If This Gets Out

by Sophie Gonzales

In my defense, our hair and makeup artist, Penny, a curvy woman in her mid-twenties, has him growing his hair out for this tour, and it’s the kind of length that’s made to scream sex when it’s slick with sweat. I’m only noticing what most of the audience has already noticed. In fact, the only one who doesn’t seem to notice how good Zach looks is Zach.

Larry

“I’m sorry. I misread that. I’m sorry.” Now I’m confused, scrambling to keep up. “Wait, did you … want to?” It takes so long for him to answer, I wonder if he means to at all. Then, his voice achingly soft, he breathes, “Yeah.”

“I just mean I like this art. It’s like, cool art, you know? I don’t like some paintings. Like Picasso or whatever.” “You don’t like Picasso?” “I mean, no, they’re all squiggly and weird. But this art … it’s good art. I like it.” I seriously want to die. “Do you?” His voice is light and airy. A little too innocent. “Some of these are very phallic. Didn’t think you were into that.” My cheeks burn like I’ve been thrust inside an oven. “Um, yeah, phallic art isn’t really my thing. But anyway. Um.”

Once you’ve learned shame, it settles into your skin like a tattoo. You can cover it up but you can’t scrub off the sense of inadequacy.

“Wow, okay. I’m in bed with a hot guy and all I can do is talk about my mom.”

He chews his lip. “Being boyfriends would be cool, though. Just saying.” “It would be,” I say, keeping my voice low and measured. “We don’t have to or anything,” he says. “But for the record, if you asked me, I’d say yes.” “If you asked me, I’d say yes, too. For the record.”

“Mm-hmm. Waking up with you every day. I’d hate that.” “Eating meals together, sharing a shower with you. It sounds awful.” “I hate you.” “I hate you, too.”