cry in disbelief, snatching the letter from her to scan it. Sure enough:–regret to inform you that after careful review of your application–“Did we get them mixed up?” I check to see who the letter is addressed to and still can’t believe it. Our grades are roughly the same. Allison’s voice is better than mine. She should have the edge! “This has to be a mistake.”
“Par for the course,” Allison replies, not sharing my confusion.
I can’t think of any reason they would reject her and accept me unless… Oh. We each included a performance video with our application. “Is it because you’re black?”
“Or because you’re a boy. Who knows. You should still go.”
“Fuck these racist sexist bastards!” I say, tossing both letters away.
“Ben! It’s a good school!”
