telling me this gravy could definitely be on my diet, but I'd already eaten red meat once this week. "I look like I just woke up from a hundred-year sleep. Your mom's going to think we did the nasty up here."
"And that would be the end of the universe?"
I giggled, traipsing after him and his sarcasm. When we got to the foot of the stairs, his mom came through the kitchen door.
"Would you like to invite your friend for dinner, Lani? I've kept it warm."
My eyes felt all swollen from sleep. I was afraid to say no, because moms take that sort of thing like personal rejection. But Lani piped up.
"She already said no thanks. She needs to get on home."
His mom walked right up to me and stuck her hand out. "It was very nice having you. I hope you come back soon."
Having
me. I had hardly said a thing to her. I looked into her eyes as I shook hands, and I saw something there. Almost an urgency. She
was
hoping we did the nasty up there. As if my presence made her son not gay.
"You have a really nice house ... and your cooking smells really great ... Some other time, okay? My mom is waiting for me—"
Lani pulled me out the door almost before I finished blathering. He let out an uninterested half giggle, which seemed more directed at me than his mother.
"You know what she's thinking, don't you?" I started.
"Yes."
"And you're not embarrassed? She's your
mom.
Moms create guilt."
"Yeah, you're right." He nodded genuinely. "Except she's not really and truly my mom. I'm adopted. Which means I can always tell myself,
She's just a lady who is nice to me when the mood strikes her,
and I can believe myself. I don't have as much guilt."
"Wow, you're adopted..." I didn't know what I wanted to say about that. I still had starch in my head from sleep. "You've had a very unusual life."
"Yeah, it's an epic classic."
"Can I hear some of it?"
"Maybe sometime." Before I could ask what was wrong with
now,
he cleared his throat and jumped back on my life. "So you're scared you're sick again. Your friends are helpless, your mom is hysterical, God is a jerk, and your father has a do-not-disturb sign plastered to his forehead."
I cracked up. "You're making it sound horrible."
"So ... how would you feel about getting tested without anybody knowing? If it turns out to be something else, then you won't freak your mom out, and your friends wouldn't know, either. And you wouldn't have to bother your dad."
The concept almost stopped me in my tracks. But I was very familiar, by this point in my life, with the arrival of a thousand insurance forms in the mail every time I had a check-up. "There's no way for me to get tested without my parents knowing."
"There might be. We could take a bus. It's a long ride. Do you know how you get a test done at your doctor's office and you have to wait, like, ten days for results?"
I had to nod. "Story of my life."
"That's because they send those samples up to research labs. If you go right to a big city clinic at a research hospital, you can get your results in a couple hours. And some of those clinics also treat kids without parental permission."
"Why?"
"Because a lot of them are runaways, and everyone knows it."
I stopped and stared. He was streetwise beyond my wildest dreams. Getting on a bus and going far away seemed way radical. But I wanted to make sense out of his mixed-up personality. The only gay people I had ever met were summer tourists. They were usually businessmen from Philadelphia, who would rent duplexes for a couple of weeks and have all their friends down. You could tell who they were because they used beach chairs instead of towels, and smelled like expensive sunblock, and they smiled a lot, and some of them giggled, and they wore those awful, plastic flip-flops instead of Reefs. I tried to fit Lani in with this picture and it didn't work out very well. He seemed more "raw" and stripped down. A guy who seemed happy with a mattress and didn't use a pillow would go to the beach with a towel
"And that would be the end of the universe?"
I giggled, traipsing after him and his sarcasm. When we got to the foot of the stairs, his mom came through the kitchen door.
"Would you like to invite your friend for dinner, Lani? I've kept it warm."
My eyes felt all swollen from sleep. I was afraid to say no, because moms take that sort of thing like personal rejection. But Lani piped up.
"She already said no thanks. She needs to get on home."
His mom walked right up to me and stuck her hand out. "It was very nice having you. I hope you come back soon."
Having
me. I had hardly said a thing to her. I looked into her eyes as I shook hands, and I saw something there. Almost an urgency. She
was
hoping we did the nasty up there. As if my presence made her son not gay.
"You have a really nice house ... and your cooking smells really great ... Some other time, okay? My mom is waiting for me—"
Lani pulled me out the door almost before I finished blathering. He let out an uninterested half giggle, which seemed more directed at me than his mother.
"You know what she's thinking, don't you?" I started.
"Yes."
"And you're not embarrassed? She's your
mom.
Moms create guilt."
"Yeah, you're right." He nodded genuinely. "Except she's not really and truly my mom. I'm adopted. Which means I can always tell myself,
She's just a lady who is nice to me when the mood strikes her,
and I can believe myself. I don't have as much guilt."
"Wow, you're adopted..." I didn't know what I wanted to say about that. I still had starch in my head from sleep. "You've had a very unusual life."
"Yeah, it's an epic classic."
"Can I hear some of it?"
"Maybe sometime." Before I could ask what was wrong with
now,
he cleared his throat and jumped back on my life. "So you're scared you're sick again. Your friends are helpless, your mom is hysterical, God is a jerk, and your father has a do-not-disturb sign plastered to his forehead."
I cracked up. "You're making it sound horrible."
"So ... how would you feel about getting tested without anybody knowing? If it turns out to be something else, then you won't freak your mom out, and your friends wouldn't know, either. And you wouldn't have to bother your dad."
The concept almost stopped me in my tracks. But I was very familiar, by this point in my life, with the arrival of a thousand insurance forms in the mail every time I had a check-up. "There's no way for me to get tested without my parents knowing."
"There might be. We could take a bus. It's a long ride. Do you know how you get a test done at your doctor's office and you have to wait, like, ten days for results?"
I had to nod. "Story of my life."
"That's because they send those samples up to research labs. If you go right to a big city clinic at a research hospital, you can get your results in a couple hours. And some of those clinics also treat kids without parental permission."
"Why?"
"Because a lot of them are runaways, and everyone knows it."
I stopped and stared. He was streetwise beyond my wildest dreams. Getting on a bus and going far away seemed way radical. But I wanted to make sense out of his mixed-up personality. The only gay people I had ever met were summer tourists. They were usually businessmen from Philadelphia, who would rent duplexes for a couple of weeks and have all their friends down. You could tell who they were because they used beach chairs instead of towels, and smelled like expensive sunblock, and they smiled a lot, and some of them giggled, and they wore those awful, plastic flip-flops instead of Reefs. I tried to fit Lani in with this picture and it didn't work out very well. He seemed more "raw" and stripped down. A guy who seemed happy with a mattress and didn't use a pillow would go to the beach with a towel
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