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Franklin called CB’s house today and asked him if he wanted to go throw a football around at the park. CB was kind of surprised — he and Franklin haven’t hung out in a while — but he said sure and Franklin said he’d meet him at his house in a few.
CB opens the door when Franklin rings, and his friend claps him on the back with a grin. “Hey, Chuck,” he says. “What’s shakin’?”
“Not much,” CB says, which is sort of true. It’s not like anything new has happened. His brain has been cycling through the same thoughts for a couple of months now.
He feels jittery, being around Franklin. To be honest, he’s felt nervous being around anyone other than his sister, Van, and Lucille lately. He doesn’t know where anyone else stands on him, not really.
“CB,” Franklin says as they walk, “could I ask you something?”
CB shrugs. “Sure.”
“I don’t wanna offend you by asking this, okay? It’s just a question.” Franklin clears his throat. “So… You and Beethoven… What was that?”
“Oh.”
CB doesn’t answer immediately. He’s not really sure what to say. Right after it happened, he tried to cover it up. Overcompensate in the worst way. He was acting like Matt. Like a pig.
In the months since it happened, and especially the past couple of weeks since graduating, he’s toned it down a little. Matt never came back to school — he was sent to the psych ward — and Lucille eventually did, and he’s been more or less back to himself since then. He’s not even sure what that means anymore.
All of this just means that CB has no fucking idea how to answer that question. Sally suggested CB could call him his boyfriend, but he hasn’t except for the one time he said it to Beethoven’s face. He isn’t gay; he knows he likes girls. He hasn’t ever liked a guy other than Beethoven. But he did like Beethoven.
Franklin’s always been chill, so CB has hope he’d be accepting of this, but then again, Matt used to be chill, too, back when they were kids.
CB sighs, running a hand through his hair. “Well…”
“No pressure, bro,” Franklin says. “You don’t hafta tell me anything you don’t want to.”
“I mean…” CB shrugs again. “I… I liked him.”
Franklin goes quiet for a while. They walk like that for half a minute or so, side-by-side, silent.
Eventually Franklin nods and says, “Okay. That’s cool.”
“For real?” CB asks, side-eyeing him.
Franklin shrugs. “Sure, man. Why not? Shit, dawg, Ellen’s gay.”
“Since when do you care about Ellen? And I’m not gay.”
“I don’t. I dunno.” Franklin pauses, then asks, “What d’you mean, you’re not gay?”
“I like girls,” CB says simply. “Just liking one guy doesn’t make me gay. I still like girls.”
“Huh.” Franklin nods. “Like the guy from Green Day.”
“Uh, yeah, I guess.” CB frowns at Franklin, trying to clock his vibe. “You’re really cool with it?”
“Yeah, man. What do I care who you mess around with? Messing around is messing around. Matt was sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong, if you ask me,” says Franklin matter-of-factly.
“I guess he was.” CB chews on the inside of his cheek, unsure of what to say.
“Listen, CB, here’s the point,” Franklin says. “You and me? We’re cool. We’ve always been cool; we’ll always be cool. Matt’s always been on some weird shit. Haven’t really liked that guy since elementary school.”
“Thanks, Franklin,” CB says. He feels an overwhelming sense of relief, tears pricking at his eyes, just grateful not to have lost someone else.
Franklin claps him on the shoulder. “You’re a good man, CB.”
Sherman texts CB on his cell phone and asks him over to play video games one afternoon. CB has no real reason to say no, so he goes, the same nervous feeling in his stomach that he had when he and Franklin hung out the week prior. Maybe Sherman will just avoid the topic. CB hopes so. He’s not sure if Sherman will be as cool about it as Franklin was or not.
They’re sitting on the couch, taking turns on Sherman’s Atari. It’s Sherman’s turn now, and CB’s slouched, eating chips out of a bag. Sherman swears when he messes up and CB reassures him.
Everything feels normal.
No, scratch that — everything seems normal. Surface-wise, it all seems the same as it always was. If someone were to walk into the room and observe the two of them here, they wouldn’t be able to put their finger on what’s different. Hell, CB can’t even put his finger on it, and it’s his fifteen-year-old friendship in question.
“Does it feel like things are weird to you?” CB asks when Sherman passes the controller to him, swapping for the bag of chips.
Sherman half-laughs. “Yeah, man. Of course they are.” He pauses, grabbing a handful of chips. “Didn’t think we were gonna, like, talk about it, but no shit things are weird.” He shoves his chips into his mouth.
“Sorry.” CB rubs the back of his neck. “I… We don’t have to talk about it. Just wondered if it felt weird to you too.”
“Nah, I mean… We can talk about it if you want.” Sherman shrugs, relaxing against the back of the couch. “Were you guys dating? How long was all that going on?”
“Not that long,” CB says. “Only about a week before Matt… Y’know.”
“Oh. Huh.” Sherman pauses before saying, “I dunno why, but I figured it was longer than that. Like you guys had some secret gay thing going on for, I dunno, months or something.”
“You really think I would’ve let Matt keep doing all that shit if we were secretly dating?” CB asks incredulously. “I was doing some of it too.”
“Dunno. Maybe it was a cover-up or something?” He pauses, then shrugs again. “Eh, whatever. That makes more sense. Did you really have sex with him, though? Matt said you did.”
“Um… yeah,” CB says, fidgeting with one of the joysticks.
“Whoa. That’s kinda crazy, man.” Sherman pauses, contemplating. “Like… which way?”
“Ew, man.” CB shoves him. “None of your business.”
“Do you miss him?” Sherman asks, raising his eyebrows.
“Uh.” CB swallows thickly. “Yeah. I guess.”
“You guess?” Sherman elbows CB. “Dude killed himself after Matt broke his hands because you guys were, like, kinda-maybe-dating or whatever, and all you can say is you guess you miss him?”
“Of course I miss him,” CB mumbles. “I miss him all the time.”
“Why didn’t you just say that, then?”
“Didn’t know how you’d feel about it.” CB runs a hand through his hair. “Kinda gay.”
“Aren’t you kinda gay?” Sherman asks.
“I mean… Yeah. I guess you could put it that way,” CB says.
“Then who cares?” Sherman shrugs. “I guess it’s, like, kinda weird, but as long as you don’t wanna fuck me, then whatever, dawg.”
CB wrinkles his nose. “That is nasty, Sherman. You’re ugly as hell.”
Sherman laughs, punching CB in the shoulder. “Dude, look in a fucking mirror!”
CB doesn’t know what possessed him to agree to helping Violet set up her grad party, but she said she could use an extra set of hands, and she’s always been fairly nice to him, so here he is, in the public park, helping her pin tablecloths to picnic tables. It’s the first party of hers he’s ever been purposefully invited to.
“CB,” Violet says, smoothing out a wrinkle in the plastic tablecloth, “I need to be honest with you.”
CB blinks at her. “Uh… Okay.”
“I didn’t really need help with all this,” she says. “Or– Well, I did, but that’s not the only reason I asked you to come here.”
“Oh.” CB gets a sinking feeling in his stomach. He does not want Violet to proposition him right now. Earlier this year, he would’ve been hella down, but now, he’d rather die.
Or… Not die. He just would rather… not.
“I wanted to talk to you about…” Violet trails off, then sighs. “Listen, CB, um… My brother’s gay.”
Oh. So that’s what this is.
“He came out, like, a year ago, and my parents really didn’t take it well, and it made me sick seeing how they treated him. I never really thought one way or the other about gay people until then. So… I just wanted you to know that I support you. And… You know… If Beethoven were still here, and if you two were dating, I would be super cool about it.” Violet looks at him expectantly.
“Oh,” CB says again. He stares down at the table, drumming his hands on it. “Wow. Um… thanks, Violet. I’m really sorry about your brother.”
“Thanks,” Violet replies. “He’s… okay. He lives in Minneapolis with his boyfriend. They’re pretty cool about it there. So.” She clears her throat, then says, “Okay, um… You wanna help me set up the banner?”
There’s a knock on the door one day, and CB opens it, surprised to see Lucille and Van’s little brother on the doorstep, clad in his usual overalls.
“Hey, Leon,” CB says.
“Hi, CB.” Leon shifts from foot to foot. “Uh, I just wanted to stop by and say hi. And that I’m sorry about your dog.”
CB raises his eyebrows. “Oh.”
“I know it happened a while ago, but no one ever told me until yesterday. Van never tells me anything anymore, and Lucille wasn’t at home, so.” Leon shrugs. “Um, but… He was a good dog. He was my best friend when I was a little kid. I’ll miss him.”
“Thanks, Leon,” CB says. “I really appreciate that.”
“Yeah.” Leon puts his hands in his pockets. “Well… that’s all I really wanted to say. Sorry to bother you. Lucille said you’re still in mourning for Beethoven, so… Sorry about that, too. Beethoven, I mean. He was a nice guy. He never seemed that gay to me.”
“Uh…” CB hesitates. He has no fucking clue how to respond to that. He doesn’t want to tell the kid that Beethoven was gay, because Beethoven wasn’t even sure of that before he killed himself, at least not as far as CB was aware, but he also doesn’t like how Leon said that, almost like if Beethoven had seemed gay to him, then he wouldn’t have liked him anymore.
“Was he gay?” Leon asks suddenly.
CB flutters his lips. “Shit, I don’t know. At least kinda, yeah.”
“Oh.” Leon seems to consider that for a moment, then says, “Okay. That’s fine. Van and Lucille seem okay with it, so I guess it’s okay.”
“Thanks, Leon,” CB supposes that’s the best he’s going to get from the kid.
“And you are, too?” Leon asks. “I saw you guys kiss at Marcy’s party.”
“Why did Van even bring you to that thing?” CB runs a hand through his hair. “I guess I kinda am, too,” he says.
“Huh. Weird.” Leon shrugs. “Okay. Well, I’ll see you later, CB.”
“Okay.” CB watches, dumbfounded, as he gets back on his bike and bikes away. Rerun was always a weird kid.
“Huh. It’s funny that he did that,” Van says when CB finishes recounting his recent conversations, the two of them sitting together on the garden wall. “He did really love that fuckin’ dog. They’d play cards together and shit.”
“Play cards?” CB asks skeptically.
“I dunno, man, they found a way!” Van says. “So, why’d you tell me all that?”
“I don’t know.” CB looks at the ground. “It just feels… weird. Matt was so mad, and no one else even gives a shit about it?”
“Do you want them to think it’s bad?” Van asks. “Isn’t it better for you if they don’t?”
“I guess so.”
CB doesn’t know how to say that it’s actually kind of not. He tried so hard to do everything to fit in with these asshole kids, and then when he did one thing to break the status quo, Matt flipped, and it just proved to him that he needed to go back to trying again. But now, everyone else is telling him it’s fine with them if he doesn’t fit in, and what is that supposed to do for him? How is that supposed to make him feel? It would’ve been nice to hear when Beethoven was still alive. Maybe if Beethoven had heard it, he wouldn’t have killed himself. Maybe if they could have overpowered Matt’s hatred, none of that would’ve ever happened.
Now, it’s just kind of useless. CB doesn’t plan on being with a guy again, so it doesn’t really mean anything.
“I think if I were gay, I’d wanna know my friends were okay with it,” Van muses.
“I’m not gay,” CB says reflexively.
“I know, I know,” Van says. “You know what I mean. Bisexual, or whatever. Like Drew Barrymore.”
“It doesn’t matter anymore if people are okay with it,” CB says. “He’s dead. We’re not dating. What’s the point of telling me it’s fine? Just so that I know that, if he weren’t dead, it’d be okay if we dated? What’s the point of putting that thought in my head? Don’t they realize I spend every waking fucking moment wishing that were the life I was living already? They’re just making everything worse by making me think about it more.”
“Huh.” Van nods slowly. “Yeah, I get that, muchacho.”
“On the other hand, though, I guess it is kind of a relief.” CB leans back on his hands, sighing. “I guess… I guess it is nice to know that they’d be supportive of it, in some ways. It just…”
CB doesn’t know what to say. Sucks is what he was going to say, but it’s so much deeper than that.
“You miss him,” Van says. “I get it. I kinda miss him too, even though I didn’t talk to him for a long time. He was a cool person. Talented.”
“I was falling in love with him,” CB says lamely.
“Damn.” Van whistles lowly. “That for real blows, dawg. Like, damn. Sorry.”
CB shrugs. “No point in wallowing, is there? Won’t bring him back. Nothing can.”
Sometimes, in a weird way, CB doesn’t really believe that. Maybe if he wishes hard enough, Beethoven will appear in front of him. Maybe when he wakes up tomorrow, he’ll realize it was all just some sick and twisted dream.
“I guess that’s true,” Van replies.
“Unless he reincarnated,” CB says, recalling his conversation with Van months ago, right after his dog died.
“Hey, maybe,” Van says. “Maybe he did. Maybe one day, you’ll come across some tree or squirrel or bird, and it’ll be him.”
“Or maybe he’s worm food,” CB says bitterly.
“Or maybe he’s worm food,” Van echoes. “I’d like to be worm food. That’s nirvana, remember? Nothingness.”
“Yeah.” CB looks up at the sky, thinking that maybe if he looks hard enough, he can see Heaven.
“What do you think?” Van asks. “Where do you think he is?”
“Heaven,” CB says simply.
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.” CB swallows thickly, imagining that Beethoven is on one of the clouds in the sky, playing piano with his dog howling along. “He believed in Heaven.”
“Do you?” asks Van.
CB shrugs. “Maybe. I guess I do. I can’t really wrap my head around nothingness.”
“It’d be cool if there was a heaven, I guess,” Van says. “You’d see him again.”
“Fuck.” CB blinks, tears rolling down his face. He ducks his head and tries to wipe them away before Van can notice. “Yeah. Unless I ended up in Hell.”
“You wouldn’t go to hell, CB,” Van says confidently. “That shit’s saved for like, actual villains, I think. Like rapists and shit. Cold-blooded killers. Hitler. Those kinda people. Not people like you. Maybe not even people like Matt. I think you have to be really bad to get in there.”
“Guess so,” CB says blandly.
“Heaven, huh.” It’s not really a question. “I mean, I don’t believe in it, but I guess we’ll never really know till we die, huh?”
CB nods. “I guess not.”
“It’s nice to think that’s where Beethoven is,” Van says. “Shit, like, he fuckin’ deserves it, y’know?”
“Yeah. He does.” CB balls his hands into fists, short nails digging into his palms as he tries desperately not to cry. Not in front of Van.
“I woulda been cool with it too,” Van says. “You and Beethoven.”
“I know,” CB says. “Thanks.”
“And I’m cool with it now. You being into dudes. Fuck do I care who you bang?” Van pauses. “And if you ever do end up dating a guy, that’s chill, y’know? Don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t do that,” CB says. He thinks it’s true. He guesses he can’t see the future. “But thanks anyway, Van.”
Van nods, staring off into the distance. “Yeah, yeah. Just wanted to make sure you knew, and shit. I never gave a shit. Doesn’t affect me. Love is love, or whatever, right?”
CB half-laughs. “Sure.”
He and Van sit together for another hour, talking about nothing, and CB can’t get his mind off of Beethoven. Maybe one day he’ll stop trying to will him back to life. Maybe one day he won’t obsess over in what ways their weird fling made everyone see CB differently. Maybe one day he’ll stop thinking about him at every waking moment. Maybe one day he’ll be able to move on. Meet a girl. Figure out who he is. Live his life.
He doesn’t think it’ll be anytime soon. Even his dreams are all about Beethoven. Sometimes, when he can’t get to sleep, CB just lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about how he never really apologized for anything he did, for never stopping Matt from doing everything he did. It makes CB sick to his stomach. He wants to apologize now for spending weeks after the fact pretending none of it ever happened. For not going to his funeral. For acting like a fucking jackass because Beethoven didn’t say goodbye and for calling him a coward.
He can’t. He will never be able to. It makes him miserable. It keeps him up at night.
He doesn’t know if Beethoven would want him to dwell or not. He could never quite gauge if Beethoven actually even liked the attention CB was giving him or not, although CB thinks that he did, deep down. He can’t really help but dwell, though, and he thinks Beethoven, wherever he is or isn’t, will just have to deal with that.
He can’t help it. Every fiber of CB’s being wishes he could just see him one last time, talk to him, kiss him, touch him just to prove he’s there. He knows it’s impossible. It doesn’t keep him from dreaming.
As he walks home, CB feels numb. Nothing matters. His friends, some of his oldest friends, older than Matt, are accepting of his thing with Beethoven, of his attraction to guys, or at least one guy. None of that matters. Not with Beethoven gone.
CB thinks, in some weird way, he had a lot pinned on Beethoven. It felt good to be doing something different, something unexpected. He wanted Beethoven. He liked wanting Beethoven. He wanted Beethoven to be his boyfriend. No one would ever expect that. He was falling in love with him. What could be more out of the ordinary for him than that?
So it doesn’t matter that they would accept him, because Beethoven isn’t even here. CB’s back to the ordinary, back to his normal, back to knowing exactly who and what he is, but for the fact that he’s actually more confused about that than ever. He thinks if any of his friends knew that, they’d have no idea what to say. Maybe Lucille. Maybe Sally. Maybe, in all reality, CB needs to go see a shrink or something. That’s what grieving people do in movies. That, or they go to a support group. CB doesn’t think they have a support group for mostly-straight teenage boys who’ve recently lost their kinda-sorta-maybe boyfriend, also of undetermined sexual orientation. That seems like a weirdly specific one to have.
CB’s mom greets him when he walks inside. He automatically greets her in return, going through the motions almost robotically. She has no idea. She doesn’t know any of this shit happened. CB has no clue how she’d react if she did. He thinks the whole “her son being kinda-maybe-a-little-bit gay” thing would freak her out a little bit. Or a lot. Probably more like a lot.
He thinks about telling her, like he keeps doing. He doesn’t, which he also keeps doing. He just goes up to his room and changes into sweatpants and lies down on his bed and stares at the ceiling and thinks about Beethoven, about his friends, about being gay, which he isn’t, but he also sort of is, and he guesses he’s fine with that.
CB thinks about the last song he heard Beethoven play, about the revolution he wrote about in his letter. He thinks about Beethoven’s hands, forever broken, about Matt in the psych ward. He thinks about having sex with Beethoven, about how it’s the only time it’ll ever happen.
He thinks about Franklin, and Sherman, and Violet, and Rerun, and how normal they were about it. He wishes Beethoven had known there would be people who would be accepting of them. He wishes they’d all spoken up a little sooner. He wishes he were a better person, a braver person, someone who didn’t fear sticking out as much as he does.
He doesn’t know what to do with any of these thoughts.
CB rolls onto his stomach and falls asleep. He dreams about Beethoven.