June 2024 - rock Pride

[Kaje]

This month's winner was this photo of painted stones. Who, what, how, why, what next? Give us your poems, stories, haiku, whatever.

[Kaje]

Rock On

The cafeteria was a zoo, as usual. Tuesday was pizza day, and even though that soggy crust with gooey cheese would get a nasty complaint if it showed up at the door in a delivery box, for some reason, we all ate it. Nostalgia for middle school?

Um. No. Not a chance in hell.

Still, I got in line with the rest, grabbed a big slice for my tray, added chocolate pudding and all the sides I could, because I'm a big guy and I need my calories. Then found my way to a table. I have first-period lunch, and my buddies on the baseball team mostly have second. The difference being AP history, which I couldn't persuade them to sign up for, which conflicts with second.

I considered not taking the class, but I love history and truth be told, eating surrounded by testosterone-fueled jocks all trying to impress the ladies and gross out the nerds is not entirely fun.

I lean a bit nerd myself.

So when I spotted a half-empty table by the window with one guy reading a textbook while barely missing dripping pizza sauce on it, and a group of girls I didn't know talking about some party, I went for it. Slid my tray onto the empty spot, hooked the chair out with my foot, sat down—

Fuck! Ouch!

I lifted my ass off the hard plastic seat and dug in my back pocket for whatever the hell I'd sat on.

And came out with a small, oval rock. Smooth, flat, and painted in rainbow colors with the words "Pocket Hug" in white across the rainbow.

"Fuck!" I flipped the rock upside down. The underside was a boring brown.

I darted a look around to see who was watching me, who might've snuck it in my pocket, but no one stood out.

A couple of the girls had looked my way when I cursed, and I smirked at them. One of them flirted back, a flip of her hair and a sideways look. The blond beside her nudged her and said something in her ear, and her smile faded into a cool raised eyebrow. Then she turned away, dismissing me.

And yeah. That was another reason I mostly ate alone. Because I wasn't in the closet, but I wasn't exactly flying the Pride flag either. I felt a bit like a Vulcan in a school full of humans and Romulans, caught in between. Both tribes with customs and rituals and group bonding I wasn't part of. Both wanting something I didn't have in me.

As the star outfielder on the ball team, I was supposed to bond with my straight teammates, team spirit, rah rah. To the GSA folks, I was supposed to stand up and show people that athletes can be queer and talented. I just wanted to keep my head down, study history, and play ball.

I wasn't sorry I came out sophomore year, not really, but I could've made life much simpler by staying quiet. Especially since the guy I was dating then was my first, last, and only boyfriend, and he ditched me a month later for being boring.

Speaking of Jeremy… I scanned the cafeteria, wondering if this might be from him, some kind of long overdue apology for dumping me after I came out for him. He was artistic. I could see painted rocks being his thing. But if he was in here, I wasn't spotting him.

I scarfed down my food, although my unsettled stomach was less thrilled with cardboard pizza than usual. Maybe next Tuesday, I'd bring my own lunch and eat out in the quad instead. The innocent overturned brown rock drew no attention from the people passing by. I got a couple of "Hey" and "Brett, dude" comments from classmates as they came and went, but no one set their tray down at the empty seat to my right. Like usual.

At the end of the meal, I stacked my stuff, stood, casually scooped the rock into my pocket, and took my dishes to the return counter.
All through the day, I left that rock in my front pocket, a small hard lump against my leg. I hung my jeans vertical in my gym locker before practice, touched the pocket when I put them back on after, but didn't look at the stone again till I was home. Then, in the privacy of my room, once my homework was done, I pulled the rock out and turned it in my hand. Pocket hug.

When was the last time I had a real hug? Mom loved me but hugs had stopped when I hit my teens. My teammates sometimes hugged me in the group pile-on when we won a tough game, with a thump on my back or scrub at my head if it was my home run or fielding that made the difference. I didn't count those.

I'd had friends as a little kid, a couple of guys next door I'd spent long summer days with. Somewhere along the way, I seemed to have lost the ability to make real friends. Other than online. I had people I talked to a lot there, but the one thing they couldn't give me was touch.

I rubbed my fingers over the little rock. The artist had covered the painted side with a smooth varnish. The contrast between the rough back side and shiny front pleased my fingertips. I turned the stone over and over in my fingers as I lay on my bed, listening to my "chill out" playlist, until sleep washed over me. The last thing I did was set that rocky pocket hug safely on the nightstand beside my phone.
Next morning, when I went to school, I left the rock beside my bed, shiny side down. A secret hug.

Next Tuesday, I went into the cafeteria and bought pizza again.
I was disappointed when I sat down— carefully— and felt nothing in my pocket. I'd made note of everyone behind me in line, everyone who reached past me for paper napkins, or budged in at the drinks station. Wasted effort.

The pizza was as soggy and familiar as ever. I finished the slice, because food was food and I was a growing boy— I hoped, even if Mom said six-two was tall enough— and then nudged the plate aside to tackle my pudding. There, revealed under the edge of the plate, was another rock. Brown, oval, with a row of tiny rainbow hearts on the polished side. I flipped it over but there was no message on the plain reverse, nothing except the obvious. Closing my hand around the stone, I slipped it into my pocket.

I ate my pudding one-handed, nudging the unstable plastic cup in place with the spoon, while turning that rock over and over between my fingers, down out of sight.

A heavy hand landed on my shoulder, making me jump and look around. "Hey, B-boy, jerking off at lunch?"

I pulled my hand out and, with an effort, didn't punch Drake in the smug face with it. "Nah, I got your wallet in there."

Drake actually clapped his hand to his back pocket before coloring. "Asshole. You do not." He strode off to sit with his beer-buddies. I ignored their glances and laughter and focused on my lunch.

When I was done, I took a good long look at the workers behind the food line handing out plates. Most were middle-aged women, but a couple were students earning a few bucks. I didn't recognize either the tall girl with locs or the short guy dishing out mystery meat and potatoes to those not on the greasy-pizza train. I tried to catch both their eyes but neither seemed much interested in me.

Crap. I need to be more observant.

Except the next weeks showed I was clearly an oblivious failure. I found a new rock on the top of my car out in the parking lot at the end of practice. Another showed up in my locker, a thin wafer that would've fit through the vents in the door, painted with a heart and "Pride."

I'd loved the first one, that secret hug, but as the number grew it felt like the message changed. "Love Wins," and "Bee Yourself" with a rainbow bee, and "Closets are for Clothes."

The array on my bedside table seemed to mock me as June and the end of school drew near, as my baseball team clinched our division and we practiced like crazy for the quarterfinals. As Pride approached.

My teammates weren't making it easy for me to focus. I hadn't heard half as much racist and homophobic crap before as I did that last month. Or maybe I hadn't wanted to hear it. Most of the crap was low key, jokes, shit-talking our opponents on the field, and sometimes they'd look at me or Jordi, who was Black, afterward and seem a bit ashamed. But then there were the guys who looked at me before they said it, and that look wasn't shame.

I should speak up. I should call them on it. I should make myself count for something. But I didn't.

I kept my head down and worked hard and pretended all the bullshit had nothing to do with me. I didn't want to be the queer player, damn it, I just wanted to be the winning center fielder. And to pass my classes, which I did, although finals were some kind of torture. Especially with practice afterward, when the rest of the school was leaping in the air and screaming "Free at last."

I went to our last after-school practice and pushed myself so hard I had to hold the wall to stay upright in the showers, and I was the last guy out of the locker room. Playoffs would happen in a week, classes were done. We had practice every morning now, and I was determined to be first in, last out. Be the best.

Aching in every muscle, I headed for the parking lot. I was going to fucking hit every fucking pitch and prove I was the best player we had and…

There, on my car again, was another rock.

This one had a ball player, stylized, just a silhouette, but he wore a rainbow shirt.

I grabbed that fucking rock and threw it as hard as I could into the weeds alongside the parking lot.

Keep it together, just go home, be cool. I couldn't open the car door and get in, though. Couldn't catch my breath. I bent over, hands on my knees, then set my back to the door and slid to the sun-warmed pavement. My ass hit harder than I'd intended and that was enough excuse to cover my face with my hands and swear, between ragged breaths.

My head spun, my eyes felt hot, and my throat ached.

"Hey!" A tentative male voice made me jolt.

I scrubbed at my face and looked up. Andy from my history class stood there eyeing me, a frown creasing his forehead between perfect plucked eyebrows. He wore tight jeans and a black T-shirt with a rainbow heart on one shoulder, and suddenly, I was furious. Furious was good. It hurt less.

Shoving to my feet, I loomed over Andy, my six-two trumping his five-and-not-many-inches. "You!" I poked his chest right over that rainbow heart with one finger. "It was fucking you. All those rocks, all that crap, damn it. Why?"

[Kaje]

Andy blinked at me, blue eyes wide. "Crap?"

"Closets are for clothes," I quoted in a squeaky voice. "Bee yourself. What if my fucking self doesn't want to be all rainbows and love rocks? What if my life's already hard enough walking the line as a gay athlete without someone trying to push me over?" My voice caught in my throat and I choked.

"No! Dude!" Andy grabbed my arm. "That wasn't it at all. There was no hidden message. Shit!"

I pulled free. "Sure there wasn't. And baseball guy with a rainbow shirt wasn't a shove at me to be out and proud for Pride, and stand up for queer athletes. Right."

"It wasn't. I swear."

"Bullshit." My shaky legs declared they'd done enough for one day. I casually leaned against my car and looked away across the lot, trying to dismiss Andy from my sight.

"I made these rocks for Pride," he said quietly. "The Safe House Project has a booth and they hand out little tokens from local artists and students in thanks for donations. I have a whole workshop full of those and I thought…" His voice trailed off.

I shouldn't even care, but I asked, "Thought what?"

"You looked sad. All of last month. And stressed. I thought I could cheer you up, give you some little fun thing to make you smile."

The first rock had made me smile. But. "You're telling me you make little baseball guys on rocks for Pride tokens? Uh-huh, I bet."

"No, you're right. I made that one for you. But not to stress you out more. It was meant to be for luck. For the tournament."

"Oh?" I couldn't help looking back at Andy, trying to judge if he meant it. His softly parted lips and intent, steady gaze almost made me believe. "Why didn't you just give me the rocks yourself?"

He colored and looked away. "You're one of the golden people in school. I'm a humanities geek, not even a computer nerd, just one of the invisible people."

"I'm not golden."

"Most of the school knows your name. Half of them can quote your batting average."

"And not one of them sits with me at lunch." The words came out before I could stop them.

"I saw that. I… I thought about asking to join you but, well, I'm me and I had the rock and your pocket was right there and I figured I might break the ice. Sort of."

"Break my ass when I sat on it."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." My breathing came easier now. "How did you do the second one on my tray?"

"Bribed Tanisha to put it there."

"Tall girl in the serving crew?"

"Yep."

I'm not always good at judging people. Jeremy being a prime example. But Andy really seemed sincere. "You really didn't mean to push—?"

"Didn't mean anything. No ulterior motives."

"None?"

He glanced away. "Nothing bad. Nothing deep. I figured you could use cheering up. I know you're out of my league."

"What are you talking about?" I looked Andy over with renewed interest. I tried to keep my eyes off guys most of the time. Some of them got pissy about the most innocent gaze. But Andy had invited it, and he wasn't bad looking at all. Short and skinny, if you were looking for the ballplayer type, which I wasn't because I practically lived with those guys during the season. They did not appeal to me that way. Andy, on the other hand… "You're cute. A bit short." Which I didn't mind at all. "Great hair." Those blond waves caught the late afternoon sun. "Smart." He contributed a lot to class discussions and his answers were thoughtful. "And I guess you're kind. I liked that first rock."

He raised his chin, looking up at me. "The hug?"

"Yeah." Something went wrong with my voice. "That one."

The summer air felt heavy between us. Andy's gaze didn't waver from mine. Moments passed, or maybe hours. Then he opened his arms in invitation.

Guys don't do that. People don't do that. Like, offer a hug for no reason except that you're so hungry for one your belly's shaking with it. But Andy didn't back off when I stayed propped up on my car, frozen, staring at him. Maybe he colored a little, but he kept his arms wide.

Slowly, as if in a dream, I pushed off the car, took a step forward, and moved up close to Andy. He wrapped his arms tightly around me, squeezing me in a fierce hug. I hugged him back, my cheek finding a home against the top of his blond head, and I closed my eyes. I didn't think anyone was around to see us, but in that moment, I didn't care. Andy was short but wiry and his grip was stronger than I expected. Like if I was falling, he could keep me on my feet. I felt his chest rise and fall with his breathing, smooshed up against mine. His breaths were slow and steady. Mine weren't.

"It's okay." I realized Andy had been murmuring to me for a while. "You're good. I've got you."

That was embarrassing, and I let go. He immediately dropped his hold too, and I stepped back. Despite the warmth of the afternoon, I shivered at the loss of his body against mine. I tried to make a joke. "Excellent hug, dude. Ten out of ten would hug again."

"Would you?" He tilted his head.

"Yeah. Sure. I mean, it got weird for a bit, but, um, thanks."

His perfect lips curved in a smile. "You're welcome."

"Sorry I dissed your art."

"Sorry I made you feel bad with it. For what it's worth, you don't owe anyone to be more out, Brett. You're the one on the ball field and in the locker room. Make the choices you're comfortable with. You have nothing to prove."

Except to myself? I wasn't sure what I thought anymore. When I read all that into Andy's rocks, was that my own conscience prodding me?

Andy put out a hand but didn't quite touch me, folding his arms instead. "Don't overthink it."

"Okay." I chewed on my chapped lip. Didn't want to ask, but didn't want him to leave. "Am I right thinking you're gay-bi-pan-something?"

"Gay as a Judy Garland fan club."

"Judy? That's old-school."

"History geek, remember?" He eyed me.

"Me too. Anyhow, would you… um, you give excellent hugs and you have good taste in AP classes. Maybe we could, sometime?"

"Are you asking me out?"

I glanced away. "Badly. Yeah. I guess so."

"That's not why I gave you the rocks either."

"No, I know," I said hurriedly. "I believe you but… could it be a nice bonus? For both of us."

"What did you have in mind?" Andy cocked his head.

Tonight I was tired and emotional and mostly fried. I didn't want Andy's first experience of me to be this version. "Tomorrow." We'd have morning practice. I could nap and be on point by evening. Afternoon, even. "Three o'clock? The ice cream place?"

"I could eat ice cream." Andy licked his upper lip in a much more appealing move, no doubt, than me chewing off dead bits of mine. Golden person, my ass. Andy had me way outclassed.

Then again, I'd never backed off a challenge. "My treat. And we'll see what happens."

Andy's grin made the sunshine look dull. He backed up a few steps. Said, "Tomorrow, then," in a voice that squeaked at the end. Colored up till I wanted to kiss him right there. Then he jogged across the parking lot.

His car was an old Mazda. I leaned on mine and watched him pull out of the mostly empty lot.

My whole body ached. My breath still wasn't sure it knew how to be steady.

But before I got in my car and headed home, I stumbled across that pavement to the weeds, and spent ten minutes finding that damned rock with the baseball player. When I finally did, I stowed the painted stone safe in my pocket.

Maybe it would bring me luck. Maybe it would bring me Andy. And maybe, if I was really lucky in the next week, we could win the championship, and then I could kiss my new boyfriend right there, under the floodlights for everyone to see. Maybe.

A lot of castles in the sky in all that, not least, us beating Northfield, and Andy agreeing to date me.

But for the first time in a long time, I had goals that made me really, really happy. Goals that just might come true.

##### the end ####


—

[K.S.]

Each rock tells a tale of courage
Daring to speak out
Daring to show a little color
No matter what rocks might be thrown
The old urge to throw stones
Feeling like a malevolent spell
Fueled by hate, a need for mockery
To cast others down to build the self up
One day she stood to face the rocks
Screamed a secret truth before anyone could stop them
The rocks fell right at her feet
Bathed in color, painted with different stories
Love, pride, and acceptance shown from each message
The rocks had absorbed her courage
Transforming at her feet into something which gave her joy
It was only a daydream of hope
She didn’t have any power over the rocks
She did have the power to paint them
Offering them to those in need
“Carry this in your pocket
Know that you’re not alone”

She said to each person with a gentle touch
Wariness flickered in their eyes
Too many of them had learned to fear rocks
In spite of this, they’d put a rock in their pocket
Carrying it with them through the day
Shoulders straightening with a little pride
Perhaps there was magic in them after all
For there is something in knowing you’re not alone
Someone is cheering you on for standing up
For for every person who throws a rock
Someone will offer you one for courage
As countless people breathe in your pride
Pride is something you can carry with you
Offering to others along the way
Encouraging them to show a little bravery
In loving themselves in the face of the opposition
Creating a rainbow, connecting us all.

[K.S.]

Kaje wrote: "Andy blinked at me, blue eyes wide. "Crap?"

"Closets are for clothes," I quoted in a squeaky voice. "Bee yourself. What if my fucking self doesn't want to be all rainbows and love rocks? What if m..."

Sweet!

[Kaje]

K.S. wrote: "Each rock tells a tale of courage
Daring to speak out
Daring to show a little color
No matter what rocks might be thrown
,..."

I love that. Thank you.

[K.S.]

Kaje wrote: "K.S. wrote: "Each rock tells a tale of courage
Daring to speak out
Daring to show a little color
No matter what rocks might be thrown
,..."

I love that. Thank you."

You're welcome! Thank you!

[Xavier]

Kaje wrote: "Andy blinked at me, blue eyes wide. "Crap?"

"Closets are for clothes," I quoted in a squeaky voice. "Bee yourself. What if my fucking self doesn't want to be all rainbows and love rocks? What if m..."

Loved it! 🏳️‍🌈❤️

[Xavier]

K.S. wrote: "Each rock tells a tale of courage
Daring to speak out
Daring to show a little color
No matter what rocks might be thrown
The old urge to throw stones
Feeling like a malevolent spell
Fueled by hate,..."

Nice 💜

[Kaje]

Xavier wrote: "Kaje wrote: "Andy blinked at me, blue eyes wide. .."

<3 Thank you.

[K.S.]

Xavier wrote: "K.S. wrote: "Each rock tells a tale of courage
Daring to speak out
Daring to show a little color
No matter what rocks might be thrown
The old urge to throw stones
Feeling like a malevolent spell
Fu..."

Thank you!