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“I think I’m gay.”
It’s the first time that Carlos has said those words out loud. They feel like lead as they drop from his mouth, hanging heavy in the air between him and Iris.
He’s 16 and he feels that if he says he thinks he’s gay that there is some plausible deniability in what he says - almost as if he’s waiting for Iris to laugh, push his shoulder in that way she does when they’re joking around and tell him that he isn’t. She knows him better than he knows himself, is what he tells himself. Iris is his best friend, at one point he even convinced himself he had a crush on her until she told him otherwise.
She knows him better than he knows himself.
But she doesn’t tell him that he’s not gay. She doesn’t laugh. In fact, she doesn’t say anything for a really long time, allowing the words to hang in the air like a neon sign pointing straight at Carlos.
He swallows thickly, covering his face after a few more minutes drag by and she doesn’t say a word. He’s trying to hide from her, even though she’s sitting there beside him. Carlos’ shoulders grow tense and he wishes he could take the words back. He wishes that he didn’t say anything, he shouldn’t have. People aren’t exactly accepting of people like him.
He had convinced himself that Iris wouldn’t be like everyone else.
Carlos wishes he could laugh it off, to say that he was lying and thought it would be a funny joke but the silence has stretched on for too long for it to work. It would fall flat now and Iris would see right through him. His plausible deniability was out the window.
“That makes a lot of sense,” Iris eventually says. She turns her body towards him, tucking her legs under her.
He pulls one of his hands from his face and looks at her.
“What do you mean that it makes sense?”
Iris shrugs, her brown hair framing her face in a way that he finds aesthetically pleasing. He wishes, for at least the hundredth time, that he was capable of having feelings for her. His life would be so much easier and he wouldn’t spend numerous nights in bed, staring up at the ceiling and wishing God would fix him.
Iris shrugs and Carlos searches her face, trying to find anything that would give him a clue about what he’s feeling.
“There was that time when you thought you liked me, but it was obvious that you didn’t,” Iris says. “Oh, and that time you were more interested in Clayton’s ass than the cheerleader hanging all over him. And the fact that you’ve never tried to date anyone or even flirt with anyone.”
Carlos just stares at her, slightly horrified that it seems like he’s been so obvious in liking boys.
“You know it’s okay that you’re gay, right?” Iris says gently, reaching out to tug Carlos’ other hand away from his face. “You’re perfect how you are Carlos.”
“I’m not though,” he says, a soft whine in his voice. “I’m not normal. I’m broken. Normal people aren’t gay and don’t feel the way I feel or want the things I do.”
Iris frowns at him, “Who says that you’re not normal? Being gay doesn’t make you broken, it doesn’t mean that you’re less of a person.”
Carlos scoffs, “We both know that’s not the case. You’ve heard what people say. What they say during mass about people like me… Nobody is ever going to accept me being this way.”
Iris grabs Carlos’ hands and holds them tightly in her hands.
“Look at me,” she demands and doesn’t say anything until Carlos looks her in the eyes. “I accept you for who you are. You are an incredible person, Carlos, and one day you’re going to make some man very happy. Yes, there will be those who don’t like you just because you’re gay but those people aren’t worth your time.”
Carlos wants to believe her but it’s hard to. It’s hard when the world feels so big and small at the same time. He’s heard so many opinions, so many of his family members talk about “the gays” and how they’re “what’s wrong with this world”. He’s seen the news, sees how people like him are treated. He knows that being gay means that he won’t ever be able to get married to another man.
He won’t have a husband. He won’t have a house filled with children and a white picket fence. Being gay seems to be a life sentence to always being unhappy.
There has to be something wrong with him to be this way, a part of him that’s broken.
Carlos shakes his head, ripping his gaze away from Iris’, tears filling his eyes again.
“I’m broken Iris,” Carlos says softly. “Even if you don’t see it, I am. I’m not supposed to be gay. I-”
“No, stop it Carlos,” Iris says fiercely. “You’re not broken. I don’t care what other people say. I don’t care what the world says. Anyone who looks at you and thinks you’re broken because you’re gay doesn’t know you. You’re not any less of a person for being gay, Carlos. You’re wonderful, made up of wonderful pieces and all of those pieces are worthy.”
“How can you be so sure?”
“Because I know you Carlos and I have known you my entire life,” Iris says as she reaches out and pulls Carlos into a hug. “It might not seem like it now but it won’t always be this way. You won’t always feel like this.”
Carlos wraps his arms around her, clinging to her because she’s the only hope he has in the world. She’s the only one who knows his secret and while it still feels big, it’s helpful that someone else knows about it now.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” Carlos says when his tears dry up.
“I wouldn’t ever dare on outing you,” Iris says. “You’re safe with me.”
Carlos nods and pulls away. His life would be easier if he were able to love Iris and feel for her the way he feels about boys. It seems like an almost cruel twist of fate that Iris is his best friend when he knows she would be the perfect person to love.
He lays back down on the blanket they’re sharing and stares back up at the stars.
“This doesn’t change anything?” He asks in a small voice.
Iris reaches over and takes his hand.
“Nope, you’re stuck with me for the rest of your life.”
“Okay.”