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Johnny, Are You Queer?
Оглавление“Johnny, what’s the deal, boy?
Is your love for real, boy?”
—Josie Cotton
September 1984.
A year and four months have passed since Brad and I went to Blue Lake Fine Arts Camp as piddly little 7th-going-on-8th graders. I can’t even believe it’s our third and final year at Webb Junior High. As Freshmen, we’re gonna Rule the School!
In case you’re wondering what we’re still doing in junior high, I should probably explain…In the “Friendly City” of Hazeltucky, you don’t go to high school till your Sophomore year. Which is totally lame, I know. But apparently back in like 1967, the only junior high around was Howard Beecher. And once there got to be too many kids living in the Hazel Park school district to fit in one school, they built another junior high and divided the Freshman class into two.
Depending on where you lived, you either went to Beecher—with all the Burn-Outs—or to the much cooler new junior high, Webb, named after some guy, Wilfred D. Which is where my Mom went. Up till 9th grade when she got pregnant with me, got married, and dropped out.
Okay, I know what you’re thinking…Your Mom got pregnant with you when she was 14 years old? How the heck does that happen in this day and age? But that was like, 1969, “The Summer of Love.” And to be perfectly honest, I don’t wanna think about how it happened. (Gross!)
There’s this picture of my parents taken on their wedding day. Standing in front of my grandparents’ house in the January snow. My Mom looks so tiny and scared. But my Dad’s got his arm around her, holding on like he’s never gonna let go. And to this day, he hasn’t. I’ve gotta admit, I’m proud of them. Most people thought it would never work. A 17-year-old boy marrying a 14-year-old girl. But fourteen and a half years later, they’re still together.
In a way, I think my being born was a good thing. My mother always says all she ever wanted was to fall in love, get married, and raise a family. Which is what she did. Maybe a little sooner than she expected, but…How many people can say they’ve done exactly what they wanted to do with their lives?
Though thinking about it now, it’s hard to believe. I mean, I’m 14. And I’m still a kid. I’ve got a bijillion things I wanna do with my life. And dropping out of school, getting married, and having a baby is not one of them. Back in 6th grade, they showed us that After School Special, Schoolboy Father, and it totally freaked me out!
One time, my Dad told me this funny story…Senior year, he gets caught smoking in the boys’ bathroom at Hillbilly High. This Hall Monitor walks in and she’s all like, “Young man…Do you want me to call your parents?”
And my Dad’s like, “No…But you can call my wife!”
So this afternoon before 7th hour, we’re standing at Brad’s locker…
He’s got Algebra Man. Who just after Lunch today finished teaching my class trinomials. Under his real identity—Mr. Bond—he’s also the Cross-Country coach. He’s also totally crazy! About once a week, he comes into class dressed up as Algebra Man. Complete with mask, cape, the whole shebang, he teaches us in character for the entire hour! What makes it even crazier is…After Algebra Man leaves, Mr. Bond will come back into class and he’s all like, “How come I’m never around when Algebra Man pays a visit?”
Lucky me…I’ve got Gorgeous George for Civics. Other than from reading Today’s Announcements to us on a daily basis during Lunch, I didn’t really know him at all till this year. He used to be Brad’s Swimming coach back in 7th grade and Brad says he was always pretty cool.
“Can I come over after school and watch Days?” Brad asks me. By which he means Days of our Lives. “I don’t think I’ve seen it since before school started…What’s up?”
Even though I know the bell’s gonna ring any minute, I can’t resist giving Brad the lowdown. “Oh, my God…It’s getting sooo good!”
“Tell me!”
“Well,” I say, “you know Stefano, right?” By whom I’m referring to Salem’s resident Evil Villain, Stefano DiMera. “It turns out he’s still alive after all.”
To which Brad exclaims, “Shut the fuck up!”
“And,” I continue, “he’s going after the prisms.” By which I’m referring to the three different colored pieces of glass that will magically cure Stefano of his inoperable brain tumor once he finds and puts them all together. Thus allowing him to take over the world.
Now you’re probably thinking…Soap operas are for middle-aged housewives and teenaged girls. Not 14-year-old boys. Which they totally are. But I can’t help it if I’m addicted and so is Brad.
“It must be nice having your own TV and VCR right in your bedroom,” he says enviously. Then he throws in, “Too bad it’s a Beta.” Just so I won’t think he’s jealous of me. Even though I know he totally is.
“Shut up!” I say. I can’t help it if my parents won $500 on their last trip to Las Vega$. So my Dad decided to buy a brand new TV and VCR for our living room and give me the hand-me-downs.
“You better call your Mom and make sure it’s okay if I come over,” Brad decides.
“She’s not gonna care,” I tell him. “My Mom totally likes you.”
“I don’t know, Jack…Remember the time me and Max spent the night at your house back in 7th grade and your Mom totally kicked us out in the morning?”
“She did not kick you out!” I remind Brad for the bijillionth time.
“Yes, she did,” he insists. “I’ll never forget it.” At which point, he does his best impression of my Mom, all loud. “‘Jackie! Tell those boys to get the fuck out…Now.’”
To which I’ve gotta protest. “My mother would never say the F-word,” I defend. Because she wouldn’t.
“Like mother, like son,” Brad replies, deadpan.
Though I don’t exactly hear him over the zhit-zhit sound of my pant legs rubbing together as we make our way to class. All I wanted last year was a pair of parachute pants to go with my white sleeveless T-shirt with the orange sun and the Chinese writing on it. Now that my Mom finally broke down and bought me a pair, they’ve gone out of style!
The middle hallway is abuzz with in-between-class activity. A group of Webb Warrior Cheerleaders pass by us wearing green and gold W sweaters, led by Symphonic Band 1st chair flautist Shelly Findlay. Who is no longer going with Bobby Russell, in case you’re wondering. I decided that Shelly kinda reminds me of the lead singer of the German one-hit wonder band, Nena. Remember the ones who sang “99 Luftballoons”? I totally loved that song and practically begged Mrs. Putnam to let us play it for the Memorial Day parade last year. But she had none of it!
I look over my shoulder just in time to catch Shelly’s eye. “What’s up, Fox?” she says, raising her thumb, forefinger, and pinky to give a little semicircular wave.
“Hi, Shelly,” I say, forcing a smile. Then I see her turn to her Cheerleader Friends and start cackling her little brunette head off.
I realize Shelly could be laughing about something some cute boy somewhere said to her sometime. Or maybe she could be laughing at me and my so-last-year parachute pants! I don’t know. All I know is…I feel totally self-conscious right now.
“I’ll meet you at the locker at 3 o’clock,” Brad informs me. Which is when I notice for the first time how suddenly empty the hallway has become. Which is when I go deaf as the 7th hour bell begins to chime.
Brad covers his ears. “Have fun with Mr. Grant,” he teases. Then he disappears into Algebra Land. Where Mr. Bond is nowhere to be seen, pending the imminent arrival of the Man of a Thousand Equations.
I sprint down the hall and into Gorgeous George’s room, crossing the threshold just in the nick of time. Everybody knows if you’re late for Grant’s class, he makes you stay half an hour after school for Detention—just you and him. Which is about the last thing I would ever wanna do!
I’ve gotta say, Brad’s been acting kinda weird, lately. Not weird-weird, but…Ever since he found out I’ve got Mr. Grant for Civics this year, he’s always making comments about him in one way or another. Maybe he’s mad ’cause he’s got Mrs. McKenzie, who’s at least 60 years old. And Mr. Grant’s only like half her age.
“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Paterno.”
The whole classroom bursts out laughing. Though I really don’t give a care. They’re all just jealous because I’m a straight-A student and have been since 7th grade. And with only two more semesters to go, I’m on my way to winning the Student of the Year Award. Right now, it’s between me and Ava Reese, Symphonic Band 1st chair clarinet. Though I found out she got a B+ in Biology last semester. So as long as I don’t get anything less than an A this year, the award is as good as mine!
“Okay, People…Time for Current Events.” Mr. Grant takes up the long metal rod-thingie from the ledge on the chalkboard. Reaching up with it, he pulls down the projection screen from above. Of course, he has to turn around to do this—giving the entire class a shot of his butt. Not that I’m looking or anything, ’cause I’m not. But you can’t miss it, his pants are sooo tight!
“You want me to get the lights, Mr. Grant?” Carrie Johnson volunteers, making me gag. That girl would eat dog food if Gorgeous George told her to, I swear!
“That would be lovely,” he replies, flashing his pearly whites.
Not that I’m staring at him or anything…
After class, Brad walks with me over to my house. My family lives on Shevlin. Which is four blocks south of 10 Mile. In case you don’t know—again, why would you?—Hazel Park borders the city of Detroit on its south side at 8 Mile and extends north up to 10 Mile. Why all the roads running north/south around here are called “something Mile,” I don’t know! All I know is…they start at like 6 Mile, and go all the way up to 30-something Mile. And in Hazeltucky, the closer you live to 8 Mile the less well-off you tend to be. Not that my family is “well-off” by any means—my Dad’s the Produce Manager of a Supermarket. Though I’ve got pretty much everything a kid could ask for.
Like my own 10-speed and Atari 5200. Not to mention my own personal color TV and VCR right in my bedroom. Which is where Brad and I are right now, just finishing up today’s episode of Days of our Lives…
“Now what?” he asks as the “sands through the hourglass” theme finally fades.
“Wanna see my Kristian Alfonso scrapbook?”
Brad gives me a look. Like he’s smelling a fart or something. “Who the Hell’s Kristin Alfonso?”
“Kris-tian Alfonso,” I correct. “How can you not know who she is?”
“Um…Because I don’t,” he replies, sprawling out on my brother’s bottom bunk bed.
“She plays Hope on Days of our Lives,” I inform him. “Duh!”
Hope Williams-Welch, to be exact. The daughter of Doug Williams and Addie Horton, who unfortunately got hit by a car and died shortly after Hope was born 18 years ago. Which was totally fine for Doug, considering he was in love with Addie’s daughter, Julie, at the time he knocked Addie up in a drunken stupor.
The thing is…Hope’s totally in love with this guy named Bo Brady. He’s like a Total Rebel. With long dark hair and a beard. He also rides a motorcycle. He kinda reminds me of this country singer my Mom likes, Eddie Rabbit. I guess you could say he’s attractive. Not that I judge other guys, ’cause I don’t.
But for some reason, Hope’s married to this other guy, Larry Welch. Who’s the Salem D.A. and, like, a Total Crook. He’s also totally in cahoots with Stefano DiMera, the Evil Villain everybody thinks is dead. But Bo & Hope are onto Stefano. They totally suspect he’s still alive and trying to get control of the prisms so he can take over the world. Which he totally is.
The actress who plays Hope is named Kristian Alfonso. K-R-I-S-T-I-A-N. She’s totally beautiful. With long, dark, curly hair, she’s also got a tiny little birthmark under her lower lip just above her chin. She kinda reminds me of Brooke Shields from The Blue Lagoon. I found out in Soap Opera Digest that she just started on Days of our Lives about a year ago. Which makes me so mad I didn’t tune in sooner because I’m totally in love with her!
I even joined her official Fan Club. For the modest fee of $12/year, I received: (a) a color 8" x 10" glossy photo, autographed in purple ink by Kristian Alfonso herself, (b) a T-shirt with a gorgeous black-and-white Kristian Alfonso on the front, (c) an “I Kristian Alfonso” bumper sticker, (d) a button/badge featuring the exact same photo as the autographed one, only in black-and-white, and (e) an official Kristian Alfonso Fan Club membership card—#1307.
This past Summer, I actually thought about starting my own Kristian Alfonso Fan Club when I first started watching Days. Kinda like Marcia Brady did for Davy Jones that one time. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that I secretly hoped one day Kristian Alfonso would show up at my front door and go to the Prom with me.
Too bad I was sadly informed of the existence of the “official” Kristian Alfonso Fan Club when I soon thereafter wrote to her in c/o Days of our Lives, asking permission to start my own. So I joined just a couple weeks ago, on August 24th.
Which brings me back to the Kristian Alfonso scrapbook…
“Sure,” Brad says. “Let’s see it.”
I reach for the 3" brown photo album sitting on my desk. I’ve been cutting out articles about KA from SOD and pasting them inside. I’ve even got a bunch of pictures of her taped up next to my bed. This way, she’s the last one I see before I fall asleep at night. My goal is to fill up the entire wall.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” I can’t help but beam with pride for the new Love of my Life.
“Totally,” Brad agrees. Though he flips through the scrapbook in a matter of seconds. Then he tosses it aside like yesterday’s Detroit News. “Okay…Now what?”
“Wanna listen to some records?” I reach for the brown faux-leather case where I keep my collection. Back in 5th grade, my Aunt Sonia bought me a $5 gift certificate for Harmony House. With it, I purchased such 45 RPM hits as “Centerfold” by J. Geils, “My Kinda Lover” by Billy Squier, “Keep on Lovin’ You” by REO Speedwagon, and my favorite, “Don’t Stop Believin’” by Journey. Though to this day I still haven’t figured out where South Detroit is! I also really don’t listen to that kinda music anymore. I’ve since been adding to my collection with more New Wave-kinda bands. Like Culture Club, Eurythmics, Thompson Twins, etc.
“Lemme see what you got.” Brad grabs hold of the record box and begins pulling them out. One by one he tosses them aside, apparently not finding any to his liking.
“Careful with those!” I tell him. “You’re so destructive sometimes.”
To which Brad rolls his eyes. “I am not!” Then he exclaims, “Oh, my God…I totally love this one!” He hands me the record and I look at the label…“Johnny, Are You Queer?” by Josie Cotton. “Put it on,” Brad orders. “Today!”
As much as I hate to, I do as my Best Friend tells me. Though this song is definitely not one of my favorites, don’t ask me why!
Maybe it’s because I can’t stand the way Josie Cotton sings it. All nasal and whiny and annoying. Or maybe it’s because the song reminds me of the very first Fun Night way back in 7th grade when I first met Lynn Kelly, the Love of my Life, and thought we had a Future. Or maybe it’s because my real name happens to be John…Though nobody ever calls me “Johnny.”
It also doesn’t help when it gets to the “Johnny, are you queer?” part and Brad turns to me, singing along.
“Stop!” I demand that very instant.
The thing is…I’d never even heard the word “queer” or “fag” till two years ago. Before that, I was always the Most Popular Boy at Longfellow School. I always had girlfriends. Well, not “girlfriends.” But friends who were girls. Then I got to Webb and all of a sudden people think I’m a fag, don’t ask me why!
Maybe it’s because I used to sit with a bunch of girls during Lunch every day back in 7th grade—one of them being Lynn Kelly, the Love of my Life. Or maybe it’s because one time during Ms. Lemieux’s Enriched English & Social Studies, I finished my class work early so I wrote out the entire lyrics to that “Valley Girl” song by Moon Unit Zappa on the board. Or maybe it’s because I was at Lynn Kelly’s house one Saturday afternoon and she invited a bunch of her friends over and word got around I was the only boy hanging out in a group of girls…
Though shouldn’t that make me a Total Stud and not a Total Fag? I don’t know. All I know is…I know I’m not.
Who cares what anybody else thinks?
