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I found a bathroom and went into a stall. (I’ve watched enough teen movies to know that this is the best place to deal with life crises.)
There’s this gorgeous park, Giardino degli Aranci, which is lovely in and of itself, but if you go, you have to find the keyhole. It has the most jaw-dropping view of Rome. Like, you get the most incredible view of Saint Peter’s Basilica through it.”
You’ll see that my mom’s head is turned away right now. And for once, I’d like to defend her. Because it’s not the kind of shame you’re thinking of. I sort of turned my head away like that, too. It was because I was sad … almost disappointed. I wasn’t ashamed by the possibility of my brother being gay, but by the possibility that he was hurting and I didn’t even notice.
“The thing about bigots is they always go out of their way to acknowledge my fabulous existence, when I hardly notice theirs.”
The last thing I asked Jackson on that park bench was “Did you love my brother?” Jackson thought for a bit, and then he said, “I loved how he made me feel.” I asked, “How was that?” He said, “Like myself.”
Friendship, I realized, is better than fantasy.
It turned out Valerio was a student at Sapienza University in Rome. He had just finished his freshman year, and he was studying the very lucrative field of Latin. “So you’re a nerd,” I said. “I am actually very dumb.”
Loled
On my way out the door, Neil taught me one more phrase, “In bocca al lupo,” he said, patting me on the shoulder. “It means good luck. Although—Italian has a lot of weird phrases like this—it technically translates into, ‘in the mouth of the wolf.’ You’re supposed to respond ‘crepi,’ which basically means, ‘may the wolf die.’ ”
Okkkk
I fumbled with my giant key until I got it in the keyhole. That’s not an innuendo. That’s just a statement of fact.
“You know, I just realized something,” I said. “I think, someday in the future, I’ll romanticize this moment. Standing in front of all of you. I won’t remember the sweat dripping down the back of my neck. I won’t remember how nervous I got each time Jahan called another presenter, thinking it would be my turn. I won’t dock points for those little things, even if they meant something at the time, because I don’t want them to define a beautiful moment. Life’s not about keeping score like that. It’s just not. It’s about finding people who see you—because the minute they do, everything else goes
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We moved on to the next exhibit, a hall of marble busts lined up around the circlular room. I moved down the line, inspecting their faces. They all looked so calm, so at peace. It was as if the marble busts were saying, “Don’t worry, Amir. Everything will be fine.” Easy for you to say, bust of Caesar. You didn’t worry and look where that got you. Stabbed by Brutus.
Officer, I see the way you look at me: at my clothes, my skin, my accent. You think that I wouldn’t understand my son. Because of my culture, you make certain assumptions about my beliefs. And I won’t lie—it was difficult, learning that Amir was gay. It has not been an easy road. For me or for my husband. But we are trying our best to understand. I am not comfortable speaking up like this. I have not been comfortable this entire time. Many times, in this country, however, I am made to feel uncomfortable, just like this. It is normal for me, to feel that I have walked into a party that I was
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realized this: I was still their son. Their brother. Even knowing I was gay—even after I had exposed my whammies, even after the entire tally system broke down and there were no more points left, nothing else to score—they were still my family.
It is such a privilege, you know? To get to be yourself, all of yourself, in this great big world. To wear it like a tattoo, like all of Jahan’s tattoos: permanent and out there for the whole world to see.
