me: but why me? i mean, what do you see in me? tiny: you have a heart, will. you even let it slip out every now and then. i see that in you. and i see that you need me.
I shake my head.
me: don’t you get it? i don’t need anyone.
tiny: that only means you need me more.
It’s so clear to me.
me: you’re not in love with me. you’re in love with my need.
tiny: who said i was in love with anything? i said ‘really, really like.’
he stops now. pauses.
tiny: this always happens. some variation of this always happens.
me: i’m sorry.
tiny: they always say ‘i’m sorry,’ too.
me: i can’t do this, tiny.
tiny: you can, but you won’t. you just won’t.
It’s like i don’t have to break up with him, because he’s already had the conversation in his head. i should feel relieved that i don’t have to say anything. but instead, i only feel worse.
me: it’s not your fault. i just can’t feel anything.
tiny: really? are you really feeling nothing right now? nothing at all?
I want to tell him: nobody ever told me how to deal with things like this. shouldn’t letting go be painless if you’ve never learned how to hold on?
tiny: i’m going to go now.
and i’m going to stay. i’m going to stay on this swing as he walks away. i’m going to stay silent as he gets in his car. i’m going to stay still as i hear the car start, then drive away. i’m going to stay in the wrong, because i don’t know how to get through the thicket of my own mind in order to reach whatever it is that i’m supposed to do. i’m going to stay the same, and the same, and the same, until i die of it.
minutes have to pass before i can admit that, yes, even though i tell myself i’m feeling nothing, it’s a lie. i want to say i’m feeling remorse or regret or even guilt. but none of those words seem like enough. what i’m feeling is shame. raw, loathing shame. i don’t want to be the person i am. i don’t want to be the person who just did what i did.
It’s not even about tiny, really.
I am awful.
I am heartless.
I am scared that these things are actually true.
I run back to my house. i am starting to sob - i’m not even thinking about it, but my body is falling to pieces. my hand is shaking so much that i drop the keys before i finally get them in the door. the house is empty. i am empty. i try to eat. i try to crawl into bed. nothing works. i do feel things. i feel everything. and i need to know i’m not alone. so i’m getting out the phone. i’m not even thinking about it. i’m pressing the number and i’m hearing the ring and as soon as it’s answered, i’m shouting into the phone:
me: I LOVE YOU. DO YOU HEAR ME, I LOVE YOU?
I’m screaming it, and it sounds so angry and so frightened and so pathetic and desperate. on the other end of the phone, my mother is asking me what’s wrong, where am i, what’s happening, and i’m telling her that i’m at home and that everything’s a mess, and she’s saying she’ll be home in ten minutes, will i be okay for ten minutes? and i want to tell her i’ll be okay, because that’s what she wants to hear, but then i realize that maybe what she wants to hear is the actual truth, so i tell her that i feel things, i really do, and she tells me of course i do, i always have had these feelings, and that’s what makes life hard for me sometimes.
just hearing her voice makes me feel a little better, and i realize that, yes, i appreciate what she’s saying, and i appreciate what she’s doing, and that i need to let her know that. although i don’t say it right away, since i think that will only worry her more, but when she gets home i say it to her, and she says she knows.
I tell her a little about tiny, and she says it sounds like we were putting too much pressure on ourselves, and that it doesn’t have to be love immediately, or even love eventually. i want to ask her which it was with my father, and when it was that everything turned into hate and sadness. but maybe i don’t really want to know. not right now.
mom: need is never a good basis for any relationship. it has to be much more than that.
It’s good to talk to her, but it’s also strange, because she’s my mom, and i don’t want to be one of these kids who thinks his mom’s his best friend. by the time i’ve recovered enough, school is long over, and i figure i can go online and see if gideon’s there. then i realize i can text him instead. then i realize that i can actually call him. finally, i realize i can actually call him and see if he wants to do something. because he’s my friend, and that’s what friends do.
I call, he answers. i need him, he answers. i go over to his house and tell him what’s happened, and he answers. it’s not like it was with maura, who always wanted to take the dark road. it’s not like it was with tiny, because with him i was feeling all these expectations to be a good boyfriend, whatever that is. no, gideon’s ready to believe both the best and the worst in me. in other words: the truth.
when we’re done talking, he asks me if i’m going to call tiny. i tell him i don’t know.
It’s not until later that i decide. i’m on IM, and i see he’s on, too.
I don’t really think i can salvage us being boyfriends, but at the very least i want to tell him that even if he was wrong about me, he wasn’t wrong about himself. i mean, someone should be trying to do good in the world.
so i try.
8:15pm
willupleasebequiet: bluejeanbaby?
willupleasebequiet: tiny?
8:18pm
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
9:33pm
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
10:10pm
willupleasebequiet: please?
11:45pm
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
1:03am
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
willupleasebequiet: are you there?
Chapter seventeen
Three days before the play, Tiny and I are talking again as we wait for precalc to start, but there’s nothing inside our words. He sits down next to me and says, “Hey, Grayson,” and I say, “Hey,” and he says, “What’s new?” and I say, “Not much, you?” and he says, “Not much. The play is kicking my ass, man,” and I say, “I bet,” and he says, “You’re dating Jane, huh?” and I say, “Sorta, yeah,” and he says, “That’s awesome,” and I say, “Yeah. How’s the other Will Grayson,” and he says, “Fine,” and that’s it. Honestly, talking to him is worse than not. Talking to him makes me feel like I’m drowning in lukewarm water.