Out of Nowhere(64)

Rafe puts his head in his hand and groans, like Anders wanting to talk to me is some kind of horrible nightmare.

“I mean, I’m sure he’d have rather talked with you, but he didn’t know where you are when you’re not at YA and he knew where I worked, so….”

“I’m not—Jesus, Colin, I’m not jealous. I just can’t believe you would do something so monumentally stupid! Fuck!” Rafe drops down onto the back of the couch. “What were you thinking? Were you alone with him? Who else was there? Did people see him?”

“Hold the hell on. What are you implying? I didn’t… I didn’t do anything to him!”

“Yeah, unfortunately, that’s not the point. That’s why there are protocols for working with youth. You have to be absolutely beyond fucking reproach at all times or you leave yourself open to every accusation under the sun. And I’m the one who brought you on as a volunteer, so if it looks like you’re being inappropriate with the kids, then it’s on me!”

“Well, how do I know this shit? I was trying to help.” Okay, my first response had been irritation that Anders had come to the shop, but I got over it.

“You don’t know so there are times you can’t help,” Rafe says, like I’m an idiot. I hate it when he does this. Acts like there is this whole set of rules that I’ll never understand. Not that he’s wrong. It’d just be nice not to be reminded that I fuck up everything I touch.

“Look, he wanted to talk to me because I’m not… you know, because people don’t know about him. Being gay. Queer. Whatever. Like, he wanted to know should he tell his parents and shit. And I think he just wanted to know how it was for me.”

Rafe takes a deep breath like it’s all he can do to control his temper. “So, what did you tell him?” he asks slowly.

I’d been finishing up a repair when Anders slunk in. All I saw of him at first were his skinny legs encased in their usual black denim and ending in too-heavy black boots that scuffed the grimy concrete. Pop had left and I had pretty much scared off Brian and Sam by bringing up the idea of proposing more custom repairs to Pop. They’d both done the we-don’t-want-to-make-waves shuffle and I’d been pissed at them the rest of the day for being such cowards. So, chances were no one would see Anders, but I’d led him into the office anyway, not wanting to take any chances that we might be overheard.

He apologized about a hundred times for bothering me before I finally got the story out of him. He’d begun coming to YA with Mikal after they connected on social media, and his family had no clue he was queer—his word. He said he hadn’t really even talked about it much with any friends. Seemed like he’d been a bit of a loner before he met the other YA kids. He spent a lot of time practicing violin—I guess he played in pretty major competitions. Recitals. Whatever you call them. His dad was some kind of banker and his mother did something with trading stocks. They were Swedish and still spent a lot of time going back and forth to Stockholm so they weren’t around a lot. But when they were, they seemed to hold Anders and his brother and sister to pretty exacting standards. Sure, Anders’ father’s expectations ran more to perfect grades and ten-year plans, but I was familiar with the sentiment.

When his father had found out that he’d been going to YA instead of spending time after school practicing, he’d flipped out. Anders had told him he was just going there to support a friend. That it didn’t mean anything. He looked ashamed when he told me that, as if he owed them the truth as some kind of familial tithe. But he knew his parents wouldn’t like it. His father especially would be disappointed. Something about business and being the oldest son, Anders said, but clearly beneath it was just the same kind of old-fashioned disgust that Pop had displayed since I was a kid.

And that was the heart of why Anders had come to me, I think. He’d been looking for someone who had the same issue as him. It wasn’t very flattering, being sought out because you have the same shit going on that a teenager does when you’re supposed to be an adult. It was the adult part Anders was clearly after, though. He knew Rafe better, sure, but Rafe was a damn shining beacon of integrity, whereas I… well, I may have had a similar problem, but I had no solutions. Not even for myself. I wished I could tell him a brave story like Rafe’s—always having been honest about who he was and damn the consequences. Hell, I wished I could tell him a story like Daniel’s, even. Where he hadn’t chosen the moment to tell people he was gay, but when it had happened, he’d taken control over it.