Thomas and Niko in the City of Trees

Chapter 11 - Part 1

Thomas says something before we fall asleep that takes me by surprise. He kind of touches my shoulder before he says it. That's him letting me know he's serious. "I've been thinking about what my dad would do if he ever found out."

He put on one of his dad's old records earlier. Maybe that's why. It's Led Zeppelin. He flashed me the cover as he was putting it on, and it showed a painting of a man with this big bundle of sticks on his back. The music is playing softly. Anyway, I'm thinking about what Thomas is trying to say. This shit is coming up too often lately, where he'll say something and then I have to figure out where the hell he's going with it. "Has he ever said anything about it before?" I ask. "You know, about people like that?"

"A few times. He's still hitting up that Chinese Baptist church every Sunday, if that tells you anything."

"I thought he stopped going."

"He did, for a while. Now he's going again."

"So you're saying he's against it."

"I don't know what I'm saying, man. Fuck, it's like it's worse, somehow. He said something once, a few months ago." Thomas pauses. I can tell he's trying hard to remember. "Freddie and him and me, we were all having dinner. Freddie made some dumbass comment like, 'If I was gay, I'd probably be better at picking out shoes.' You know how that kid can't fucking shut up about his shoes. And then my dad just froze. He acted all weird and looked at Freddie and said, 'Gay isn't real.'"

The story stops dead. I'm not sure what my reaction is supposed to be. I look up at Thomas.

"Can you believe that?" he says. "I mean, it's the worst thing someone could say."

"I guess," I say. "It is Papa Chu though."

"I don't give a fuck who it is. Think about it, man. He's saying it's not real. He's saying this whole group of people, this whole identity some people have—it doesn't fucking exist."

Thomas is being irritating as hell right now. I was the one who told him not to use the 'F' word a few months back. And suddenly he's the champion of the cause? Fuck off. Anyway, I'm still not sure what to make of this stuff he's telling me. The thing I want to know is, why is he so concerned with what his dad would do if he found out? That's not part of any plan I'm aware of. I want to get to the bottom of it, so I ask him point-blank, "Are you thinking about telling him?"

He shoots me the definitive Thomas glare. "Are you fucking kidding me? Not in a million years."

"Then what's the problem?"

"Nothing," he says. "Jesus, dude, there's no problem." He's mad at me now, just like that.

He's being such a little bitch. I'm not the one who brought all of this up. "Okay then," I say.

He looks over. "No one can know about this. Never. You're the only one who can ever know."

"Fine," I say.

"What?" he asks. He's super angry underneath, I can tell. "Were you fucking thinking of telling someone?"

"No."

"See?"

I look the other way. I even turn so my back is to him. I know that will bother him. I spend a long time like that, just staring into his open closet.

"What's wrong?" he finally asks. He sounds a little calmer now.

Fine, Thomas, I'll fucking be the one to say it. "I just want to know what that means for you and me."

"It doesn't mean anything," he says. "This thing we have going on—there's no way it could ever lead anywhere. You know that, right? It's not an option. It never was."

I'll tell you what I'm thinking right now. I'm thinking that I'd really like to know what makes him so inclined to say all of this shit out loud. It would be nice to understand why it's so goddamn necessary to put into words the things we both already know too well. This is another grade-A Thomas move, if I've ever seen one. He's got me right where he wants me. There's nothing I can say to argue. To tell you the truth, I don't even disagree with what he's saying. But what's the point of making everything so explicit? I swear, I'll never understand it.

We pretty much leave it at that. He falls asleep before I do, and I get pretty annoyed that he's lying there just snoozing away after a conversation like that. But soon I'm too tired to care.

At some point in the middle of the night, I'm woken up by his movement. He scoots over so he's right next to me, shoulder to shoulder, then turns on his side so he's facing me. Slowly, he reaches his arm around me. I feel the weight of his bicep settle across my chest. He pulls himself tight against my body, tips his head forward and his forehead comes to rest against my cheek. He hugs me so tight it's actually painful. And then he starts to cry. It's so quiet and soft that I never would have noticed if his whole body wasn't mashed up against mine. For a long time, Thomas has privately been the emotional one between us. No one is aware of that but me. I don't always know why he gets so worked up, but this time I'm fairly certain of the reason. It's enough to make me cry, too. I'm feeling his tears on my collarbone, and I'm thinking about everything we've been going through lately, and I just can't hold it in.

That's the thing about situations like this. We're all staring reality straight in the face. We know our limitations, but like a bunch of pathetic losers, we're still hoping for some other, impossible course of events to go down. The idea of Thomas and me, it's a really nice one. Thinking about it working out somehow...it just fills me with a kind of joy I've never experienced before. But each of us has plans, places we want to go. Jesus Christ, matching up those plans and those places with our legit relationships is hard enough. But the shit he and I have going on right here? This just can't happen, not in the long run. Tell me I'm wrong.

Those girls. I don't know what's going to happen with them. I'll be honest with you: When it comes to Lexie and me, I don't think either of us actually believes things are going to last. And I'm not just saying that because I'm hoping for an easy way out, either. She's a lot like me in some ways. She's pretty practical about things, sometimes even more than me. We'll talk about how it could work out, Skyping each day, or twice a week or whatever, and we'll both get this weird, doubtful tone in our voices, like we're fully aware of all the ways things could go south. Maybe you're thinking that means we don't care about each other. But we do. I've said a million times how patient Lexie is with me, and I'm sure I'll live to say it again. I can be a huge pain in the ass sometimes. But I'm not the only one who's made apologies since we've been together. Just like me, she constantly has a plan of her own, and it's led her into trouble more than once.