Never a Hero

who caught us was trying to be cool, but the principal freaked. They called my mom. She was furious. Not so much because it was with a b-b-boy as b-because I’d embarrassed her. She c-called me a p-p-pervert. And the boy—Jeremy—he told everybody that I’d kissed him . That he didn’t like me, and that he was trying to pull away. I couldn’t even defend myself. I couldn’t stop stuttering enough to g-g-get my w-words out. Anyway, up until then, I’d been doing better, but after that, everything f-fell apart.”
    “What do you mean?”
    “The stuttering got worse. The few friends I’d made abandoned me. Jeremy ended up on the wrestling team, and he called me a f-f-fag every time he saw me. He and his friends spray-painted my locker and v-vandalized my car. I couldn’t even look at anybody. And the worst part of it was, my m-mom acted like I deserved it all. She told all of her friends about her deviant son. Like she could sh-shame me into being the kind of son she wanted me to be.”
    Nick scuffed the toe of his sneaker against the kitchen floor. “I guess that’s what angers me the most about your mom. I mean, here I am, sick because I did something stupid, and my parents support me no matter what. My sister moved here from Grand Junction, in case I needed help. But your mom blames you for things that aren’t your fault. Your arm, and your stutter, and being gay.” He shook his head in disgust and finally looked back up at me. “So, what happened?”
    “Nothing really. I begged to switch schools, and my dad wanted to let me, but my mom said no. She said I had to take responsibility for my actions.”
    His gaze was sympathetic, but unwavering. “Owen, why are you telling me this now?”
    I shrugged. “It seemed like I should. You’ve been honest with me, and it was time for me to be honest with you.”
    He laughed, but it was a sad sound. “I don’t think you withholding your darkest high school moment is the same as me not telling you about being HIV-positive.”
    “I know. But I don’t want there to be any more secrets between us.”
    “Fair enough. No more secrets.” He crossed the room and sat down in order to lean close and look into my eyes. “I really am sorry.”
    “I know. We both screwed up. We’re both sorry. How about if we say we’re both forgiven, too?”
    “Works for me.”
    I wanted to reach out and touch him. To take his hand. But I couldn’t. I was still attracted to him, and yet I still couldn’t quite wrap my head around the idea of his illness. I couldn’t make it fit with the way he looked, so healthy and strong. I couldn’t think of how it felt to kiss him without thinking of the virus too.
    Still, I missed him.
    I cleared my throat and made myself ask, “Can we be friends again?”
    “I never stopped being your friend.”
    “But I feel like I stopped being yours.”
    He looked down at the floor, rubbing the back of his neck. When he looked up again, there was a tentative smile on his face. “I was about to make dinner.”
    “You’ve spoiled me, you know. I’m actually starting to crave broiled fish, and I can’t stand to eat frozen pizza anymore.”
    “Does that mean you’ll stay?”
    “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the most part, things between us returned to normal, although there was undeniably more distance between us than before. He stopped flirting with me altogether. I missed it, and yet, I wasn’t sure it would be wise to initiate anything either. We were friends again, and for the moment, that felt like enough. I spent evenings at his house practicing while he made dinner, and afterward, we’d walk his dogs. I finally canceled my weekly grocery delivery and started driving to the store when I needed something. It was a small step, but it felt momentous, and I began to realize that people didn’t stare at me nearly as often as I’d imagined.
    “Would you like me to give you a hand out to your car with these?” the girl who bagged my groceries asked one day before she noticed my arm and turned beet red. She gave me that look —the look that meant, “Oh shit, I hope I didn’t just offend this guy.” And for possibly the first time, I was able to laugh at such an innocent blunder from an adult.
    “I can always use another hand,” I told her.
    Her relief was almost palpable, and I thought about what Nick had said to me. Most people are trying to treat you the way they think you want to be treated. It had taken me twenty-eight