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"You've been asked about whom you're connected to multiple times in the past—"
Great. Another interrogation about if I have a girlfriend or any relationships with people. I panicked for a moment, running through every moment I had of the recent weeks, before relaxing, because they'll probably ask about a girl.
Right?
"—but what about your editor, Johnny Cade? You two seem awfully close for a professional relationship."
I froze up. The words were caught in my throat, and my thoughts went scattered brain. Nothing was willing to leave my mouth.
Shit.
I got back home two days later, the front door unlocking with a smooth click did nothing to soothe my anxiety and overthinking. I struggled with my bag for a moment, what with all the books I decided to buy since I've read almost everything in our apartment. The book store was huge, can you blame me?
"Ponyboy, is that you?" Johnny called out, coming from our shared bedroom down a hall. The sight of him was reassuring.
"Sure hope it's me," I joked. We met halfway and we hugged. Out of instinct, my head fell into the spot where his shoulder and neck met, my eyes watering and burning a bit.
I tried to keep my private life out of the eye of other people, like the interviewers or the people who read my books. Johnny was one of those details of the private side, sure he was kind of alongside me, but generally nobody needed to know how we would wake up next to each other every morning, hold hands, hug each other from behind amongst other things. Parents who are real religious, if they ever found out I dig guys and gals, they would boycott me and no longer buy books that their kids would like to read. I hate the people like that, and I grew up in Oklahoma, so I was surrounded by it.
"You're tense, you alright?" Johnny's voice broke my thoughts as he pulled back and held my face in his hands. He still had the same nervous puppy kind of looks, but more of a dog now. His eyes were still soft and worried.
You seem awfully close.
"I'm fine, I just need to rest a little— y'know, I'm tired."
I saw a flicker of doubt on his face. "Okay." He squeezed my cheeks before dropping his hands and walking away, patting his pockets. My face grew hot. "Glad to have you back!"
I sighed and rolled my eyes, but as I walked to the kitchen to get a snack, my breathing grew shaky and unstable. I tried to go off of what the psychiatrist told me when my parents died— deep breaths and it'll get easier. I managed to still myself, even if it was just for a little while. My response to the woman's question was the worst part of it— I laughed and shook my head, insisting all we had was purposefully for work and money. I hated saying that. But regardless, it was my private life, not public, and you can't really be out and loud that you're a man who loves another man. It feels like you might be publicly executed in the street if you even show the slightest liking for the same gender. I grabbed an apple, washed it off, then took a bite. I looked towards the living room, watching Johnny as he smiled, flipping through a pamphlet.
I wanted to tell him.
"Do you want to go out tonight instead of cooking?" Was what I asked instead.
He turned to look at me, his smile softening. "Sure, where?"
"Uhm…" I blanked as I thought. "A deli? Get some sandwiches and chips?"
"That sounds nice."
I nodded and finished my apple, throwing the core in the trash, trying not to start biting my nails.
It stuck in my head, how the woman had given me a sympathetic look when she kept interrogating me. Sometimes I wish we never confessed to each other with the sunset behind us, life would've been so much easier if I settled down with a lady. But I love him too much. I started pacing around our apartment, trying to step softly so the neighbors didn't threaten us.
"What's wrong? you're pacing 'round. Don't give me the fine excuse," Johnny asked, pulling me out of my thoughts. The couch creaked as he got up.
I didn't even try to look at him. "Just restless." I hope my good teenage lying skills kick in.
"Someone said something, didn't they?"
I hate his psych analyses. He knows me too well. "No, nobody said anything."
"Please don't lie," he gently pleaded.
My hand was grabbed, so I stopped pacing. I still avoided eye contact. "What happened?" He asked yet again, but his voice was slightly more… Rude-ish? When he gets into this mood, he never stops asking.
"Someone asked me a thing…" I trailed off, the words getting caught in my throat. He moved in front of my view, silently asking me to continue. "Oh, glory— people have noticed we've been close. They're asking about our relationship— they know we're together, Johnnycakes!"
The silence that followed my words hurt the most. His eyes grew wide and nervous. It was like how he looked when he saw Socs way back then, especially after he got jumped and received the scar on his face. It feels like I'm fourteen again, thinking about all those dynamics once more.
"I didn't want you to know yet, I just came back, and… y'know, I wanted us to be happy for a bit." I clenched my jaw, trying not to start crying. "I want to be happy and out with you. I can't, though."
Johnny took a deep breath, patting his pockets once more. "Well, it ain't confirmed, is it? They don't know it fully. They just make educated guesses."
I ignored what he said. "It's like someone's looking over your shoulder! They see us at meet-and-greets, they see us in the streets—"
"You're overthinking, honey." He took my hands, holding them tightly.
"No shit, I'm panicking!"
"Take a breather."
"How am I supposed to stay calm when I might lose the person I love the most and trusts me so dearly?"
We stared at each other before he pulled me into a hug again. I rested the side of my head against his shoulder, loosely putting my arms around his middle whilst he put a hand on the back of my head and one close to around my waist. We stood like that for a bit, he ran his hands through my hair, trying to give me a semblance of comfort.
I felt like a little kid again.
Why do these situations always end up in me not feeling like an adult?
"You're so much more than just a public figure, you know that, right?" Johnny asked, dropping his arms to stay around my shoulders. I hummed in what I hoped sounded like an agreement. "Seriously. You're not just a person who writes books, you're Ponyboy Curtis— and I'll say your full name if I've gotta."
"Please don't," I mumbled.
"So, you're your own person, yes?"
"Uh-huh."
"Good." There was a pause. "Do you want me to pick up the sandwiches from the corner deli and bring it back?"
I hesitated before pulling away, wiping my eyes. "Yeah."
"Okay. Your usual?" He took hold of my hands again.
I smiled. "Can you ask for extra cheese?"
Johnny laughed and nodded. "'Course. I'll be back." He headed towards the front door, grabbing his shoes and putting them on right before he left.
The door shutting made me feel lonely and nervous all over again. I ran my hands over my arms, the feeling of where I was held stuck into my skin. I inhaled and exhaled, walking to the living room and curling up on the couch under a blanket. My eyes closed.
My shoulder was being shaken and I soon woke up. It was only for thirty-ish minutes that I was asleep.
"Hey, wake up," Johnny's voice was a bit nervous but soft at the same time. I heard a crinkle of the bag and his hand left my shoulder when he knew I was awake.
"Sorry," I mumbled, turning my head into the throw pillow I laid my head on.
"You're good. I know you took a long time traveling."
"Virginia ain't that far."
"Mmm, green trees— sure."
I remained on the couch silently, closing my eyes again. Plates hit the countertop.
"Can you get up, honey?"
"Give me a few seconds. And never call me that again."
He laughed. I smiled and maneuvered myself to get up, my knees popping when I moved. I limped over to the table where we usually ate. He noticed and gave me a concerned look. I didn't answer.
We ate dinner together, even if I zoned out for half of it. I just put my chin on my crossed arms and stretched out one hand to hold onto his hand, running my thumb over his knuckles. He was talking, but honestly I didn't hear fully anything that he said.
I felt too tired.
Too full of negative feelings.
I don't remember the rest of the night, just that he helped me to bed and made sure to put a blanket above the sheets before crawling in beside me.
The following week, I had a real bad headache that lasted at least two days. I had coffee to stay awake. I threw up once or twice but mainly stayed in bed, hiding from the light and large sounds.
It was Tuesday when I saw Johnny hiding a newspaper from me. He isn't the best at hiding things.
"Johnny, can I see the newspaper?"
He shook his head, folding the packet of papers again."No, no, it's nothin' interesting."
"What could you literally be hiding from me?" My head stung. I tried to look intimidating, putting my hands on my hips.
"Just… boring stuff? I don't want you wastin' time."
I managed to snatch it before he went to throw away the newspaper and I opened it up, skimming a small section. I saw my name and paused, reading the whole paragraph that was way too large for one paragraph.
Summary— yeah, me and Johnnycakes were caught. It was just someone who decided to blab because they saw us in a bookstore the other day when I was looking for journals sharing a coffee and holding hands. I'm not even that big of an author by my own standards— I don't exactly know why I get a section. I guess it's a sex scandal thing to be gay.
I closed my eyes and inhaled, folding up the newspaper with more aggression than I'd like to share, throwing it towards the trash. It hit the floor. "Johnny."
"Am I saying hi to God?"
"Not yet," I looked at him and shook a piece of my hair out of my face. "How the fuck do you count this as boring shit?!"
He inhaled through his teeth. "Well, I didn't phrase it as that—"
"No, shut your trap for one second! Sorry, I don't know how to be mean."
"I can tell."
I sucked on my teeth and ran a hand through my hair as I started pacing around. "Do you know what this means, Johnny? Means those Bible fuckers think that the author their children love will indoctrinate their kids into liking the same gender, which means no kid can come home and escape from reality for a little while! I want to give kids that, if it helped me, it should help them, too! All because I hold hands with a man, walk 'round sharin' coffee with him, and happen to be spotted with him all the time! God forbid—" I laughed in a self deprecating way which I mostly did, anyways, "God forbid I love someone!"
Johnny had his careful listening face, the same soft eyes he always has when I'm upset, too. Sometimes I wonder if he's actually listening or trying to give me a bit of sympathy. "Not everyone is ultra-religious. There'll still be kids and adults who read after a hard day. Bein' a poor Oklahoma kid who had a reputation for bein' perceived as criminals never changed anyone's opinions about you."
I stared at him before pinching the bridge of my nose when my headache struck again, other hand on my hip. It made me feel like Darry, so I dropped my hand. "Not many people know that detail. It was, like, only the people who actually knew me, like you."
"And did they change their opinions?"
"No. Well—"
"That's my point, people'll still read even if you're different from the rest. You need to relax, sweetheart."
"Stop sweet-talking me." I raised my hand to bite my nails, starting to pace around again. I like walking around and stressing. It helps me think.
Johnny let out a long sigh, walking over to lean against my desk since all I did was walk around in an oval from the hallway to the living room, which wasn't long of a trek. "The only way I can get through to you is by sweet-talking because you don't listen well," he muttered, "you always zone out and do your pacin' thing."
"I do listen!"
"Sometimes."
"Sometimes," I scoffed. "It just sucks, I don't wanna go outside and have to look over my shoulder twenty-four seven, worried that one day someone'll try 'n' attack me for holding my boyfriend's hand. Glory—" my hands itched to grab a pen, but I saw Johnny slowly grabbing my pencils and pens. I pretended not to see it. "I don't know who to talk to about this."
Johnny stared at me. "Hi, hello, how are you?" I stared back in disappointment. "Not funny, sorry, I'll shut up."
"Please don't, I actually like hearing you talk. It's comforting."
"Do you need a coffee?"
"It'll get me more anxious and my headache is about to strangle me, coffee won't help."
"I don't know what you want me to do, Pones."
I put my head in my hands and sunk down to the floor, leaning against a wall. My nervousness came back.
You two seem awfully close.
Close for a professional relationship.
Suddenly everything went silent and the only thing was a ringing in my ears. I opened my eyes and stared at the floor, feeling the corners of my eyes blur with tears.
Then, it happened all too fast, suddenly I was crying and gripping my hair, squeezing my eyes shut. I could hear everything around me, I could feel everything— Johnny ran over and crouched down in front of me, grabbing hold of my hands and speaking to me to try and get me to calm down.
Every single one of my emotions caught up to me— all of the ones I had pent up over the past two weeks— just came flooding out. My head hurt worse the more I struggled to breathe, taking in short breaths and then trying to take long breaths.
"Breathe."
"I'm tryin'!"
"No, no, you're not, you need to actually breathe."
A shaky breath escaped but wasn't a full breath as more sobs escaped.
"Why can't I just be my own person and have my own life?!"
"Because people are nosy."
I felt myself deflate instead of relaxing, just going loose and given up as I stared down at the floor. Johnny sat in front of me the whole entire time, head tilted with a sense of concern. I liked how caring he was.
A few minutes later when my shudders and sobs calmed down, he asked, "are you okay?"
"For the most part, sure," I mumbled, squeezing his hands once. I pulled our hands apart and checked my pulse, feeling what used to be rapid start to slow down. Jeez, earlier it felt like I was having a heart attack.
We didn't say anything for a moment. "We don't owe anyone information on if we're together, okay? You don't have to tell anyone about it," Johnny said, putting his hands in his lap.
"People'll keep asking…"
"But you don't owe anyone information. They're not— like—" he hesitated, "tax collectors comin' to get your money."
I laughed despite myself, furrowing my eyebrows. "That is a horrible comparison."
Johnny shrugged. "I tried my best."
We fell into silence, sitting there as just two people. I hesitated before moving forward to wrap my arms around his middle, and his arms wrapped around my shoulders. We remained in the hug. My headache still stung, my chest stung a bit from just trying to breathe earlier, but I was content as I closed my eyes and let myself relax.
"We don't have to tell anyone now?" I mumbled into his shoulder.
"No," Johnny answered quietly, "no, we don't. Just keep it to people close to us, savvy?"
"Mhm."
We stayed for a while like that, then decided it was best to get up and go about our daily lives instead of sitting on the floor and crying.
The next day, we went out on a walk together. It was oddly windy. We stuck close together, shoulders brushing. I kept looking over my shoulder for no reason. I was just oddly paranoid.
"Calm down, you're fine," Johnny said at one point when I almost walked into the middle of the street.
"Sorry. It's just scary knowing people think you're weird," I confessed.
He looked at me quizzically. "Who has said that?"
I massaged the middle of my right wrist, silent for a few seconds. "People think it."
"You're a mind reader?"
"Shut up."
"So, you can run your mouth but I can't?"
I looked at him, trying to appear annoyed, but a fond smile crept up onto my lips. He poked the middle of my spine to get me to refocus on where we were walking since I was about to run into someone.
Over the next couple of weeks, I kept on looking over my shoulder and found it hard to relax. I didn't even know why. I just kept getting paranoid over everything. I did meet a few readers— some young with their parents— and it was the same interactions as I always had.
But I noticed the hesitance the parents gave me.
I noticed how they looked between me and Johnny, how they pulled their children closer.
I knew they thought my biggest fears.
But, Johnny was always beside me and smiled reassuringly.
"You're still an author, Pone," he said to me one night when we laid beside each other, "just because you ain't like other people and love me doesn't mean you're less of a person."
Those words stuck with me. They reminded me of the preaches mom and dad used to give— how we were our own people and could love whomever as long as we felt save and happy with them.
I hope that can remain a truth.
After all, who knows? It all can just be stupid rumors if I never talk about them. I'll remain close to Johnny, and people'll still call us roommates with a professional relationship.
I'd like to keep it that way; I like the separation of my public and private life.