vulnerable,
standing there in my red flannel pajama pants, staring listlessly at the
floor. And vulnerable was a word I never thought I’d be using in
conjunction with Adam. He clearly needed a hug, but we were shirtless,
and he still called me “fairy boy.” I wasn’t going to push my luck.
My bed wasn’t nearly as big as Kai’s, and I only had the one blanket,
so Adam and I were nestled in pretty close. Our arms were touching, and I
realized I was tensing, waiting for some reaction. Adam didn’t comment
on it, though, which surprised me. I couldn’t help but think of Kai who,
even with all we’d done together lately, would probably have taken me up
on my offer to have the bed to himself. Carefully, I relaxed, letting more
of our bodies—a hip, a leg—come into contact.
“Dylan?”
“What’s up?”
“I—” His voice cracked, and I realized he was holding back tears.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Never mind.”
I waited a bit to see if he would continue. “It’s okay to cry,” I said
when he didn’t.
“That’s not what my dad would say,” he muttered. “Tears are for
queers.” He sounded bitter.
I fought back the urge to argue, remembering the intensity in
Adam’s voice that first night we had hung out. I need you to know he’s a
good dad. Instead, I reached under the blanket, found Adam’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. I meant it to be quick, comforting. But to my surprise,
Adam clung on tightly and didn’t let go. Eventually I fell asleep, our
fingers still intertwined.
THIS WAS becoming a habit of mine, needing a minute after waking up to
figure out what was going on. I had been dreaming I was a giant teddy
bear, and now that I was awake, I couldn’t shake the feeling I still was.
For starters, I was really very cozy, which I had always imagined was a
near-constant state for teddy bears. Then there was, of course, the arms
36
After School Activities
that enfolded me, holding me against a broad, muscular chest, and the face
I could feel almost nuzzled in my hair. I felt squeezed, snuggled. Exactly
like a giant teddy bear.
That’s Adam , I realized. Last night came back to me in a flash. Poor guy. He did just need a hug. I really had to pee, but I didn’t want to move.
For one thing, I was comfortable—it felt nice to be held. For another, I
didn’t want to wake Adam. For a number of reasons. He’d obviously had a
rough night and could use a good night’s sleep. But perhaps more
pressing, I was a little worried about what would happen if he woke up
and realized what position we were in. By morning he could let me go and
wake up without feeling like his masculinity, or whatever, had been
compromised. At the very least, I could let him think he woke up first, that
I never noticed, and he could save face that way.
I checked the clock on my bedside table: 2:00 a.m. There was no
way my bladder was going to be denied that long. Slowly, gently, I started
to lift myself out of bed.
Immediately, Adam’s arms tightened, pulling me back to him.
“Adam,” I whispered, patting his arm lightly. “I have to get up.” He
only tightened his grip in response. I could tell by his breathing he was
definitely awake. His slow, steady breaths had turned rapid, even worried.
Like he’d woken from one nightmare into another. What was he afraid of?
That I would leave maybe? I mean, it made some sense: his dad had left
for weeks, apparently had come back just to beat him again; his mom was
in the hospital, and he was probably afraid she’d soon be gone for good. It
seemed a little silly—this was my room, after all; where, exactly, would I
go?—but I had woken from bad dreams unable to shake them too many
times myself. I knew how irrational one could be in that situation.
“I’m just heading to the bathroom.”
Still no response.
I sighed, annoyed. “Would you feel better if you came with?” I felt
him nod after only a
standing there in my red flannel pajama pants, staring listlessly at the
floor. And vulnerable was a word I never thought I’d be using in
conjunction with Adam. He clearly needed a hug, but we were shirtless,
and he still called me “fairy boy.” I wasn’t going to push my luck.
My bed wasn’t nearly as big as Kai’s, and I only had the one blanket,
so Adam and I were nestled in pretty close. Our arms were touching, and I
realized I was tensing, waiting for some reaction. Adam didn’t comment
on it, though, which surprised me. I couldn’t help but think of Kai who,
even with all we’d done together lately, would probably have taken me up
on my offer to have the bed to himself. Carefully, I relaxed, letting more
of our bodies—a hip, a leg—come into contact.
“Dylan?”
“What’s up?”
“I—” His voice cracked, and I realized he was holding back tears.
He cleared his throat. “Nothing. It’s nothing. Never mind.”
I waited a bit to see if he would continue. “It’s okay to cry,” I said
when he didn’t.
“That’s not what my dad would say,” he muttered. “Tears are for
queers.” He sounded bitter.
I fought back the urge to argue, remembering the intensity in
Adam’s voice that first night we had hung out. I need you to know he’s a
good dad. Instead, I reached under the blanket, found Adam’s hand, and gave it a squeeze. I meant it to be quick, comforting. But to my surprise,
Adam clung on tightly and didn’t let go. Eventually I fell asleep, our
fingers still intertwined.
THIS WAS becoming a habit of mine, needing a minute after waking up to
figure out what was going on. I had been dreaming I was a giant teddy
bear, and now that I was awake, I couldn’t shake the feeling I still was.
For starters, I was really very cozy, which I had always imagined was a
near-constant state for teddy bears. Then there was, of course, the arms
36
After School Activities
that enfolded me, holding me against a broad, muscular chest, and the face
I could feel almost nuzzled in my hair. I felt squeezed, snuggled. Exactly
like a giant teddy bear.
That’s Adam , I realized. Last night came back to me in a flash. Poor guy. He did just need a hug. I really had to pee, but I didn’t want to move.
For one thing, I was comfortable—it felt nice to be held. For another, I
didn’t want to wake Adam. For a number of reasons. He’d obviously had a
rough night and could use a good night’s sleep. But perhaps more
pressing, I was a little worried about what would happen if he woke up
and realized what position we were in. By morning he could let me go and
wake up without feeling like his masculinity, or whatever, had been
compromised. At the very least, I could let him think he woke up first, that
I never noticed, and he could save face that way.
I checked the clock on my bedside table: 2:00 a.m. There was no
way my bladder was going to be denied that long. Slowly, gently, I started
to lift myself out of bed.
Immediately, Adam’s arms tightened, pulling me back to him.
“Adam,” I whispered, patting his arm lightly. “I have to get up.” He
only tightened his grip in response. I could tell by his breathing he was
definitely awake. His slow, steady breaths had turned rapid, even worried.
Like he’d woken from one nightmare into another. What was he afraid of?
That I would leave maybe? I mean, it made some sense: his dad had left
for weeks, apparently had come back just to beat him again; his mom was
in the hospital, and he was probably afraid she’d soon be gone for good. It
seemed a little silly—this was my room, after all; where, exactly, would I
go?—but I had woken from bad dreams unable to shake them too many
times myself. I knew how irrational one could be in that situation.
“I’m just heading to the bathroom.”
Still no response.
I sighed, annoyed. “Would you feel better if you came with?” I felt
him nod after only a
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