Page 60 of Like a Love Story
He looks over at me. He no longer looks apologetic. Now he looks angry. “We aren’t two girlfriends fighting over the guy they both like, Judy. I’m gay. I’m not like you. I can’t just have crushes. I can’t take a guy I like to school dances. I can’t even contemplate dating without thinking of death and being disowned by my parents. None of that applies to you. I know we’re best friends, and I know we’ve always done everything together, and been there for each other, and maybe when we were younger, it felt like there was no difference between us. But there’s a huge difference. All that time that we were growing up together, I was dealing with these feelings of being different, ashamed, thinking I was wrong and gross and...”
“I know all that,” I say. “But you always seemed so confident.”
“Whatever confidence I had was my attempt to mask everything underneath it. God, Judy, how do you think it feels to have your dad tell you that gay men deserve to die, that AIDS killing us off is a good thing? Your parents love you, they encourage you, you get annoyed with them because they’re too nice to you sometimes. My parents want me dead.”
“That’s not true,” I argue. But I know in a way it is. They don’t want Art dead, but they want him to be a different person than the one he is, and maybe that’s the same thing.
“I never thought I’d have this, Judy,” he says sincerely. “I never thought I’d get to have a boyfriend. Maybe Ididn’t tell you because I wasn’t prepared for it, because nowhere in my imagination did I practice the scene of talking about my crush, or of having a relationship, or of having sex even...”
“Wait,” I say, realizing he just mentioned having sex. “Have you and Reza had...”
“NO!” he screams. “God, nothing has even happened. Nothing physical. But I just, I guess, I don’t know, I’m so sorry, Judy, I really am, but I just want you to see it from my side, to try to understand how hard it’s been for me, and not just this situation, but everything that has to do with love and sex. Maybe I messed it all up, and maybe it’s too much to ask right now, but I want... I guess I just want you to be happy for me, because it all feels empty without that.”
I always wanted this moment. For Art to find a guy. But why did it have to be the one guy I wanted? “Yeah, that’s definitely too much to ask,” I say, hating myself for rejecting him. But I have to. It just feels like the distance between us is too wide now.
“I know,” he says, despondent. “I know.”
“It’s not like I’ve had a boyfriend before. He was the first. Why him?” I look away from Art, avoiding his gaze.
“I don’t know,” he says. “I didn’t plan any of this, Judy.”
We walk in silence again for a bit. For a moment, he almost had me sympathizing with him. But then I realize what he’s done. He apologized, but the apology wastrumped by how sorry I am meant to feel for him because he’s gay. And that pisses me off even more, because no one in the world has given him more support and sympathy than me. Well, maybe Uncle Stephen, but Art wouldn’t even know Uncle Stephen if it weren’t for me. I am the victim here. I’m the one who’s been wronged.
I must shake my head or something, because he says, “What? Just tell me what you feel, Judy.”
“It’salwaysabout you,” I say, exasperated.
“I didn’t mean to make it about me,” he says. “I swear.”
“No, but it’s what you did, and it’s what you always do,” I realize how much time I’ve spent catering to Art’s needs. “And I don’t care what else you have to say. Your actions have spoken for you. You’re self-centered, and you’ve always had the world served to you on a platter and you’re upset when that’s not the case. You want to talk about how we’re different?” I start to walk faster—the cold air doesn’t even feel cold anymore because my body feels like there’s a fire inside me that is raging. “How about we talk about how you’re filthy rich and my parents barely make ends meet? How about we talk about the fact that the nicest things we have are all presents from your parents? How about we talk about how I need a scholarship to get into college, but you can waltz into Yale? Yale! You can literally get arrested and still get into an Ivy League with your money. And you’re a man, so gay or not, you’ve got that.”
“What does this have to do with me and Reza?” he asks desperately.
“This is not about you and Reza,” I say. “And it’s not about me and Reza.” That’s when it hits me how little I’ve thought about Reza today, and how much I’ve thought about Art. This is my real heartbreak. “Are you an idiot?” I ask. “This is about me and you.”
He stops again. I don’t want to stop walking. I’m on a roll. I’m saying things I never even knew I felt.
His lips tremble a little, and then, in a defensive whisper, he says, “I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how to apologize for my parents’ wealth or my gender.”
“And I don’t know how to apologize for my heterosexuality,” I snap back.
We’re at an impasse now. We’ve both said what we never dared admit aloud before.
I start walking again, but toward home this time.
“Judy, please,” he begs as we walk. “I know we can make this right. I know we can figure it out.”
“No.” I hold my hand up.
“This will suck without you,” he says. “All of it. Our last few months of high school, me and Reza... what about Sunday movie nights?”
“What about them?” I say, being intentionally cruel.
“Stephen loves them as much as we do.” He’s desperate now, grasping at straws.
“Don’t use my dying uncle to get forgiveness that you don’t deserve,” I say. “Stephen has lost over a hundred friends. I think he can handle the grief of not having us both at Sunday movie nights.”
“You’re still going to go?” he asks, incredulous.
