Becoming Brett

16. I Am A Fox

Before I left the solitude of my wagon, I texted James. He was at practice and even though I knew his response would come later it didn't stop me from staring at my screen for a few minutes longer just incase.

In fact, I indulged in the fantasy that I fall into when it's just James and I and we're at our spot, a memory of the last time bringing a smile to my face as I stared at the last text he sent me.

James: I'm a fox

A laugh rattles my chest, warmth filling my core. He's such a sap.

We were hanging out one day, Savannah had made him watch The Notebook for the umpteenth time the night before and he was recounting a scene where they were in the water and the girl gets the guy to say that if she's a bird, he's a bird.

James thought we should adopt it, a code for us to say that we liked each other. But I wasn't a bird. I could never be a bird. A bird is a symbol of freedom. I am not free. I probably never will be.

I'm a lair. A fake. Deceiving.

I told James I'd be more akin to a snake. He laughed, shook his head and said "I'm terrified of snakes, pick anything else".

At some point that day, I had said that maybe I was a fox, but even then a fox doesn't seem nearly as bad as me.

James grabbed my hand, his fingers lacing with my own and his gray gaze held steady with mine as he said "if you're a fox, then I'm a fox".

And we are. Both of us are lying to everyone in our lives. Even each other. I know James wants more, even though he doesn't push it much. And I know I can never give him more even though I never definitively say so.

The happiness deflates from me, defeat replacing it as I gather my things and climb out of my car. I do send one more text though. Not to James, to Wes.

Me: call if you need anything

He probably won't. Hopefully Wes manages to hold himself together and Laurel stays long enough that Grace comes home. Not that Wes can't manage on his own but when his fits get bad, they get bad.

And I worry.

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I cut into the pork chop that's on my plate, it looks dry and chewy. My least favorite thing my mom cooks but I'm not about to complain. My grandparents invited themselves over, my parents and them conversing about politics and religion and all the things I never get involved in. My beliefs don't necessarily line up with the rest of my family's.

"Oh did I tell you?" My grandma says, her voice a little higher than normal. "About your cousin Lorraine's daughter?"

My dad smirks, loading his fork as he says "what's Lorraine up to these days?" with amusement laced in his words.

"For once it's not Lorraine." There's a bite to her words, a little spark of venom.

My dad's cousin Lorraine has always been the black sheep of the family, going against everything my dad's family idealizes. I've only met her once, when I was younger. Needless to say she doesn't come to a lot of family things, she isn't necessarily welcomed with open arms.

"It's her daughter, Ginger." Grandpa mumbles his words with disinterest.

Fear starts to build within me because even though I've only met Ginger and her mom that one time, we follow each other on social media. And I already know what's coming.

"Ginger is now going by Gerry and is a boy." My grandma says the word boy like it's a disease she caught.

My dad's eyes nearly fall out of his head and my mom stiffens, clearly uncomfortable with the news.

"That's ridiculous." The displeasure is evident in my dad's words. "Kids these days are so misguided."

I tug at the collar of my T-shirt, the air in the room suddenly stifling as panic roars through me. It's like there's a giant flashing arrow above my head beckoning their attention, letting everyone know that I'm just like Gerry, misguided and messed up.

"I have an old work colleague who's grandson doesn't identify as a girl or boy." My grandpa adds to the conversation.

"Oh and remember my friend Sharon, her sister divorced her husband and married another woman!" Grandma throws her hands in the air with so much force if I wasn't trying to keep myself together I would have thought she was going to tip backward.

"Are there kids like that in your school?"

Everyone's attention shifts to me, all four pairs of eyes staring at me so intently, my mouth goes dry. All I can hear is my blood pound in my ears, rattling my thoughts as a sweat breaks out along my skin.

"N-no." I mutter. "Not that I know of."

I am a fox.

It's a collective breath of relief that rushes from everyone simultaneously, I mean, not including myself.

My grandma stabs a piece of carrot with her fork, using it to point at me as she says "ya know, I always thought that one friend of yours would end up like one of these kids. Switching his gender or thinking he's in love with you or something."

I can't breathe, somehow managing to push food around my plate as I keep my head bowed so no one sees the fear that's eating me alive.

"I kept telling your parents not to let you be friends with him but they didn't listen." She adds.

"Wes is straight." I'm surprised at the confidence that slips from me, the subtle defiance that clings to my words as I tell her she was wrong.

"Good, thank goodness." Her head of gray hair bobs as she finally puts the poor carrot out of its misery and eats it. "Maybe it was good, that he had you to look up to. Probably saved him."

"Wes is a good kid." My dad chimes in. "Him and Wes are just good friends, aren't ya son?"

I nod my head too eagerly, my stomach rolling at my own deceit. That it's not Wes anyone should be concerned about, it's me.

I'm the one they hate.

                              ————————

The nights are freezing, it's so hard to get out of bed in the morning. Can I just stay under the blankets forever?