Somebody to You

Wood and paint chips cling to my clothes while loose pieces of hay intwine themselves in my hair. As I scrape and pull debris off me, someone knocks on the door and I watch as my little sister, Raya, peeks her head in.

“Is it safe?” she asks, her eyes wide.

I roll my eyes and wave her in. “Mom and dad are asleep, right?” I ask her while quietly closing the door behind her.

I return to the mirror and in my mind recall his hands in my hair, on my chest, then lower. I swallow hard as my stomach does those incredibly large flips that only happen when you feel so unbelievably good.

“Were you with Troy again?” she asks, one eyebrow raised.

She’s only a couple years younger than me but I still feel like delving into my romantic life is just too weird. Even if she is a freshman now.

“Yes,” I admit, pulling my collar down to view this night’s mark. It’s the size of a quarter and my sister gasps then clasps a hand over her mouth.

“Oh my god, Danny,” she says after a minute of silence. “That’s so gross,” she adds.

“Didn’t feel gross,” I say and laugh but know with one hundred percent certainty that it’s true. It felt primal. Carnal. Sexy as all hell. But not gross.

“So is he like your boyfriend now?” she asks, looking from the hickey to my face.

We’ve been sneaking away for midnight rendezvous the entire summer, hiding the visits from our friends and family alike. All except for my sister that is. And perhaps he’s been telling someone, too, but I doubt it. Being the star-quarterback that he is I can’t imagine him confessing he’s queer to anyone. Honestly, I doubt he can even say it to himself. But when he’s holding me, kissing me, and touching me all over, I don’t care. All I want is to be with him and to feel him on me all the time. To hell with the rest.

Summer is almost over, though, and I can’t escape the fact that we are going to be seniors in our small Wisconsin farming town. It’s so small that all kids pre-K through twelfth grade share the same building. Sure, we’re segmented into different parts but in total there’s probably only seven hundred students in the entire building. And about ninety-five percent of them were raised by parents like mine. Small-town minds with overtly religious views that define the word bigotry.

We’ve never really talked about it, what with our football careers and reputation to think of, but I know that once I’m done with high school I’m going to come out. I’ve fantasized over boys my entire childhood. Never once was it Ariana Grande or whoever people pine after these days, but instead it was BTS, Cole Sprouse, and Justin Bieber. I couldn’t hide this part of myself much longer. I already felt ready to burst.

“No,” I finally say. “I don’t think that’s in the cards.” Her face falls and I give her a reassuring smile. “I’m okay with it, Raya.”

“But you two are so cute together,” she says, her voice emphasizing the word “so” like she does sometimes. It makes her sound five years old again.

“You’ve never even seen us together.”

“Ugh, maybe not, but I can picture it perfectly. Your arm around his shoulders as you walk down the halls together. A little kiss on the cheek. Holding hands.”

It was a cute fairytale and I hate to break her heart but say, “This must be before the brutal Brokeback Mountain style murder?”

“Gross, don’t even joke about that,” she says.

“Sorry,” I murmur, then steal one last glance at myself in the mirror.

I ruffle my hair and get it back to it’s normal shaggy do. As I pull my hand away I remember the sensation of his fingers running through my hair again and I hold back the shiver. The one that threatens to run along my neck and across my collar bones. The one that makes me forget everyone and everything.

“Do you want to tell me about it? About him? And you guys?” she asks these questions every time and my answer is always the same.

“Not in your dreams,” I say, pushing her forehead to move her out of the way of the door.

“That’s such a weird thing to say,” she says, following me out of our shared bathroom into my bedroom. She whispers now that we’re closer to our parent’s bedroom, “Like why on earth would I dream about my brother and his boyfriend?”

“He’s not my boyfriend.”

“So not the point.”

“Get out of my room,” I say, pointing back to the way we came.

“Why won’t you at least come out to mom and dad?”

Our dad was a regular hunting and fishing kind of guy with a knife and gun collection any redneck would be proud of. I, on the other hand, hated it. I mean, the weapons look cool. But the damage they could do was anything but. And while my dad was a pretty nice guy and I know he’d never use any of them to hurt a person, I can’t help but be afraid of what he might do when he finds out. I plan on being halfway across the country when I tell my parents. Though I think my mom would handle it better, she’s still head of the PTA and our church’s youth group. God knows she won’t ever want to tell our fellow congregates about my lifestyle “choices.”

“You know why,” I say. Having said all of this to her before, she shouldn’t even be asking this question anymore. But it’s like she can’t help herself. “I have work in the morning, so if you could go…”

I point to the bathroom again but she ignores me and sits on the edge of my bed.

I sigh and sit at the top and rest my upper body against the headboard while stretching out my legs on the bed.

She points to the picture of our family on our grandparent’s ranch just a little ways down the old gravel road. “Are you guys still meeting there?”

I don’t have to look at the picture to see the weathered red building with tall grass and hay piles in front of it. I’ve been there dozens of times this summer and can see it when I close my eyes even just for the briefest of seconds. It stands three stories high. And our grandfather loves to tell us how he built it with his own two hands. How he put the time and effort in and made something that would remain for the rest of his life. And he was right, because it did last the rest of his life. But he died a few years back and I doubt it’ll stand much longer. It creaks just about everywhere you want and when the slightest breeze blows through. The animals that live there now stay only on the main floor as anything higher and you risk knocking it down like a house of cards.

“Yes,” I say, closing my eyes and seeing it there in front of me while his hand is in mine.

“What will you do when they tear it down?”

I open my eyes, the barn disappearing instantly as I do. “You don’t know that they will tear it down.”

She gives me a doubtful look and rolls her eyes. “Right, because who wouldn’t want to keep the hundred-year-old barn that’s in shambles.”

“Well, I guess if they do it won’t really matter.”

“Why?”

“Because they don’t get grandma and grandpa’s land until the end of August.”

“So?” she asks, not putting it together. “Wait, why does that matter?”

I both love and despise her naivete. To be just a few years younger and have such faith in the world again. I’m barely eighteen and I find it unbelievable that someone could believe this place is so pure and innocent.

“We aren’t lasting past the summer, Raya,” I finally say, rubbing a hand over my face.

“What? Why? It’s been like two months now, how can you just give up like that?”

“Because where is it supposed to go when we are in school, in football, and working part time? Have you thought about that? We’re seniors. We don’t have time to hide a romance.”

“So don’t hide it!” she says, her voice rising louder than usual. “You deserve to be happy, Daniel.”

I can’t help the eyeroll, it just happens without thought. But it’s enough to set her off.

“Dan, you are literally the nicest person I know and you think about others all the time. You help old ladies with their groceries and save little kittens. You are the best damn lineman this school has eve seen. And you are popular as all hell. Everyone loves you. You deserve to be honest about who you are,” she vents in a short quiet voice on the edge of a breakdown.

I stand up now and go to the bathroom door, gesturing for her to go.

“I appreciate the kind words, Ray, I do. But this isn’t your fight. And I’m fine waiting. So just drop it and go to bed.”

“It’s not fair,” she says, standing up and crossing her arms like the younger sister I know and love.

“I know,” I say, reaching out for her and pulling her into a quick hug. “And I wish it didn’t have to be this way–”

“It doesn’t,” she says, cutting me off.

“But it is, for now. This is how it is for now. And I need you to respect that. I will do this when I’m ready.”

She pushes herself away from me, then storms off through the bathroom to her own room, slamming the doors behind her.

I go lie in bed and wait, because I know it’s coming.

The light in the hallway turns on, then I hear the footsteps approaching my room.

My mom and dad peek their heads in the door and look over to see me sitting up in bed.

“Hey,” they say in unison. It’s easy to see neither was asleep.

“Whatcha doing up?” my mom asks.

“Nothing,” I say, looking from my mom to my dad.

They both do a curt nod, then look to the bathroom door.

“Is your sister awake?” my dad asks.

“Yep,” I say, my gaze not leaving theirs. “Were you guys asleep? Sorry if we woke you.”

“No, no,” they both say.

“It’s okay,” my mom says. “You’re good. Just get some sleep, okay, honey?”

“Yeah,” I say, looking from her to my dad. “You, too.”

They nod and mumble goodnights before shutting the door and making their way back to their room. I hear them through the wall say a few words to each other. My mom says my dad’s name, then I hear him grumble and it’s only one word that I hear from his mouth. One word uttered in pure distaste and frustration. One word to describe me in the crudest way possible. One word to explain exactly why I don’t tell them.

Because I don’t have to.