Changing Tyler-Chapter Six

I rolled out of couch Saturday morning and swung my legs to the floor, staring bleary eyed at the disaster area greater quantity commonly known as my room.

I’d always freely admitted that I wasn’t the neatest person on the planet, but I don’t think I’d realized exactly how much of a pig I was until faced with the formidable task of cleaning my room to make it presentable for Dylan. I didn’t desire to, but I had to clean it. I didn’t desire Dylan to think I was a neat freak, but I didn’t desire him to think that I enjoyed living up to my elbows in industrial waste, either.

There were messy clothes strewn all over, a carpet of smelly T-shirts, socks, underwear, and jeans. Some stuff hadn’t even made it as far as the floor – there were socks slung over the shade of my table lamp and a couple of underclothes hanging from my headboard.

When I stood up, a bag of chips that had been hiding beneath one of my T-shirts crunched below my feet. Empty soda cans dotted the carpet like buoys in an ocean of litter. There were books and CDs piled in tilted stacks, odd scraps of paper sprinkled around like confetti, and a thick layer of dust coating what few naked surfaces remained.

I glanced at my alarm clock. It was nearly eleven fifteen, which gave me less than 2 hours to whip my room into shape. My solely other choice was to dress Dylan in a biohazard costume before I let him come inside.

Superman had never, on his most good day, moved as fast as I did. Still in my jockeys, I flew around the room snatching up pieces of clothing, piling them on a blanket I’d widen over the sofa. Picking up two ends of the blanket and stretching them over the mountain of smutty clothes, I hefted it over my shoulder like Santa’s sack and carted it off to the laundry room, dumping it on the floor next to the washer.

Garbage went into a big, black plastic trash bag, to be sorted throughout later – perhaps sometime next summer – for recyclables, and pushed into my closet along with books, boxes, bags, and everything else that wasn’t nailed to the floor or wired to the wall.

As long as Dylan didn’t open my closet door, I was safe. If, for whatsoever reason, this guy did, I’d still be digging him out from beneath the avalanche of junk come graduation.

I didn’t even attempt to clean out soever was lurking below the bed. I figured that as long as the legs of the sofa were still touching the floor, there was no point. Out of sight, out of mind, u know?

By the time I’d vacuumed, dusted, and sprayed the room with half a can of Mountain new air deodorizer, it was a quarter to one in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten anything yet, and I still needed to shower and costume.

On the way to the kitchen to inhale a Pop-Tart and maybe a glass of OJ, I passed my mama and Doug’s room. mama was long gone, having had work at nine. Doug wasn’t there either, and neither was his bowling bag, just as I’d hoped.

It was the fastest shower of my life. My skin was still damp when I struggled into a couple of jeans and a T-shirt. I didn’t take the time to shave, which turned out to be a priceless thing since I’d just finished zipping up when the doorbell rang. If I’d shaved, I’d have had to answer it looking like a rabid dog with foam oozing from my chin. As it was I didn’t have the time to put on socks and shoes. Barefoot, I jogged to the front door, forcing myself to take a minute to run my fingers through my moist hair previous to answering it.

Dylan looked great, as ordinary. The fact that he was truly standing at my front door hit me like a baseball bat to the side of the head, temporarily knocking out my ability to speak. All I could do was stare at him in his muscle tee and jeans.

“Hey,” this guy said, through the screen door. We stared at every other for a hardly any seconds, previous to this guy said, “Wanna let me in? I’ve got Mickey D’s.” this chab held up a white bag with the familiar golden arches on it, shaking it. In his other hand he held his guitar.

I’m not sure if it was sound of his voice or the smell of the food that brought me around, but I grinned sheepishly as I opened the door for him. “Sorry, yeah, come on in.”

I felt absurdly self-conscious leading him through the house to my room, and for some strange reason I heard myself giving him the grand trip as we went. It was probably nerves, but I couldn’t seem to stop talking lengthy sufficiently to take a breath between sentences.

“This is the living room there’s the kitchen do you want smth to drink we have soda milk and OJ there’s the washroom sometimes the handle sticks so you have to jiggle it and that’s my mom’s room there’s the den that’s the door to the basement and here’s my room.”

Honestly, it was as if I had uncontrollable diarrhea of the face hole.

Dylan didn’t seem to notice. this guy walked into my room, laid his guitar on the bed, sat down next to it, and dug into the bag of fast food. I sat on my desk chair, swiveling around to face him. this chab tossed me a double cheeseburger and I tore into it, grateful to have smth to shove into my face hole to keep it busy for a whilst.

“I went over the handouts u gave me yesterday,” Dylan said, his words a little distorted as they funneled their way out around a mouthful of hamburger. “There was a question about why Hamlet hesitated to kill Claudius. Why didn’t this guy off the chap right away?”

“Well, mostly it was ‘coz in the days when Shakespeare wrote the play, the hero couldn’t just kill a guy cuz a ghost told him to do it. he had to have proof that Claudius was the murderer. Like on CSI – they can’t arrest the jaw-dropping until the DNA results come in. Arresting a guy out of proof positive would annoy the audience and they’d acquire bad ratings.” I finished the cheeseburger and started in on the fries Dylan had handed over to me.

The facile act of eating relaxed me, made me greater quantity comfortable with him. I could almost forget that he was sitting on my mattress, where I’d done things under the covers the night in advance of that were most excellent left forgotten. I felt a blush coming on and coughed hard to cover it. “Sorry. Fry went down the wrong the pipe.”

Dylan ate some other burger, obviously expecting for me to proceed.

“Personally, I think he hesitated ‘cuz of his oedipal complex. I think this guy saw Claudius as the only thing that stood between him and his heartless desire to boink mamma. If Hamlet killed Claudius, he’d likewise destroy the roadblock between him and Mom’s sofa. He’d end up doing the deed and damning himself.”

“Oh, man, that’s so twisted. Come on! this chab wanted to kill Claudius so this guy could do it with his mother? The thought alone makes me desire to blow chunks.”

I laughed, polishing off the fries. I tossed the empty sleeve into the wastepaper basket next to my desk. “Yeah, I know. Me, too. The other reason could be that this guy just over-thought everything.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, this guy spends a entire lot of time planning stuff, and not quite no time indeed doing everything. he desires to make sure that the murder is perfect, that Claudius goes to Hell, but that guy spends way also much time on the details. this guy procrastinates. By the time Hamlet truly gets around to killing Claudius, he’s dying himself.”

Dylan nodded not fast. “I not ever thought of that. Makes sense, though. u crave this final cheeseburger?”

“Nah, but thanks.” I watched Dylan scarf it in 2 bites, crumpling the wrapper up into a ball and pushing it into the bag.

“So, u think if he’d acted earlier things would have turned out differently for him?”

I nodded. “We’ll not ever know, but I think that’s the point. Maybe he would have done the wicked with Mom, but maybe not. Maybe that guy would have assumed the throne and been a great king. The point is that this chab dragged his feet for so long, he never got the chance.”

Dylan fell silent. this chab flopped back on my bed, arms tucked under his head, looking just as comfortable as if we’d been allies since birth. For a during the time that I thought he might be getting willing to take a freaking nap.

Time for some Guitar Hero, I thought.  I’ll be damned if I waste the afternoon watching him sleep. I can do that in English class. I got up and started plugging in the guitars and booting up the game console, switching the output on the television.

“So, do u think people should act on their impulses? I mean, what if anybody takes it the wrong way? What if you made a mistake?”

“It depends. If your impulse is to knock over a bank or bomb a building, then no, I don’t think u should. If it’s to acquire up off your a-hole and rock, then by all means, go for it.”

Dylan picked his head up and looked at me. I held up our guitars, one in every hand, smirking at him.

“I take it that’s a hint?”

I shrugged. “If you wish to play, then yep. If not, we could discuss Hamlet as a static character in literature.”

Dylan laughed, jumping off the ottoman and reaching for his guitar. I cranked the sound up, and previous to I could blink we were wailing to Heart’s “Barracuda,” and scoring star power.

Holy crap – I’d forgotten myself and joked around with him just as I would have with Billy. What was greater amount awesome was that he’d laughed along with me. It was like a miracle. Somehow, while discussing Hamlet’s sex life betwixt bites of saturated cow fat, we’d become almost-sort-of-friends. But the majority incredible thing was that I stopped noticing how glamorous this guy was and letting his looks acquire to me, and started seeing him as just Dylan.

We played for not quite two hours straight, rocking hard, flying through the list, having a blast, until we hit a wall at Tenacious D’s “The Metal.” We tried it twice, screwing up badly one as well as the other times.

“Dude, I need a break,” Dylan said, leaning his guitar against the wall. “My fingers are freaking killing me.”

Mine were, also. Hitting the buttons on the guitar at the speed of light for 2 hours str8 would do that, I guess. “What smth to drink?”

“Yeah, a soda would be good.”

“Cool. Be right back.” I trotted out of the bedroom to the kitchen, snagging a couple of Cokes out of the fridge. When I returned, Dylan was sprawled out on the couch anew. I tossed him a Coke and sat at my desk.

I’d just cracked mine open and tilted it to my lips when Dylan spoke.

“Can I ask you something? Are you gay?”

I choked, doing my best impersonation of Linda Blair in the Exorcist. Soda sprayed in an arc missing Dylan’s feet by about an inch.

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t crave to, chap. I’m just asking, that’s all.”

I could lie. I should lie. It was safer that way. Easier. No explanations. No embarrassing questions. No cold shoulders, and people changing their seats to avoid sitting next to me. No name-calling, no hate messages scrawled on my locker. No visits to the school shrink with my mom. No cold-blooded looks from the tutor and the other members of the team. I opened my throat to say, “No! completely not! Are you crazy?” but what came out was “Yes.”

Oh, God. As soon as the word left my throat I wanted to bawdy cleft it out of the air and push it back down my throat. It was over. I’d admitted it. Not only would Dylan leave – probably so fast he’d leave skid marks on the carpet – but it would be all over school by Monday. everybody would know. I’d outed myself.

To my shock and amazement, Dylan didn’t move. this guy didn’t even blink.

“Yeah, I thought so. u hang out with Billy all the time. Is this guy your, you know, boyfriend? Dude, u can do better.”

I laughed. I couldn’t assist it. It was like a bubble of hysteria that had been lazily building up over my entire lifetime had suddenly exploded in my chest, painful and yet a matter of joke at the same time. I couldn’t stop, either. I laughed until I cried.

Now Dylan knew that, not only was I gay, I was nuts, also.

When my laughter subsided to a scarcely any hiccups and snorts, I wiped my eyes and looked at Dylan. this chab was still lying on my bed, looking as if I’d just said him I was nearsighted, rather than homo. It didn’t look as though my bombshell had fazed him at all. “You have to think I’m crazy,” I said. “Look, its cool if u crave to leave.”

Dylan shrugged. “It doesn’t bother me. My uncle’s gay, and he’s a great lad. So, are u and Billy together? you didn’t answer me.”

So that guy had a family member who was homo. That explained why that guy was so comfortable with it. “Me and Billy? No. No, we’re just friends. I don’t indeed have someone. Right now. At the moment,” I added, not wanting Dylan to think I’d never dated. I hadn’t, but that guy didn’t have to know that.

“Ah. okay. ready to hit the guitars again?”

“Yeah. Hey, Dylan…um…I haven’t indeed told anybody else yet, moreover Billy.” I needed for him to understand that coz I wasn’t willing for the shitstorm that I’d probably find myself in one time I came out to the world at large.

“Oh, dude. I kind of forced it out of you, huh? Sorry, Tyler. I won’t spread it around,” he said, indeed looking like this guy meant it. “It’s hard, though, isn’t it? Not saying anything.” His eyes flicked away, and he wouldn’t look at me. “I mean, my uncle said me it was hard before he came out. told it was hard to admit it even to himself. this guy didn’t want to believe it. he tried to be straight.”

“Yeah. It ain’t easy.”

“Have u known for a long time? How did u know?” that guy asked, reaching over and pulling his guitar over onto to his lap. His fingers tapped the keys, the monotone clacks reminding me of the clicking of the pen the day before.

Might as well be honest, I thought. I didn’t have anything else to lose. “I was about twelve, I guess. One day I just realized that when all the chaps were looking at girls, I was looking at them.”

“Just like that? Didn’t u ever wonder if you were…you know, a freak?”

Ouch. “I don’t think I’m a freak, Dylan.” Control the temper. Bite back the hostility. It was an honest question, and I didn’t think he’d meant it to be insulting.

“I didn’t mean it that way, Tyler! I just meant feeling different from everyone else. Didn’t you ever wonder why? Why you?”

“I am the way I am. I’m not any worse than anyone else, but I’m not any better, either. Just cuz I happen to like guys doesn’t change who I am inside. That’s all there is to it,” I said, mollified that he’d apologized. “It did take me a while to admit it to myself, and some other lengthy while to accept it.”

“Does your mamma know?”

“No,” I said vehemently, shaking my head. “I crave to keep it that way, also. My stepdad is a schlong. I can do out of the extra grief from him.”

“I get it. Well, I better be getting home. My dad will jack off if I’m not back by six for dinner.” he stood up and unplugged his guitar. I followed him to the front door.

Things had definitely not turned out the way I’d hoped they would. On one hand they’d been a lot better, but on the other, a whole lot worse. I just didn’t know what to say to him anymore. Funny, but I knew right then that I was over my crush. From that pont of time on, he’d be just Dylan to me, a good chap who knew my innermost secret.

I solely hoped this chab was a man of his word.

Dylan pushed out past the screen door, then stopped and turned toward me. “See u Monday, Tyler. Can we acquire together after practice another time? In the library?”

“Sure. see you Monday.” I was kind of surprised that this guy still wanted to study with me. I guess I’d figured that, even with a homo uncle, he wouldn’t wish to be spending time with me, now that he knew. Then I realized that he’d trusted me first. I figured that should count for smth. I’d keep his secret, and he’d keep mine.

I watched until he’d gotten into his car and pulled away and then slowly closed the door.