CHAPTER 5: Someone's Hand Around My Neck
"Wow," I muttered, TV remote in hand as I watched "Even Stevens" on the Disney Channel. "That AJ Trauth is really, really, really, really hot." It was the day after Shopping with Lizzie Day, which to me was secretly Pick Lizzie's Head Day. Which sounded really gross and made me think of gorillas, but AJ was on the screen and my brain couldn't come up with something better. I wanted to elope with him. No. I wanted to have a big giant wedding with him and invite Miranda and Jacob so he could see what he was missing.
"He's a FIT," I growled, unhappy with the circumstances.
"A what?" AJ's character, Twitty, said to that little annoying kid.
"A fag in training," I responded absently. I just wasn't getting over it. Which I should have been, right? I was the spitting image of cool; disaffected, smart, socially not popular or unpopular. And I couldn't get over some love interest in a matter of days. Loser. But I would not beat myself up over it, no sirree Bob. No sense in that; I was better than that. And I had other things to attend to. like wearing a "shoulder to cry on" sign around my neck. Yesterday had been particularly hellish, since Lizzie was one of those people who are afraid of second-hand clothes. She found sweaters that looked exactly like the ones she already had and a new purse. Obviously, her clothes were not the root of her issues.
Which got me to wondering why I even cared.
The next two hours ended up putting me in a considerably better mood, what with that Even Stevens marathon and all. 'Am good friend. Can help Lizzie, somehow. Am good friend.' I repeated my new mantra in my head. It had the potential to keep me sane, in an indescribable way. I felt like nothing in my head was connected to the other things in my head. My thoughts were like thousands of little me's just babbling away and not making any sense. So it was perfect that I got a phone call that instant.
"Y'ello?" I answered, pacing and dancing on the wooden kitchen floor like I always did.
"Hey there GordON," an all-too-familiar voice replied.
"Ethan? Er, what's up?"
"I really don't know what I'll say so go ahead and ask anything or say anything," he responded, slightly slurring. 'Oh my God, where did he get the audacity to call me when he was drunk?' Then another thought hit me.
"Ethan, why the hell are you drinking at 2 in the afternoon?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
"GordON, can I come over and talk to you?" He asked. This was unnatural. This was cosmic. This was one thousand little me's chirping "What the hell?!" "What the hell?!" Still, I had sanity in my grip and came up with an appropriate reply.
"How about you stay put and I come over there?" I suggested.
"Okay, man. Are you, I mean. yeah, address?"
"Yeah, Ethan, I know where you live." And I thanked God for this, too, since there was no doubt that Ethan's directions would put me in a river somewhere.
"All right. Later, man." Click. The confusion was maddening. I was sure the headlines would read "Young Boy Dies of Confusion!" I knew it would be a painful death.
I then repeated my mantra, narrowed down slightly. 'Am good friend. Am good friend.' It helped slightly and I exited the house, headed for the Craft residence.
Something interesting about the walk to Ethan's was that it took me past Kate's house, who, if she had known where I was going, would have wished she were me. Kate wanted Ethan more than ever before and there was little doubt that he wanted her, too. Miranda was now taken and the buzz on Lizzie was that she was being "weird," so Ethan had little to choose from. I kicked at the sidewalk. No one ever wanted me.
In no time I was on Ethan Craft's doorstep, otherwise known to teenyboppers as the Gates of Heaven. I rang the doorbell once, twice, thrice before he answered. As I entered the house, I found The Suspect in Question to be in a much better physical state than I expected him to be. And then I had my Sad, Startling Thought of the Day: 'Perhaps he will actually say something that I have to listen to.'
He did. Well, sort of.
"Hey GordON, sit down, pour yourself a drink," he said, flopping on the couch and gesturing to the array of bottles before him, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.
"No thanks, not thirsty." I replied, relaxing myself on the other end of the couch. He shrugged. "So uh, Ethan, what's up?"
"Well, GordON, you're gay, right?"
"Yeah, last time I checked," I responded, wandering into AJ-Land.
"Well, you see." he started, with that perpetual puzzled expression on his face.
And then he was on top of me. His mouth tasted like alcohol and chocolate and metal, he had one hand on the back of my neck and another on my chest. Within ten seconds it was over, leaving me wondering (again) about what was going on. Had I actually LIKED kissing Ethan Craft?
"Hey, sorry, GordON, man," Ethan apologized, looking uncommonly vulnerable. He seemed to be torn between speaking and silence, and I didn't know what to do. This new layer to Ethan made him strangely attractive. I suddenly wanted to make him feel better, though I had no idea whether his behavior was some effect of the alcohol.
"Wow," I muttered, TV remote in hand as I watched "Even Stevens" on the Disney Channel. "That AJ Trauth is really, really, really, really hot." It was the day after Shopping with Lizzie Day, which to me was secretly Pick Lizzie's Head Day. Which sounded really gross and made me think of gorillas, but AJ was on the screen and my brain couldn't come up with something better. I wanted to elope with him. No. I wanted to have a big giant wedding with him and invite Miranda and Jacob so he could see what he was missing.
"He's a FIT," I growled, unhappy with the circumstances.
"A what?" AJ's character, Twitty, said to that little annoying kid.
"A fag in training," I responded absently. I just wasn't getting over it. Which I should have been, right? I was the spitting image of cool; disaffected, smart, socially not popular or unpopular. And I couldn't get over some love interest in a matter of days. Loser. But I would not beat myself up over it, no sirree Bob. No sense in that; I was better than that. And I had other things to attend to. like wearing a "shoulder to cry on" sign around my neck. Yesterday had been particularly hellish, since Lizzie was one of those people who are afraid of second-hand clothes. She found sweaters that looked exactly like the ones she already had and a new purse. Obviously, her clothes were not the root of her issues.
Which got me to wondering why I even cared.
The next two hours ended up putting me in a considerably better mood, what with that Even Stevens marathon and all. 'Am good friend. Can help Lizzie, somehow. Am good friend.' I repeated my new mantra in my head. It had the potential to keep me sane, in an indescribable way. I felt like nothing in my head was connected to the other things in my head. My thoughts were like thousands of little me's just babbling away and not making any sense. So it was perfect that I got a phone call that instant.
"Y'ello?" I answered, pacing and dancing on the wooden kitchen floor like I always did.
"Hey there GordON," an all-too-familiar voice replied.
"Ethan? Er, what's up?"
"I really don't know what I'll say so go ahead and ask anything or say anything," he responded, slightly slurring. 'Oh my God, where did he get the audacity to call me when he was drunk?' Then another thought hit me.
"Ethan, why the hell are you drinking at 2 in the afternoon?" I asked, furrowing my brow.
"GordON, can I come over and talk to you?" He asked. This was unnatural. This was cosmic. This was one thousand little me's chirping "What the hell?!" "What the hell?!" Still, I had sanity in my grip and came up with an appropriate reply.
"How about you stay put and I come over there?" I suggested.
"Okay, man. Are you, I mean. yeah, address?"
"Yeah, Ethan, I know where you live." And I thanked God for this, too, since there was no doubt that Ethan's directions would put me in a river somewhere.
"All right. Later, man." Click. The confusion was maddening. I was sure the headlines would read "Young Boy Dies of Confusion!" I knew it would be a painful death.
I then repeated my mantra, narrowed down slightly. 'Am good friend. Am good friend.' It helped slightly and I exited the house, headed for the Craft residence.
Something interesting about the walk to Ethan's was that it took me past Kate's house, who, if she had known where I was going, would have wished she were me. Kate wanted Ethan more than ever before and there was little doubt that he wanted her, too. Miranda was now taken and the buzz on Lizzie was that she was being "weird," so Ethan had little to choose from. I kicked at the sidewalk. No one ever wanted me.
In no time I was on Ethan Craft's doorstep, otherwise known to teenyboppers as the Gates of Heaven. I rang the doorbell once, twice, thrice before he answered. As I entered the house, I found The Suspect in Question to be in a much better physical state than I expected him to be. And then I had my Sad, Startling Thought of the Day: 'Perhaps he will actually say something that I have to listen to.'
He did. Well, sort of.
"Hey GordON, sit down, pour yourself a drink," he said, flopping on the couch and gesturing to the array of bottles before him, both alcoholic and non-alcoholic.
"No thanks, not thirsty." I replied, relaxing myself on the other end of the couch. He shrugged. "So uh, Ethan, what's up?"
"Well, GordON, you're gay, right?"
"Yeah, last time I checked," I responded, wandering into AJ-Land.
"Well, you see." he started, with that perpetual puzzled expression on his face.
And then he was on top of me. His mouth tasted like alcohol and chocolate and metal, he had one hand on the back of my neck and another on my chest. Within ten seconds it was over, leaving me wondering (again) about what was going on. Had I actually LIKED kissing Ethan Craft?
"Hey, sorry, GordON, man," Ethan apologized, looking uncommonly vulnerable. He seemed to be torn between speaking and silence, and I didn't know what to do. This new layer to Ethan made him strangely attractive. I suddenly wanted to make him feel better, though I had no idea whether his behavior was some effect of the alcohol.