Page 100 of Sweat

Chuck chortles. “They don’t actually ask if you’re gay or not, but either way, most of them don’t give a shit. There’s actually an all-gender queer fraternity here, but Javi went and joined the one his wrestling buddies are on.”

Wrestling boyfriend? I didn’t know there were gays on the wrestling team, although there are a lot of "wrestlers" in the gay porn I watch. “Interesting.”

Clasping his hand on my shoulder, Tommy says, “Rowan is captain of the soccer team.”

Chuck’s eyes pop, grin expanding. “No shit? Damn, we’re going to have to go to a game then. Show some support. I had no idea the captain of our soccer team was queer. You guys any good?”

“Undefeated,” I grumble, deciding to let thequeerthing slide.

“He’s gonna go pro,” Tommy boasts, like I’m his pride and joy. “Gonna get drafted this winter and become a big shot.”

“That’s fucking awesome.” Chuck swings his arm, tapping my bicep. “An openly gay pro soccer player? I’m telling you, it’s true what they say. The future is gay.”

No matter how lame that slogan is, I’m not dwelling on that as much as I’m reeling over “openly gay.” That’s not what I am. I’m not openly anything. I agreed to be boyfriends with Tommy, because he’s my baby. I agreed to come to this queerdom because I want to make Tommy happy. I didn’t agree to be an openly gay whateverthefuck.

Before I can force my mind to think rationally, I blurt out, “I’m not gay, dude.”

“Oh.” His face falls. “That’s my bad. I’m still learning how to not assume shit about people. Which you’d think I’d be good at since I’ve been a flaming homo my whole life, but everyone assumes I must be straight because, I dunno, the way I dress? The way I talk?”

“Just talk about how much you like dick. Then, people will definitely not think you’re straight.”

I’m being an asshole, but Chuck laughs anyway. Even taps me on the arm again and says I’m a riot. There’s a riot in my head right now, and I want it to get the fuck out. I’m too afraid to look at Tommy, because he’s probably disappointed in me. I don’t know why it’s easier to say I have a boyfriend than it is to say I’m gay. Maybe it’s because I can undo a boyfriend, but an identity is fundamental. I don’t want my boyfriend to be undone, though. I want him to stay, and I want him to keep being proud of me like I’m proud of him.

After Chuck trots off, Tommy’s voice fills my ear, telling me he’s sorry. I whip a confused look at him and tell himI’msorry.

He slips his arms around my neck, turning me to face him. “Do you wanna just go?”

Yes.

But I glance around us and realize that, while I might feel out of place among this crowd, we can put our arms around each other here and not worry that someone will look at us funny.

“Nah. Let’s stay,” I tell him. “I’m, like, super invested in whatever this PowerPoint is gonna be about.”

Though he doesn’t believe me for a second, Tommy smiles and hugs me like the tender boy he is. I don’t deserve it, but I take it for all it’s worth before we find two chairs in the back row and hold hands on top of my leg.

I might be bad at being gay, but I’m good at being a student, so I find the lame ass PowerPoint on the queer history and culture of Sacramento to be more enjoyable than I’ll ever admit to Tommy. He can tell anyway. The discussion is interesting, especially when others express the same feelings of fear and paranoia that I’m well acquainted with. Resentment, too, that life has to be more challenging for us. More uncertain.

Being gay isn’t the only thing that makes my life challenging, though. It’s not even half of it.

On our way out of the building and into open air, I forget to let go of Tommy’s hand, and we end up walking hand-in-hand halfway through campus before I think to let go.

“It’s still early,” he says. “We could go get ice cream or hit the gym.”

Wishing I wasn’t too chicken to hold Tommy’s hand all the way to his truck, I ask, “Can I take you somewhere?”

He smiles and says, “Anywhere.”

I must be in a great fucking mood, because I’m actually excited when I park Tommy’s truck in the narrow lot beside Mustache Jack.

“Is this a gay bar?” Tommy asks incredulously. The row of rainbow flags bordering the flat roof probably gives it away. “Have you been here before?”

“Once or twice.”

He looks at me like I’ve morphed into a different person, and I guess that’s fair. I’ve been closed off with him. More open lately, but still closed. Before we reach the door, his face shows a grim expression. “Is this where you would do the desperate stuff?”

“No. Definitely not. Honestly, I’m not really sure why I’d come here. Maybe I was doing my own baby steps, and this was one of them. All I’d do is sit at the bar drinking fruity margaritas and people-watching. Thought maybe you’d like being here with me.”

“Totally.” He’s beaming now, proud of me again. “I’ve never been to a gay bar. Shit, I’m not even twenty-one.”

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