Ch. 17

"Justin, could you stay after class?" She has my folder on her desk.

I've been dreading this all day. Not that Ms. Francis has been looking at me any differently or anything, but I know she read my essays last night, and the idea of her giving me feedback has been making me ill all day. I nod, then focus on shredding the paper on my desktop.

"Are you okay?" Jen asks, sweeping away the tiny pieces of paper I've made, a few fluttering onto the floor.

"Yeah, she was just proof-reading some essays I wrote for scholarship applications," I explain. "What are you planning on doing next year?" I ask, realizing I really didn't know what most of our class was doing.

"If I get all five credits, then I'm going to take early childhood education at college. I love little kids," she tells me, and I can totally see her doing something like that.

"You'd be great at it," I tell her just as the bell goes.

"Thanks. And don't worry, I bet your essays are good," she says as she gets up to leave along with everyone else. Tom walks by and drags his fingers over my desk, causing my eyes to glance up. He gives me a quick smile then walks out, too.

Now it's just me, Ms. Francis and Mr. Sway left in the portable.

"These are really good, Justin," Ms. Francis offers, putting me out of my misery.

I flood with relief. "Really?" My voice cracks.

"Yes, really." I wait for the but that I know is coming. "but..." Sure enough. "I think you need to show these to a few people before you submit them."

"W-why?" I'm pretty sure I know the answer, but I really don't want to show my writing to anyone.

"Justin, come on. You know you should probably get Tom's permission before you write about him, and you should probably talk to your mom, too."

"I just, I—I don't know if I can," I say, then look at my hands again. "I mean my mom doesn't know about me, me being gay and I'm not sure that she'll handle it well. You know what happened to Tom." My words are all running together and I'm trying not to hyperventilate.

Mr. Sway hands me a bottle of water, "Calm down, Justin."

"I just meant you should show your mother the essay about how you want to go to school to give back to her what she's given to you. If you don't feel comfortable talking to your mother about anything else you don't have to, although it still might be a good idea," Ms. Francis explains gently.

"My uncle distanced himself from his family for years, thinking we wouldn't accept him, and honestly, it was awful. No one could understand why he wouldn't talk at family gatherings and he never seemed to have a relationship with anyone. He always seemed really unhappy. Finally one day he just broke down and told us after he'd been with his partner for three years. Him not saying anything had hurt both his relationship with us and with Greg, his boyfriend, and it was eating him up inside. In the end, Greg is amazing, and we are all just so relieved he's happy," she tells me.

"Now I know you have problems with being anxious, but do you think that's partially because you work so hard to keep everything so hidden? It's hard to have conversations with people if you are always on guard, to make connections with people," Mr. Sway adds to the conversation.

"I want to talk to my mom, but she's just gotten engaged and I'm not sure how well it will go with her new fiancee," I disclose.

"Fair enough. All the kids in this class have so much going on that people don't realize."

"Honestly, I think I have it better than a lot of them and they are all a lot better than people give them credit for," I admit, shrugging.

"That's one of the reasons you are such a good student mentor. You're able empathize and show them that a bad situation can be overcome."

"Is that why Tom's a student mentor, too?"

"Partially," Ms. Francis concedes. "But really we shouldn't be discussing another student. If you want to use him in your essay on bravery, you should, it's a fantastic essay, but you should really think about talking to him about it first. You don't want to break his confidence—his story isn't something he shares with everyone. And you should at least change his name in the essay, anyway, for anonymity's sake."

I take a deep breath and stand, "I guess I have some things to think about."

"And a few corrections to make, too," Ms. Francis says, handing me back my papers. "Plus you need to type these. I think deadlines are coming up really soon."

"Yeah, thank you so much. Really, both of you."

"Anytime, Justin."

...................................................

Last night I went to the library for a few hours and typed everything up. There were a few minor corrections, but mostly my essays were fine. I was able to attach a few to some of the applications I already completed, but I knew Ms. Francis was right. I had to show the essay on bravery to Tom before I did anything with it, so now I feel like puking as I wait for him to come into our musty portable.

Two minutes into class, Tom enters. It's been raining this morning and he's drenched and shivering. We're all working on our journals, and his entrance has everyone looking. Tom's wet long sleeve shirt clings to his wiry frame and brings back memories from in the tent. I can't help but notice how his muscles are outlined and his nipples are sticking out like little nubs. Gah, I've got to stop looking. Besides, he's probably in a bad enough mood that showing him my essay is a stupid idea.

"Anyone have a spare shirt for Tom?" Mr Sway asks, looking around the room. Before I can even think, my hand darts up. "Great, Justin, take Tom to get a change of clothes. Also, take an umbrella." He gestures to the sad bent metal and nylon skeletons resting against the wall by the door.

"Eh, it's not that bad out, I think we can risk it. Come on, 95," Tom calls to me, his eyes flashing from beneath his bangs, and my face flushes fully red.

I almost stumble my way to the door, deepening my embarrassment as I follow him out the door, leaving the class chuckling behind me.

"So, where are we heading?" Tom asks all nonchalant as we enter the main building.

"Locker," comes out strangled from somewhere inside me. I swear I feel like I'm going to vomit.

"Yes, Justin, I get that," he reaches towards me, then thinks better of it. "Calm down. Where is your locker?"

Because I've already made a huge fool of myself, I can't really make anything worse. "Here." I thrust my essay paper into his hand, then start walking. Hopefully he'll read it. Hopefully he'll follow me. Hopefully he'll still be talking to me in a few minutes.

Tom reads quietly to himself, although I can hear the words mumbled behind me as he does, in fact, follow.

Bravery

By Justin Archer

When I think of bravery a lot of people I know come to mind. Some are famous and recognized in the media for being heroic, others are just everyday people doing what they can to stay true to themselves. What all of them have in common does not change, however; they all stand up for what they believe in regardless of how it may effect them.

My mother is not an educated woman and had me at a young age. She did not have the opportunity to finish high school because she got pregnant and needed to help support me. Her boyfriend, my father, was abusive to her and eventually to me. Even though kicking my father out and reporting him would result in her being a single mother, my mother stood up to my father and made the brave choice. She called the police, had him charged, and raised me on her own. Her bravery saved my life, even though it made hers a lot more difficult. She then took classes to finish high school in her spare time and got a job that allowed her to keep our house. We do not have a lot, but I have never lacked food or shelter, so I have a lot more than others due to my mother's bravery.

Another example of bravery is my friend Tom. He is in my class and is one of the strongest people I know. He was raised in a very strict religious household and followed all of his parents' rules because he respected them. When Tom realized he was gay, even though he knew they would object, he still came out to his parents because he respected himself. They tried various forms of re-education, some abusive, but even though Tom knew he would lose his parents and comfortable home, he still decided to remain true to himself. He lost everything, his house, home, family, security, everything except his integrity. Rather than let his experiences break him, he is succeeding in school against all odds. Tom lives in less than ideal conditions in a group home, but is determined to get his education and live his life on his own terms. He has faced bigotry and ignorance, but remained strong and brave, persevering and thriving. I wish I had the same strength and was able to come out, but I am just too scared to be as brave as Tom. Hopefully I will be ready to follow his lead soon, because he truly is one of the best people I know and I strive to be more like him.

Bravery happens every day. It is seen in the wards of hospitals where people fight illnesses, in the classrooms where students come from all sorts of challenging home situations but still try to succeed, and when a parent fights to provide the best for their children. These may not be the flashy examples that are written about in the news or are glorified in films, but they are the struggles that go on all the time. I would like to be able to draw strength from people living with the courage of their convictions, being brave.

When we reach my locker, Tom almost walks into the back of me because he's still reading. I open the lock without much difficulty, surprising because my hands are shaking, remove the spare shirt I have stashed in there and just wait.

After a few more eternities, Tom folds the paper back up and hands it to me. His eyes are locked on mine and they are slightly teary, "Don't strive to be like me, Justin. You're perfect just the way you are." Then he bites his lip and walks away.

I stand stock still for a minute in shock, I guess, then slowly I place the paper in my pocket, close my locker and head back to class. Fuck my life. Tom's the one who is perfect, and he gets me every time.