Date: Sun, 5 Nov 2000 18:14:07 -0500
From: Bryan Centers <bcenters@ga.prestige.net>
Subject: "Tyler's Dance" Chapter 6

Chapter Six


     That day seemed to drag by for everyone, even worse than the last day
of school usually did.  Later in the evening, at about 7 pm, the school's
almost undefeated football team would face their only remaining opponent in
the area. The winner would go on to the state playoffs, an event that had
not occurred in the history of the school. Expectations were high, and the
tension and nervousness among the football players and students was thick
enough to be cut with a knife.  In the halls in between classes,
speculation concerning the outcome of the game even replaced the usual
school gossip, a momentous feat indeed.  The only subject that even came
close, as noon turned into afternoon, was who was going to be with whom at
the victory dance after the game.
     Pete sat staring out the window of sixth period Algebra class.  It
wasn't that math was his least favorite subject, which it was, that
contributed to his lack of attention that afternoon.  Nor was it the group
of freshman guys and girls that he could see from across the yard
decorating the inside of the gym for the dance that night.  No, it was
something else.
     He was afraid.
     Kurt's remarks at lunch still rang through his mind.  "Disgusting,
isn't it?" He could still see the smirk on Kurt's face as he said it.  And
the way he talked about how the new kid had probably deserved it, like he
would have liked to have been the one doing the beating himself.  It didn't
matter to Kurt what had started it or who was at fault; just the fact that
one of them was supposed to be gay was enough to warrant a beating.
     Supposed to be gay?  Rumored to be gay, supposed to be gay, it all
meant the same thing to him.  In his mind he was gay, end of story.
     And it wasn't just Kurt who felt that way.  Pete turned his gaze from
outside the window to the front desk in the row closest to the wall. There
sat the Myers kid, the new kid, with several black puffy areas on his face.
No one sat behind, in front of, or across from him.
     The look on his face told of a hurt that was deep inside, but one that
carried more pain than the marks on his face.
     Isolation.
     Pete knew the feeling well.
     And for what?  Because he lost a fight?  Because something had
happened at a previous school, or better yet that something was rumored to
have happened at a previous school?
     Because he was gay?
     Pete could still barely even use the word in his mind without getting
a sickening feeling in the pit of his stomach.  Gay.  Didn't that mean
happy, carefree, and joyful?  None of those words seemed to go along with
the feelings that he associated with the word.  Hurt, loneliness,
rejection; those seemed like better synonyms to him.
     Pete remembered that time in the third grade, when he first realized
that he was different from his friends.  After recess one day, the teacher
had all of the students change clothes for play practice that
afternoon. Pete was to be a four-leaf clover in the schools celebration of
St. Patrick's Day.  As he watched his best friend, Kevin, change into his
leprechaun outfit, a feeling that Pete had never experienced before came
gushing from somewhere in his abdomen.
     "What are you staring at?" he could remember Kevin asking.
     Then, in the fifth grade, that time that he was at one of his friend's
house.  It was a party, and all of the guys had gathered along the wall,
trying to figure out who had the courage to ask Lori, the most popular girl
in school, to dance.  "Go ahead Pete", he could remember one of the boys
taunting, "Go over there and ask her.  Or are you a fag or something?"  The
other boys all giggled in unison.
     Fag?  Pete had no idea what it meant.
     Or, in the seventh grade, when Pete learned that after gym all boys
have to shower.  There were times when he didn't think he would be able to
make it, that he was sure to be caught staring, in spite of his best
efforts not to.
     Sometimes he would go home and cry, and other times he would get so
angry and frustrated that it seemed he would lose his mind.  After a while
anger would turn to numbness, and numbness would lead to isolation.  The
worst part was that no one really noticed.  His little brother had just
started to school, and he was the darling of the family anyway.  His dad
always seemed to be more concerned about his patients than his family,
often bringing his work home with him in the form of long hours spent
secluded in his office.  His mother had her community activities and
projects, all in an effort to run from her own sense of frustration with a
husband who was never around.
     And his friends?  It didn't take long for Pete to realize that the
worst thing he could do was to talk about what he was feeling with his
friends.  He had heard enough comments at the lunchroom table about "fags",
"queers", and other assorted epithets to convince him that whatever it was
to be one, he certainly didn't want to be known as one.
     So why did he feel that way anyway?  "Why me?" he would sometimes ask
out loud as he looked up at the nighttime sky, hoping that Someone would
hear.  "I didn't ask to feel this way you know!"
     And, as time went on, he learned to hide how he felt, so much so that
even he had forgotten about it for the most part.  Except for those times
when he would be caught by surprise at the mall or after a movie with
friends, when those feelings would suddenly come rushing back to his mind
at the sight of someone in the distance.  But then, after a while, with
enough denial, he was even able to convince himself that the feelings
weren't even there.
     And that's how it went for the last two years, until he moved.
     Until he met Tyler.
     Pete looked over at Tyler's empty desk beside him.  The coach had
asked the teachers to excuse the players during the last two periods of
school, so that he could spend more time going over plays with them for the
all important game that night.  He had even declared his players "off
limits" after school to both friends and girlfriends, so that there would
be no distractions to get in the way of their concentration. So, it would
be after the game when he next saw Tyler. On most any occasion when Pete
started to feel himself getting down or worried, he could look over at
Tyler, who would always have some kind of goofy face to look back at him
with, and somehow it made everything ok.
     But this time Tyler's desk was empty, and for the first time in a long
while he felt alone.
     And isolated.
     He glanced back up at the Myers kid.  He knew exactly how he felt.
     "See you later too, Pete."  What exactly did Kurt mean by that?  A big
lump of fear positioned itself in Pete's stomach, and in the back of his
throat he could taste the familiar aftermath of being afraid.
     "Maybe he didn't mean anything," Pete tried to reassure himself.
"It's probably just me."
     Across the yard in the gym, the dance committee was finishing the
final details of the dance decoration.  Pete could see the streamers
draping from the ceiling.  He found himself hoping that the team would lose
tonight, so that he would have a good excuse not to have to go to the
dance.  He could see it now; there he'd be, trying to pretend that
everything was fine as he watched Tyler dance with some girl.  He'd act
like he didn't know how to dance, which he didn't, so that no one would
wonder why he wasn't dancing with someone.  He'd join all of the others
"wallflowers", those who either couldn't get a date, or were not popular
enough to be asked to dance, or belonged to the wrong "group" in the first
place.
     But the worst part would be when he got home.  "Did you have a good
time honey?" his mother would ask.  "A great time," he would say, as he
smiled from ear to ear.
     It was, after all, what she wanted to hear.
     Pete looked at the clock on the front wall.  It was five minutes to
the bell, then English class, then the walk home alone, for the first time
in a long while, followed by an endless round of questions from Ryan
concerning who he was going to the dance with.  If he were lucky, Ryan
would be at one of his friend's houses.
     "English class?" Pete suddenly remembered that he had planned on
showing Mrs. Stanton some of his writing that afternoon.  He reached down
under his desk where he kept his books, and felt for the familiar spiral
binding of his journal.  Not finding it, he leaned over and looked under
his chair.
     There was no green notebook there!
     Frantically, Pete flipped through all of his books, almost falling out
of his chair into the floor. "Oh shit!" he said out loud, unaware of his
volume.
     Students to his right and in front of him turned around to see what
was happening.  Fortunately, the teacher was so involved in his lecture
that he didn't hear.  Pete tried to smile as best he could, like nothing
was wrong.  Eventually everyone turned back around.
     RING RING!!
     Immediately after the bell rang for class change, every student jumped
from his or her chairs, raced toward the door and out into the hall.
     Everyone except for Pete.
     He continued looking under his desk, in the floor, anywhere, hoping
against hope that he would find his notebook.
     "If anyone finds that notebook..." A sickening feeling filled his mind
and stomach, worse than the one he had earlier.  In fact, he almost
deposited his lunch in the math teacher's floor.
     "Anything wrong Pete?" the teacher called from behind his desk.
     Pete picked up his books.  Trying to hide the fear he felt inside, he
did his best to alter the look of terror that was rapidly taking over
inside him. "No, nothing at all," he said.
     Once he had gotten outside into hall, Pete tried to reason to himself.
"Ok," he thought, "where did I have it last?"  He maneuvered his way
through the crowd in the hall towards his locker.  Opening it as quickly as
he could, he rummaged through its contents, looking for a green cover.
There was every textbook, a couple of spare notebooks, and a few unopened
bags of chips, but no green notebook.
     Pete almost fainted.  "If someone finds that notebook..." he thought
again to himself.
     As the halls began to clear, it became apparent to Pete that his
journal was missing.  But where?  As he gathered his books for his next
class, he mentally backtracked his day.  Where did he have it last?
     The lunchroom, that was it.  He was writing in it just before that
fight broke out.
     The fight!  Pete stopped in his step. Someone must have gotten it
while he was watching the fight!


      The last class of the day seemed to drag on forever to Pete.
Normally he was very attentive in Mrs. Stanton's English class, but today
he didn't hear a word.  He looked around at the faces of the other
students, looking for an expression that would betray the one that had
taken it.  But he saw nothing, only expressions of anticipation for the
game, and how much they were glad it was Friday.
      All kinds of "ifs" went through Pete's mind.  "IF I hadn't of brought
it today, IF I had stayed sitting down at lunch like I wanted to, IF I had
not written down all of that stuff..."
      "I really need to talk to Tyler," he thought to himself.  But if
would be after the game before he would see Tyler again.
      Finally the bell rang, and everyone jumped to his or her feet, almost
running towards the door.  Everyone, that is, except Pete.  It was all he
could do to get up from his chair.  He felt physically sick inside, and it
showed on his face.  As he walked by Mrs. Stanton's desk, she looked up to
see him passing, zombie-like, in a daze towards the door.
      "Pete, you all right?" she asked.
      Pete didn't answer.  In fact, he didn't even hear her.


     During the walk home, it was all Pete could do to remain calm.  He had
lost his journal, his record of his most private thoughts. Now someone else
had it, and when they read it...
     He replayed the lunchroom scene in his mind a hundred times.  Who was
closest?  Who was there?  "There were a hundred people there!" Pete thought
to himself.  "Anyone of them could have taken it!"
     One thing was for sure; if the one who took it opened it up and
started reading it, which he was sure that they would, it wouldn't be long
before he would know exactly who had it.
     Pete rounded the corner towards his driveway.  Instead of the usual
empty garage there were two vehicles.  And there was Ryan in the front
yard, playing with two of his friends, one of which Pete remembered from
the other day, the one who kept smiling at him.
    "The one day that I want everyone to be gone..." Pete said to himself
as he approached the driveway.
    Ryan was the first to notice Pete coming up the drive, followed by his
two friends.  He grabbed the football he was playing with and threw it
towards him.  "Catch!" he yelled, as the football headed towards Pete.
     Pete looked up just in time to see the football coming straight
towards his face.  Instinctively, he raised his hands to block it, but it
was too late.  The football glanced off of his face.
     Ryan arrived about that time.  "Man, you're a lousy catcher!" he
teased, grinning mischievously.
     Pete could feel himself starting to boil inside, as the left side of
his face burned from the football glazing across it.  It had been one of
the worst afternoons Pete could remember, and this was not something he
needed.  He looked down at Ryan, who was a full foot shorter than he was,
and still grinning from ear to ear.  He could feel himself starting to
clench his fist.
     "Come on Ryan, throw it over here!" one of his friends called from the
other side of the yard.
     Ryan reached down and picked up the football.  His grin was replaced
with a look of confusion as he studied Pete's face.  He'd never seen that
look before on his brother. "Sorry," he said half heartedly, as he got
ready to throw the ball to his friends.
     Pete just stood still for a minute.  He'd never come that close to
hitting his little brother before.
     As he walked in the front door Pete could hear his mother on the
phone.  The TV was on, and from the back of the house he could hear water
running from the shower.  All Pete wanted to do was make it back to his
room without being seen by anyone.
     He walked through the living room towards the hall, trying not to be
noticed by his mother, who was in the kitchen on the phone.  He rounded the
wall and headed down the hallway.
     "Pete," he heard his mother say.  "Pete, come here a minute."
     He pretended not to hear.  His mother took the phone away from her
face.  This time louder she said, "Pete!"
     He tried to gather himself as best he could.  He made the corners of
his mouth turn up as he turned around.  "Yeah?" he said, in his best
"I'm-in-a-hurry-what-do-you-want?" voice.  He hoped he could pull it off.
He didn't want any questions.  Not now.
     "Are you going to the dance tonight after the game?" she asked,
holding the phone in her hand just below her face.
     "I don't know," Pete said.  "Why?"
     His mother put the phone back to her mouth and said a few words, and
then she pulled it down again.  "Mrs. Adler wants to know, so that she'll
know how many people are going to be there."
     "Mrs. Adler?" Pete thought to himself "Wasn't that Kurt's mom?"
     "Probably, I guess so," Pete said, as he turned around and headed for
his room.
     His mother placed the phone back to her mouth, said a few words, and
then hung up the receiver.
     Pete shut the door behind him as he entered his room.  He went over
and lay down on his bed, trying not to throw up.  The bed seemed to spin as
he recounted the afternoon's events in his mind.  Someone had his journal,
and it was his own fault.
     "If I'm lucky they'll just throw it away," he thought to himself.  It
wasn't long before he fell asleep.
     When he woke up the house was quiet.  At first he hoped that the whole
thing had been a dream, that somehow it didn't actually happen.  Reality,
however, soon came crashing in.
     He got up and walked over to his bedroom door.  Opening it, he walked
up the hallway towards the living room.  No one was there.
     Everything was quiet.
     Pete saw a note sitting on the kitchen table.  He walked over and
picked it up.  "Gone to the game," he read.  "Ryan and his friends are with
us.  We'll see you there."  It was signed "Mom and Dad."
     Pete stood looking at the note. "Mom and Dad?" he said out loud.  His
dad had yet to go to a football game all season.
     Except for tonight.
     "Could it get any worse?" Pete thought to himself, as he headed back
down the hall to take a shower, and to get ready to go to the game.