Queer Greer Read online

  CREDITS

  Written by A.J. Walkley

  Edited by Michelle Johnson

  Cover Design Meredith Hancock

  Published by Rocket Science Productions

  © Copyright March 2012 A.J. Walkley

  All rights reserved

  ISBN: 978-1-937121-29-7

  e-ISBN: 978-1-937121-43-3

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2012934427

  For Alex Brown. Never Forgotten.

  Table of Contents

  I. Prologue

  II. August

  III. September

  IV. October

  V. November

  VI. December

  VII. January

  VIII. February

  IX. March

  X. April

  XI. Acknowledgments

  “We all at our own age have to claim something,

  even if it’s only our own confusion.”

  -Sabrina Ward Harrison

  PROLOGUE

  I called her James. Even as seven year-olds we were aware of compulsory heterosexuality in our own, innocent way. We could forget our culturally imposed guilt from our actions, though, by pretending she was the boy in our relationship. Man and Woman was how it was supposed to be, right? I had my mom and dad, James had her mom and dad; I assumed I would be the mom to a dad in the future as well. The prospect of two mothers or two fathers would not even so much as cross my mind as a possibility until years later.

  We kissed, sweetly as only little girls can kiss, giggling between each. She was my “boyfriend” and I loved her.

  There were a few times when we almost got caught, one of our mothers knocking on the door when we were lying in bed. We looked at each other, eyes wide, thinking we would be found out and punished for… Well, for what? Though there didn’t logically seem to be anything wrong to me, I remember being scared of a potential punishment nonetheless.

  We imagined getting married; I’d wear the dress, she’d wear the suit. We even acted it out a couple times, my little sister Emily taking the place of the minister or rabbi. “Will you marry Greer and be with her forever and ever?” Emily would ask.

  James would respond in the affirmative and then she’d ask me.

  “Will you marry Jen and -”

  “No, Emmy! Not Jen, James! Do it right!”

  “Okay, okay. Will you marry James and be with her -”

  “Him, Emmy, him!”

  “And be with him forever?”

  “I will!”

  Then we’d peck on the lips and walk down the makeshift aisle I had created in my room, stuffed animals flanking either side, humming the wedding song as we did.

  We never talked about it. Even when we were in the midst of “playing” with one another in our newfound way, we just acted, never verbally acknowledging what was happening. But I thought about it a lot.

  A year or so after we had started, James started to get uneasy about it.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked her one day when we were in my bed and I had started to kiss her.

  She hesitated and said, “I don’t want to.”

  “What’s wrong?” I tried again.

  “I just don’t want to, okay?” She got up and walked home without any more explanation.

  A week later my mom told me James and her family were moving to Maine. I screamed and threw a tantrum on the kitchen floor.

  The day James came over to say goodbye, I clung to her, hugging her as tightly as possible, hoping I could keep her there with me if I just didn’t let go.

  We were both crying as she left. Before she closed the door to my house, she turned around one last time and blew me a kiss. I sprinted up to my room and crawled into bed, sobbing into the pillow she always laid on with me.

  I loved James more than anyone I had at my young age and, because losing her and what she meant to me hurt so much, I tried to forget her.

  That’s when Nick, my other playmate since birth, became my solidified best friend.

  With Nick, it was completely different. Our mothers were co-workers at a hospital and good friends themselves. Their boss called them Salt and Pepper, Mrs. Curtis being African American. They were the only two nurses on staff who preferred the night shift to the day shift.

  “You’re a vampire!” my dad would tell her, making me laugh when he playfully bit her neck.

  “Knock it off, Roger. It’s the best remedy for an insomniac, you know.” My mom had trouble sleeping, but I really think she took those shifts so she could be with my sister and me when I was awake – at least at the beginning.

  Mrs. Curtis found out she was pregnant two days after my mom. They ended up having Nick and me within a week of each other. We were destined to be together for life after that, I suppose.

  When we were about eight years old, he asked if he could see me naked. I was hesitant at first, but just as curious to see what was underneath his clothes.

  We went into my closet for privacy (go figure). When he was in his birthday suit and turned around, I was shocked. I knew boys were different, but what was that? I thought it looked like some insect, like a grub or a giant caterpillar.

  I didn’t get anywhere near the anatomy of another person for a long time after that; not until high school in a completely different state, in fact.

  “To be nobody but yourself in a world …

  doing its best … to make you like everybody else

  means to fight the hardest battle any human …

  can fight; and never stop…”

  - E.E. Cummings

  AUGUST

  I knew they’d stare. I could feel the eyes already as soon as I slipped off my towel and walked across the locker room floor. The snickers would come, I was sure of it. With a heavy sigh, I took off my towel and made my way through the lockers to the pool.

  There was nothing odd about me at first glance. I seemed like any high school girl, my chest not quite done developing – I hoped. The truth was, at 17 I had no reason to wear anything but the full-piece bathing suit given to all the girls on the swim team seeing as I didn’t have too much to show off.

  I almost blended in with the others while I sat on the edge of the pool, my feet hanging below the surface of the water. I glanced at my teammates: to my right was Christina whose hair was so frizzy, wearing her swimming cap was a vast improvement.

  To my left sat Rebecca Wilder. She smiled at me and splashed some water onto my stomach. At least I had Rebecca. She was a senior and our captain. She was also the first to befriend me when I walked into the preliminary swim meeting for the Prescott High School Badgers the week before (I didn’t even think there were badgers in Arizona). She had blonde hair that just touched the center of her back, the biggest breasts on our team, and a smile that always made my heart beat a little faster.

  I stopped kicking my feet, pulled them out and folded them into an Indian-style seating position. What was I thinking trying out for the swim-team as a junior at a new school?

  “Okay, team, are you ready for your first practice?” Coach McCullough asked. Nobody answered, but looked around at each other instead, gauging the competition.

  “Into the water! All of you! Let’s see what we’ve got to work with.”

  ***

  Entering the house after practice, I bolted to my room. I dropped my gym bag in the corner by my bookshelf and threw myself into my computer chair, booting up the Internet. I opened up a new email and immediately began typing:

  Nicky,

  Practice is over and I actually love it! I think I’m pretty good, at least at the free-style. Some girls know how to do the butterfly already. Craziness. I’ll get there. I met this girl, Rebecca. I think we’re gonna be friends. She’s an awesome swimmer. It’s a good thing I met her because now
at least there will be one person I know when school starts next week. I still can’t believe you won’t be there. Call me soon.

  - Greer

  I was still bitter about moving to Arizona, leaving Nick behind in South Carolina. He was going to prep school that year in New York for ice hockey anyway, but it was still further away, making the prospect of visiting him pretty slim. He was a great goalie and, even though there weren’t many black hockey players, I knew he would blend in perfectly at the upstate mansion they called a school. But he wouldn’t be there with me when I started this brand new high school on my own. We wouldn’t have the same teachers anymore so we wouldn’t be able to make up nicknames for them and imagine their home lives, a habit we had started since fourth grade when we were in class together for the first time. We both had Mrs. Abernathy, but we called her Mrs. Abnormality because she had a large goiter protruding from the side of her neck. We passed notes to each other depicting what we thought might be inside the tumor-like bulge: an alien, hidden treasure, a booger collection (hey, we were kids!).

  But, no more. Nick was leaving and I had to branch out, make new friends. It’s a nerve-wracking experience moving to a new town as an upperclassman. It’s not guaranteed you’ll make friends. If you’re an athlete it’s less likely you’ll make the team. More stress added to the time in your life when you must begin to decide what happens next: applying to college, taking a year off, getting a job.

  Shopping with my mom for new clothes, I had to think about what type of person I wanted to convey. Was I going to try to integrate into the preppy group? The slacker group? The nerds? What about trying for the athletes – I was a swimmer, after all. What did athletes wear on a daily basis? I had no idea. Certainly not warm-ups and hoodies. Maybe trying to classify myself wasn’t going to work.

  I ended up buying a couple pairs of jeans and corduroys, a bunch of T-shirts, a sweater to appease Mom, and a new pair of maroon Converse, hoping there would be a few kids who I’d fit in with. I couldn’t help but wonder what Rebecca was buying; what she’d wear the first day.

  ***

  The following week I woke up at 6:00 a.m., took a shower, put on a vintage Springsteen T, my new boot-cut jeans and my Chucks, ate a bagel, and was out the door by 7:00. Even though it was in the upper 80s outside, living in Prescott meant you got used to it, so jeans it was. Plus, there was no chance I was going to wear shorts on the first day of school, and I won’t even talk about a skirt. Being judged on what I wore was going to be bad enough with my chicken-legs covered.

  I walked the quarter mile to the high school and was in my first period class before anyone else got there.

  Awesome, I thought, everyone will label me Teacher’s Pet when they come in. Well, whatever, they’ll find out that isn’t the case at all soon enough.

  I planted myself in the back corner desk by the window, overlooking the greenhouse I’d be working in once I got to my Biology class.

  The bell rang at 7:45 and students trickled in. My view of the blackboard was soon obstructed by a Jew fro, an Arizona Cardinals hat and a head full of cornrows. Maybe I wouldn’t be obvious after all.

  “Okay class. Welcome to high school. I’m Mr. Fin and I’ll be your Pre-Calculus teacher this year.” He couldn’t have been younger than 60: only a few wisps of white hair surrounding the base of his head, glasses that magnified his eyes to twice their size and a tweed suit that had to be older than he was. He walked over to close the door when an arm stuck itself in between the doorjamb.

  “Oh!” Fin exclaimed, opening the door wide again.

  “Sorry I’m late,” the toe-headed girl said as she slid into the room. It was Rebecca.

  “Ah, Ms. Wilder, maybe this year you won’t make tardiness a habit!” Fin waved his finger at her. “Take a seat.”

  The only seat available was at the front of the room, dead center. Rebecca looked around hoping she’d spot another, but sunk down right in front of the teacher, noisily taking her notebook out of her bag.

  “Now, who likes proofs?”

  ***

  Instead of 45 minutes, Mr. Fin’s class felt like hours. Math wasn’t exactly my forte. I ended up drawing pictures in the margins of my notebook more than I took notes, perfecting my doodles of doe-eyed teen girls, stars and music notes. I figured I could ask Emmy to help me with my homework. Even though she was three years younger, she was brilliant at the subject.

  Finding myself in the hallway adjacent to my locker, I sped up the steps so I could make it to second period on time.

  “Hey, man! Wait up!” I heard from behind me. I turned to see Rebecca running toward me.

  Had I dropped a pen or something? I wondered.

  “Yeah?” I said, holding my backpack straps with both hands.

  “Did you understand any of that stuff?” She bounced on her heels when she talked. She was wearing brand-new jeans, chunky brown boots and a Dylan shirt that happened to be sold at the same store as the one I was wearing.

  “Uh, no, not really.” What was she getting at? I glanced at my armpits, checking to make sure I wasn’t sweating. I could have sworn the temperature was rising. I wondered if this was PMS, if I’d get my period right there.

  “It’s obviously early, the first day of school, duh. I don’t know about you, but if I get behind now, I’ll never catch up. Actually, this is my second time taking this class. So, I was wondering, do you want to study at my house later tonight? My parents are going out to dinner, so it’ll be quiet and stuff.”

  I barely knew her, but what a great chance to do exactly that. Nothing weird or anything, she just seemed really nice to me.

  “Yeah, definitely. Where do you live?” She grabbed my arm and took a Sharpie out of her back pocket. She wrote it out on my forearm:

  22 Hemlock Street

  <3 Becca

  When she finished she smiled at me.

  “5:00? We can order pizza!” She squeezed my arm before continuing down the hall. I stood there staring after her until I realized that I needed to go in the same direction.

  ***

  “That’ll be $12.50,” the kid in the doorway squeaked to Becca. He looked younger than us, and was still being unfairly ravaged by puberty; changing voice, acne-covered chin and all. She put a twenty in his hand and took the large box.

  “Keep the change.”

  Closing the door, she brought the cheesy goodness to the table. I was starving. I hadn’t eaten since breakfast. I was too nervous about this study-date to eat lunch. That sounds dumb, but I just really wanted her to like me. I mean, who wouldn’t want to have an assured friend when starting a new school? We both dove in, each finishing off a slice before saying another word.

  “So, I don’t really feel like studying anymore,” Rebecca said to me, beginning her second piece.

  “Really? We’ve only been going an hour.” An hour was a lot considering our first test wasn’t for a couple of weeks. But, if we were done, I guessed that meant I had to leave.

  “Yeah, we’re golden. Wanna watch some TV?” Without waiting for me to answer, she grabbed my hand and pulled me into the living room where a large, flat screen was hanging on the wall. She plopped down on a leather couch and I followed suit. Rebecca started flipping through the channels. That 70’s Show. The O.C. Season, maybe, 115 of The Real World.

  “Gross, I’ve seen, like, all of these,” she said. “Do you watch any shows on, like, HBO or whatever?” She flicked the channel over to 400.

  “Nah. My mom hates television. My sister and I had to beg her just to get cable.” I rolled my eyes, even though I didn’t care that much. I kind of agreed with Mom. I stared at a screen typing up papers enough as it was.

  Rebecca stopped flipping when she reached 500, two women sitting at a table in a café drinking coffee. “Ever hear of The L Word?”

  “Nope.”

  The L Word? What was that, ‘Liberal’? Was this a political show? It was an election year and all, but that topic really had no interest for me. I
couldn’t vote, I didn’t pay taxes, heck, I hadn’t even gotten my driver’s license yet. What did I have to win or lose?

  “It’s awesome. I think you’ll like it,” she said, looking at me sideways with a smirk. Her expression made a dimple appear beside her lip. I wondered who else noticed that besides me.

  Within the first few minutes, I figured out what the ‘L’ stood for. Two naked women were on a bed making passionate love to one another. I could feel a blush rising in my cheeks. I chanced a glance toward Becca. I was surprised to see her looking back.

  Back in South Carolina I had known of gay people, but I hadn’t known any. Actually, that’s not true. My mom’s friend Jill was a lesbian. I had only met her a few times though, and never with her girlfriend or anything.

  There was one girl, Polly Fulton, who Nick and I had been in school with since kindergarten. In ninth grade there were some rumors that went around that “Polly kissed a girl” or something like that. I didn’t pay much attention since Polly wasn’t in my social circle. I either hung out with my swim mates or Nick.

  I remember going home and telling my dad about it, though.

  “What do you think about that?” he asked me.

  Thinking it over, I said, “I don’t know. I guess I don’t see the big deal.”

  My dad had smiled and mussed my hair. “Exactly.”

  But here, with Becca in front of me, I thought about Polly again. People in our school had been really mean to her. She had been in my U.S. History class and any time our teacher turned her back there would be someone who would whisper “dyke,” or hit her with a spit ball (I didn’t even know people still did that).

  I always felt bad for her, but I never stood up for her.

  “What do you think?” Becca asked, bringing me back to the moment. The look she gave me said a lot of things that I didn’t recognize just then; only later did I understand. She was sharing a secret with me. In the moment, however, I only saw her desire to hear me say that I liked it. Thinking of Polly, I couldn’t.