"Gay or Straight?"

I am looking for the bathroom when I see a door covered with a Marky Mark poster. The door is ajar, and inside is a blue room that looks almost lavender with the shades drawn and the weak blare of a desk light. The walls are covered with posters of Bryan Adams, The New Kids on the Block and three more posters of Marky Mark.



Seth runs to the door and closes it, his back pressed against Marky Mark’s wavy dark hair.


“Can I help you with something?” His breath is shallow. His hand squeezes the doorknob.


“I was just looking for the bathroom.”


He points to the opposite end of the apartment. His face is covered in a thin layer of sweat.


“Thanks,” I smile.


I want him to know that we all hide things, that he’s not alone. So he is gay and I sleep with a Disney card under my pillow each night. Before, his creamy skin and large brown eyes made me feel ugly, uncomfortable in my own oversized-body. Knowing he probably swoons over Justin Timberlake and the like makes my invisible hackles go down, makes him more approachable.


“Cool room.”


“It’s my dad—he works at a radio station and gets tons of free posters. Otherwise, I wouldn’t, you know...” His face is flushed like a new tomato.


“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.” I raise my eyebrows at him.


I am hungry for this beautiful boy to admit he is gay. Maybe then it would be safe to let out the venom I carry in my heart. Maybe then neither one of us would need to feel so alone.


“Look—I’m not gay, if that’s what you’re thinking. I just happen to like a great deal of male music, okay?”


“It’s okay. I know plenty of people who are gay. It’s really not a big deal,” I say. Okay, I’m lying big time here: I don’t know anyone who is gay nor do I know if homosexuality is or isn’t a big deal. I mean, it’s not like I’ve ever felt that way about a girl. Maybe it’s an awkwardly huge deal. Maybe I just need to shut my mouth and find that bathroom.


“I’m not gay,” he whispers. His eyes dart down the hallway. Only a gay person would be concerned that they were considered gay. If he called me a lesbian right now I’d just laugh because the idea is so off-the-charts ridiculous.


“Look, gay, straight—what does it matter?” I smile feebly and force myself to punch him affectionately in the shoulder.


“Bitch,” Seth mumbles and closes his bedroom door in my face.


I make my way to the bathroom, hating myself for trying too hard, hating myself for trying to care.