You’re a sadist, Tiger.
Never knew that about you.
There are lots of things you don’t know about me.
Yeah, right.Name one.
Off the top of my head, I could think of two, and they were both big ones—I’m gay, and I’m in love with you.
I didn’t tell him either of those things. I didn’t even consider it. It’s not that I thought he’d judge me for being gay. I knew he wouldn’t. Sal and Mike raised him right, and I knew he wasn’t homophobic.
In sophomore year, this asshole, Seth Bower, used the F-slur against Romeo while I was out of school at an orthodontist appointment. The second I heard about it, I had a short, loud word with Seth that ended with my fist in his face and left the whole school, all the teachers, and several parents in no doubt whatsoever what would happen if anyone tried that shit on Romeo again.
“Are you okay?” I’d asked him as we walked home from school.
“Yeah, I am. You didn’t need to do that, you know. I can take care of myself.”
“I know that.”
“And I don’t think being gay is a bad thing. I’m upset thathethinks it’s an insult. It’s fucked up and pathetic. I don’t appreciate him using that word. And, and, I guess I’m a little upset because it didn’t feel good to be told I’m something I’m not, and now I’m conflicted about it because I don’t think it’s a bad thing in the first place.”
“I get it, Romeo. It’s not about whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. It’s about wanting to be seen for who you are.”
I did get it. I got it in a very big way. I lived with the strangeness of people assuming I was straight almost daily. I won’t lie and say I didn’t like the cover of it, the safety it offered, but I hated that I wasn’t being true to myself. I told myself I wasn’t ready to come out all through high school, and by the time I got to college, I still almost completely believed that.
The truth was a little murkier.
Looking back now, I can see I was ready, but I was afraid that if I told Romeo, he’d know. He’d know that practicing kissing and hand jobs with him wasn’t just practicing kissing and hand jobs to me. He’d know that letting me suck his dick lit up parts of my soul I had no idea even existed. Basically, I knew that if I told him I was gay, it wouldn’t take him long to work out the other big secret I was keeping from him.
I knew Romeo loved me. It’s not that I didn’t. I never had any doubt about that. He told me often. He ended long phone calls with a casual, “Love you, Tiger,” and he told me I was the best person he knew almost every time he had an altercation or awkward encounter with anyone else—which happened pretty damn often in Romeo’sworld. I knew I was important to him and that he needed me. Looking back now, I can see how much I bought into being needed by Romeo. A huge amount of my self-worth was tied to it.
He called me most nights during the first year. Sometimes, the calls were short, and I knew he was just checking in. Checking a box we both needed ticked to get a good night’s sleep. Sometimes, I’d answer and be greeted by nothing but a soft sigh. On those nights, I’d turn off my light and switch to video, propping my phone on my pillow, and he’d do the same. I’d see the dim outline of him, curled on his side, face a little too close to the screen.
Sometimes, he’d whisper, “It’s heavy,” and even though I was hundreds of miles away, I’d feel my ribs cracking under the endless expanse of his grief. Scar tissue that spelled the wordsRomeo, Romeo, Romeowould sting as if the wound was brand new and had been freshly carved into my flesh.
On those nights, I affirmed every oath I’d ever made to him, and for good measure, I’d make them all over again. “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, Romeo. Not again. Not ever.”
We’d both fall asleep without hanging up.
On other nights, when life was lighter, the calls would be short or ridiculous.
“Imagine if your parents had named you Mashed Potato, Jude.”
“Why the fuck would they do that?”
“That’s not the point. The point is, imagine the impact it would have had on your life. Imagine how it would’ve changed who you are as a person.”
“Why would they name me Mashed Potato?” I wailed. “It’s not even a great type of potato.”
“I’m making a point here, Jude, butfine, what kind of potato do you want to be?”
“I mean, Roast Potato has a better ring to it. Even Baked Potato would be better, I think.”
“Nah, there’s no way you’re Roast or Baked. No way at all. You’re Mashed Potato. Ormaybe Sweet Potato, and that’s my final offer.”
It was fucking silly, but it made me laugh my ass off. “But I’m not orange, Romeo, and you know damn well I’m not all that sweet.”
“Well, you’re not crispy either, and do you think I’d forget about the time you got into Lexi’s self-tan? Because I assure you, my friend, I haven’t, and I won’t for as long as I live.”
