Page 43 of Sicken of the Calm
“Mmm, not really. I mean, it’sonly looking back that I think,oh, yeah, that’s what that was. Like,there was so much more explicitly sexual stuff with women in it, and it wasjust, like, sold to me that that’s who I should be attracted to, that it didn’thit me until later that I liked guys too, when I started crushing on, like, areal person. In school, I mean.”
“Jack Hetford?” I ask quietly,the memory of the way Ezra had asked him out in the cafeteria surfacing. At thesound of his name, Ezra’s expression twists, turning bitter.
“That asshole? No,” he scoffs.“That was – I didn’t really like him. I mean, he was hot, but no. I just didthat to…fuck knows why I did that. Because I was a goddamn moron, probably.”
“It was brave.”
“It was stupid.”
“And brave,” I insist. He looksat me, expression unreadable. “I thought…I mean, you – the message was clear,”I stumble.
“What message? That I was anidiot?”
“That you liked guys, and didn’tgive a fuck what anybody thought of it, or said about it. That you were who youwere and everybody else’s opinion was irrelevant. I…It was brave, Ezra,” I say,needing him to understand, searching for the words to explain how that momenthad made me feel, and coming up short.
“Did you know? When I did that…”He licks his lips, “Did you already know, about yourself?”
“Yeah,” I say quietly, and theadmission is as painful as it is cathartic. “Yeah, but I was a coward. You werebrave when you did that you were so – and I couldn’t. I wasn’t brave enough-”
Ezra leans up suddenly, bracinghimself on his forearm as he looks down at me, his hair falling over his eyes.
“Don’t even – that’s bullshit.That moment was mine. It had nothing to do with – well, I mean, what I mean isthat it doesn’t work like that!” he says, and I can’t help but smile a littleat his agitation.
“I’ve already had thisconversation with Iva. I think her words were, ‘that bit of you is yours. Thisbit of me is mine. We get to do what we want with it and fuck anybody who saysotherwise,’” I quote. Ezra nods vigorously.
“Yes! Exactly that – yes. ThankGod for Iva. Did she tell you that after the whole…Cafeteria Fiasco thing?”
“Yeah.”
“Good. But, then, why are yousaying all this bravery shit now?”
“I just…I don’t know. I just…”
“Well, don’tjust.Regardless of what you classify what I did as – stupid or brave or whatever –that doesn’t dictate how or when or to whoyoucome out to,” he saysseriously.
I feel something loosen insideme. I wonder how I’ve arrived here, still sore from Ezra’s body, his warm,naked skin under the sheets with me, absolving me of my guilt.
“Ok,” I murmur because, what elsecan I say? He looks at me for a moment longer, pinning me in place, beforesighing and flopping down next to me. There’s a moment of silence before hishand creeps between us, holding a peanut M&M. I smile, accepting it.
“What about your first, like,proper scary film that fucked you up?” he asks, getting us back on track with adexterity I wouldn’t be able to manage even with him.
“Mmm…I wasn’t exposed to a lot ofscary films, to be honest. But, actually, I did seeThe Ringwhen I waslike…eight? And that actually really fucked me up. And it wasn’t even the girlcrawling out of the well. Actually, when that happened, I waslessscared. It was the way the movie dragged the suspense, not showing us whatwe’re supposed to be scared of until the very end. It put me in this state ofjust frozen terror. I was imagining what would happen without actuallyimagining it if that makes sense.”
“Yeah. The power of anticipation,or trepidation. It’s like, the deadly side of imagination. It allows us not tolive in the moment, so we can imagine any number of lions around us at anygiven moment.”
“Yeah! Exactly. It wasn’t theimages that stayed with me from the movie, it was that feeling…like I was justwaiting for something horrible to happen. Don’t you get nightmares like that,sometimes? Like, you wake up and you think – nothing terribleactuallyhappened – but you’re left with this, like, greasy film on your skin, thisfeeling of terrified anticipation.”
“Yeah – a greasy film on yourskin, that’s a good way of putting it. Those are the worst.”
“What about you? What film fuckedyouup?”
“The Descent. Have youseen it?”
“Yeah, the one with those, like,Lord-of-the-Rings-Gollums in the cave?”
“Yeah! Fu~uck. Those things…Iswear to God those things ruined my life. I was so scared of the dark afterwatching that film, and my dad refused to buy me a nightlight because, and Iquote, ‘nightlights are for girls’, and honestly I could not fucking sleep formonths. I would start crying and just stand outside my parent’s bedroom andhope my mum would hear me and come get me but she never would. Or if she didhear me, she ignored me, which is pretty likely, actually. But, yeah. FuckTheDescent,” he says. I stare at him, my stomach feeling hollow.
“Your parents sound…are you notclose to them?” I ask carefully, trying to shake the image of a small Ezracrying outside his parent’s bedroom out of my head, but the vision is haunting.I want to wrap him in my arms suddenly, protect him from his past, but I don’twant him to read the sentiment as pity, so I settle for scooting closerslightly, my large hand brushing over his side.
