LITMIR.BIZ

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to me.

      “Hey, fat ass.”

      “Hola, Little Payasa.” She really hates it when I call her that. So I do it as often as I can.

      “Look at those two retards. How nasty. People like that should never ever make out. It’s so freaking gross!”

      I told her she was an idiot and not to say things like that because that was mean, and how does two mentally challenged people loving each other affect her, but talking Georgina out of being an idiot is like making carnitas out of chicken—unnatural. Luckily my stop came by quick, and I was able to leave her behind just as she was beginning to ask about Cindy.

      “So how is your prego…”

      I made an unkind gesture with my middle finger and stood up.

      When I got off the bus, Sebastian was already waiting. He had been gone for a few days with his family on a vacation to Mexico, Mazatlan or somewhere like that near the beach, so he was ultra tan. Right away I knew he was upset.

      “Oh my God! I just talked to Cindy!”

      “Did she tell you?”

      “Yes!”

      “Can you believe that shit?” He shook his head and I said, “Well, she’s gone and done it now, and it sucks big hairy ass. But—she wants to keep it. I was there the day she told her mom. For moral support, you know, but it went bad. Really bad. Her mom almost beat the shit out of her. Slapped her hard across the face and asked me to leave. I didn’t know what to do, I didn’t want to leave her, but her mom went crazy and was yelling at me to go home, and I was afraid that she’d hit me too, so I booked it and left.”

      We kept going on like that the whole two blocks to his house. When we got there, we locked ourselves in his room. We talked about Cindy forever, and then I finally asked him about his trip. He told me about all the cute boys he saw. His dad let him drink beer with him because apparently in Mexico there is no legal drinking age. Even embryos enjoy a beer with their tacos, he said. I wonder what that would look like? Hmmm. We kept on talking about Mexico and about his grandma who is hilarious and an awesome cook. Sebastian told me about how close he felt to his dad now and that he thought that he would tell him about being gay and that he was sure he would understand. I’m not too sure about that. His dad may be cool with him because they threw back a few beers, but his dad hates gays. I know. I’ve heard him say it. His exact words were, “I hate pinches jotos.” I didn’t tell Sebastian though, because I thought it would hurt his feelings. Even if I told him, he would say something like, “It’s different because it’s me. I’m his son.” Yeah, I don’t think that would be the case. We talked some more about school and how excited (and nervous) we are that this is our last year and our plans for the future and blah blah blah. It was getting late so I had to leave. He walked me to the bus and waited with me. We heard a car screech to a stop and turned to see what had happened. There was a homeless looking guy on his bike weaving across the street towards us. It was my dad. Luckily the bus showed up before he saw me.

       August 7

      Sebastian told his parents. He is sleeping on our couch until he finds a permanent home.

       August 10

      Sebastian hasn’t really said anything since his parents dropped him off. They didn’t even come in, just dropped him off and threw his stuff on the sidewalk. Cindy came over that night, we watched Pride and Prejudice, and my mom ordered us some pizza. She wasn’t too happy that Cindy came over though, but she let her stay because she knew that Sebastian needed his friends. Earlier today she had gone on this whole spiel about Cindy’s pobrecita madre and the pain that she was going through because of her bad, bad daughter. It was really long. It was something like—

      “You can’t hang out with her anymore. She is a bad influence. She’s a bad, bad girl. I knew that she would come to this. Always so desperate and siempre de ofrecida, no se daba a respetar. No respect for herself at all. What’s she gonna do? Quit school? Probably. She can’t do both. Maybe she should give up the baby. I don’t want you to talk to her anymore. She’ll give you bad advice and convince you to do the same thing she did, and then you’ll go and open your legs for everybody. You know who I feel sorry for? Her mom. How is Linda going to show her face at parties and church now? Didn’t that mensa think about what she would do to her madre? Claro que no! No mas abrio las piernas y ya. Que bonito! Of course not, how nice. But now that she opened her legs and had a good time, the one who is going to have to deal with everything is her mom. Que selfish. Don’t even think about calling her or going over there. Her mom is probably feeling really depressed and probably wants to be alone. I’ll have to call her and tell her I’m sorry to hear about what happened. Pobrecita Linda, I wonder what she did to deserve such a bad girl? Thank God, you’re not like that.”

      She really has no idea what Cindy is going through. I would have thought that because I was born a bastard child, she would show more sympathy—that she would know how it feels to have your parents react so irrationally. But I guess as you grow older, you forget that you were ever young and that you may have been in love and may have forgotten (or didn’t think about) condoms and made mistakes. At least my mom has forgotten. And besides, it’s not like Cindy said, “I’m going to sleep with an asshole and get pregnant, just so that my mom can’t show her face at parties and my dad won’t talk to me. Why? Because I want to be seen as a horrible daughter! Ha, ha, ha!” It was something that happened. I told her that Cindy was not a bad influence, she just made a mistake and that she was my friend, and we had to be there for Sebastian. I argued and begged and she finally said, “Esta bien.”

      I was surprised that she let Sebastian stay, surprised that she actually felt bad for him. She said that even though she hoped that her own son wouldn’t be gay, if he was she would still love him. And that only bad mothers abandon their children. Knowing that made me kind of proud of my mom.

       August 15

      So we finally found out what happened on the day that Sebastian’s parents kicked him out. Apparently his dad said something like, “Odio a los jotos! I hate fags!” (Which must’ve sounded weird because his dad has a super thick Mexican accent.) “The two worst things that could happen to a man are that his wife sleeps with another man and that his son is gay. And since tu madre querida, ya se habia revolcado with that guy from the laundrymat and is obviously a whore, there was only one more thing left! You ruined my life. Chingado! Hijo de puta! Get out of my house! I don’t want to see you ever again. You are no son of mine.”

      So, yeah, it didn’t go as planned. His mom took a telenovela approach to the situation and told him that she would rather be dead than have a gay son and tried to slit her wrists. Obviously she didn’t really mean to die or else she would have made sure to pick up a real knife and not a butter knife. I had to hold in a laugh at that. A butter knife, really? Who does that? That very night they told Sebastian that he had to leave, and that’s when he called me crying. I woke up my mom and she said it was fine. Even Beto was okay with it. And my brother is not known for his compassion. The only one we didn’t tell was my dad but he probably wouldn’t have noticed anyway.

      Sebastian also told me some other things that made me sad. He told me how he had always known he was gay, but how he had tried to be straight. How he stared at boobs and tried to feel something. How he even pretended to have a crush on Sandra. How he prayed every night, pleading, “Make me love girls, make me love girls,” but God didn’t listen. I try to imagine Sebastian on his knees, crying and praying and nobody answering.

      I wonder how it must feel to have disappointed your mother so much she would rather kill herself than look at you. Never mind—I don’t want to know.

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