“Oh, uh…” I clam up immediately, the question taking me off guard. People never ask me personal stuff like this. “I mean, yeah, kind of. I guess.”
Way to go, Segan. Smooth.
A grin tugs on his lips, brows pinching slightly, probably wondering what the hell’s wrong with me. “Yeah? Like what?”
My cheeks heat, and I know they’re red. “It’s nothing.”
“Tell me,” he urges softly. “I wanna know. You know mine.”Meaning cars.
Something about the light in his eyes and the gentleness of his tone has me wanting to tell him. It's something I’ve never told anyone, outside of Lana. Well, and my parents, but that never went well. They were less than supportive, because it didn’t align with the future they expected of me.
Biting down on the inside of my cheek, I glance over to where he’s watching me expectantly. “I like to write,” I finally offer. “Poetry, songs. That kinda thing.”
“You write music?” he asks, his grin growing wider. Brighter. I feel it in my chest.
Shaking my head, I say, “Not music. But songs, yes.”
I wait for the inevitable laugh. The joke about how it’s a dumb hobby, nothing I could ever make something out of. Only it never comes.
“That’s really cool, Segan. Do you play any instruments?”
The way he asks me that question, it’s like he really wants to know. He genuinely wants to learn more about me.
“Sort of. Or well, I’m trying to learn. Last summer, I bought a cheap guitar at the pawnshop with money I’d saved from mowing Mrs. Griffin’s yard, and I’ve been slowly teaching myself ever since. I’m not any good, but I enjoy it.”
“I’d love to hear you play sometime.”
“Uh, I don’t know about that.” I chuckle, feeling uncomfortable. I’ve barely even played in front of Lana. Although, she’s been encouraging me to write and play more lately.
We’ve always shared a dream of getting out of this town one day, Lana and me. I can’t even count how many times over the last couple of years we’ve laid under the giant oak tree that separates my property from hers, smoking shitty weed out of a ginger ale can underneath the night sky, laughing and talking for hours about how we’re going to leave this place one day. Run away and never look back.
We both have dreams to leave. Start fresh. Fantasizing about it helps us feel free and hopeful that one day we won’t be shackled to this town and its religious obsessions. Like maybe we could live the life we want to without any expectations or judgement.
That place has always been Nashville for me. Somewhere I can make music about shit people care about, perform it in front of audiences that look up to me, that maybe relate to me. It’s a pipe dream, I know it, but it’s a nice one to keep in my mind on the nights when shit gets hard and it feels like there’s no way out.
Thankfully, Josiah doesn’t push the topic any more. Instead, he grabs a funnel and some oil, and shows me how to add it into the car. After he shows me how to check the levels and make sure there’s enough in the car, we head into his house, where we wash up the best we can. My clothes still have oil on them, but I guess that probably won’t come off until I throw them in the washer.
When I come out of the bathroom, Josiah’s in his kitchen, sandwich fixings all over the counter. He glances up at the sound of my feet. “Hungry?”
“Yeah, actually, I am.”
As if on cue, my stomach grumbles loud enough for him to hear. Chuckling, he asks, “Ham or turkey?”
“Ham. Thanks.”
Pulling out a chair at the table, I sit down, watching as he makes us food. I’ve been in this house before, of course, but never alone. Lana hangs out here sometimes after school, and I join her. He rarely comes to her house, though. The night he drank with us last week was one of the exceptions.
Wondering why that is, I break the silence that’s descended upon us, and ask, “How come you aren’t at Lana’s place all that often? It’s not like you live far.”
Josiah looks up at me, an emotion passing through his features that I can’t place. His brows furrow as he pops a small slice of ham into his mouth, and I wonder if he’s going to dodge the question.
“My brother doesn’t agree with some of mychoices, and he’s made it very clear he doesn’t want me around Lana that much.”
Choices.“Because you’re gay.” I don’t phrase it as a question.
He nods. “Because I’m gay.”
Josiah’s sexuality is no secret to anybody in this town. It’s also no secret that his family, and most of the church, don’t approve, but I guess I just never thought Mr. DeMille would keep Lana from him. Naïve of me, I know, but I’ve never heard anything about this, and as far as I know, Lana hasn’t either.
