“I’m off to bed,” I shout. “Those damn alarms go off early, you know.”
Mom pokes her head out of the kitchen and blows me a kiss goodnight. She doesn’t seem to remember that today was my actual first day of school. And if she does, she doesn’t ask me about it.
Back in my room, I undress and get into bed where I immediately get lost in my thoughts. Mags has been texting me nonstop since this afternoon, and I’ve been mostly successful at avoiding her with brief replies of too much homework and I hate my life. But I can only put her off for so long. She must be wondering why I haven’t called because we talk every day.
I pick up my phone and text Hector instead.
Sorry I flaked out last night. Can we talk? I REALLY need to talk to someone.
He replies immediately. He’s at work, but the store closes soon at eleven. I stick my head into the hallway. Mom and Carole are in their bedroom with the door closed. All clear. I throw on some clothes, grab my keys, and add sneaking out at night to the growing list of un-Simon-like behaviors I’m exhibiting lately.
So much has happened in the last two days, and I find it overwhelming. I put my head on the steering wheel and cry, thinking about how I blew it with PJ. I don’t even have his phone number to text him an apology. For that matter, I don’t even know his last name. I only met him this afternoon! Why am I crying over a boy I don’t even know and, more importantly, why did I behave the way I did? I do want him to hold my hand, so why did I pull it away? I want to feel his soft skin and touch the golden hair on his arms. I want to hold him. I want to…kiss him? I brush away the tears and start the car.
Hector is wiping down tables when I get to Starbucks. The look on his face indicates he is surprised to see me walk through the door.
“Kid, when I said we could talk, I meant on the phone when I get off work.”
I turn to leave.
“Wait!” he says. “You’re already here. Have a seat while I finish up.”
After a bit, he comes over and puts a Trenta iced green tea in front of me. There are no other patrons in the coffee shop.
“Here you go—your favorite. I remembered.”
I am so ashamed of bothering him again. He probably thinks I’m here for a free drink. What a loser I am!
“Hector, I need to pay you this time,” I protest.
“Come on now, kid, tell me what’s going on?”
I sit back, defeated. I take a sip of courage from my iced tea and blurt, “Why did you write in my phone that you think we have something in common?”
Hector opens his mouth, then abruptly closes it. He pauses to choose his words carefully.
“Well, you see, Simon, I like to help people. When I met you the other day, you reminded me of my younger brother, Carlos, who I love and miss very much. I didn’t have the easiest childhood growing up. My parents are devout Catholics and very strict with their rules. When I came out several years ago, they kicked me out of the house. They still won’t speak to me, and I rarely get to see my little brother.”
Wow, his parents don’t speak to him. I didn’t expect this.
“Now that I’m older and have my life together, I want to give back to others. I’m going to college, I have this job, and I just moved in with my super-sexy boyfriend. My life is good, and I feel grateful my story turned out okay. But not all stories do. Especially for kids who aren’t accepted by their parents. Jamal and I met as volunteers for an LGBTQIA+ hotline that helps kids in crisis. I’m eager to help others, and it spills out even when I’m not on the phone line. I think that’s what has happened here. I sensed you were in distress, but I also thought that maybe… Simon, have you ever heard of gaydar?”
I nod slowly.
“Ding, ding! My gaydar went off when I met you yesterday, and I thought—assumed—you might be struggling with your sexuality. I wanted you to know that I am queer too, and a safe person to talk to. And well…here you are. So, am I right? Do we have something in common?”
I watch the beads of condensation run down my cup before slowly nodding my head. A cold sweat comes over me; goosebumps pimple my arms. I tremble. There it is, out in the open—the truth I’ve always known but could never admit to myself. The truth I’ve never spoken to a living soul, not even Mags. I speak the words for the first time.
“I think I’m gay, and I might be in love with a boy named PJ.”
11
The Alien in My Stomach
Hector stands and slow claps. “Congratulations, my friend. Welcome to the family. If I had a toaster, I would give it to you.”
“Toaster?”
Hector laughs and gives me a hug before returning to his seat.
