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The Big Summer
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the
Big
Summer
Jamie B. Laurie
THE BIG SUMMER
Copyright © 2014, 2018 Jamie B. Laurie.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
iUniverse Star
an iUniverse LLC imprint
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Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.
ISBN: 978-1-5320-2991-2 (sc)
ISBN: 978-1-5320-2992-9 (e)
Library of Congress Control Number: 2014901312
iUniverse rev. date: 07/23/2018
Contents
Introduction
Foreword
Chapter 1 I’m Will
Chapter 2 The Most Awful People Ever
Chapter 3 The Big Day
Chapter 4 Seaside City: The Town of Smiles
Chapter 5 God Bless Canada and the Tale of Isabelle
Chapter 6 The Walking Wet Dream
Chapter 7 The Asian Twin
Chapter 8 Katie Applegate: Man-Eater
Chapter 9 Bringing Home the Bacon
Chapter 10 Cuddles
Chapter 11 Waving the Rainbow Flag
Chapter 12 Mega-Burrito and the Bunny Rabbit
Chapter 13 Naming the Gorilla
Chapter 14 Internet Pedophiles Love Me
Chapter 15 My Adventures in Athleticism
Chapter 16 The Party and the After-Party
Chapter 17 The Rainstorm to My Painting
Chapter 18 The Birthday Blues
Chapter 19 The Pants that Hugged My Ass
Chapter 20 Broken Rules and Broken Boys
Epilogue: Or, My Happy Ending
Acknowledgements
Support for LGBTQ Youth
About the Author
To Mom and Dad, with all my love
Introduction
When The Big Summer first came out (forgive the pun) in February of 2014, I promoted it as my “fictionalized autobiography”. It followed a boy on the cusp of young adulthood, out of place in his skin, firmly in the closet … longing for love. Those characteristics were a spot-on definition of my early adolescence and yet, in a few fortunate ways, my experiences have been somewhat different from my protagonist’s. I was bullied throughout elementary school for being different, and I had all the stereotypical markers of someone who was gay: I was best friends with the girls, I spent my time reading and doing after-school theatre, and I was in no way athletically-inclined. But unlike Will O’Connor, I was fortunate to have great friends when high school came around, and I received nothing but support when I finally came out as gay.
While I’ve always been candid about how lucky I was (and continue to be) in those respects, I have also maintained that the struggle of accepting yourself as a queer person is a journey that often involves negotiating deep-rooted feelings of shame. No matter how accepting your family, school, or community … it’s almost always a scary prospect to come out and live openly as your true self.
It has now been nearly five years since I started writing The Big Summer, a project that spanned the course of my own coming out journey, and in revisiting these characters and their stories, I found myself re-experiencing that journey through fresh eyes. While in some ways rereading this fictional story felt like cracking open an old diary, the prospect of updating the book filled me with a tremendous sense of hope.
In these few short years since I originally published the book, so much has changed about the landscape of sexuality and gender. New terminology and dialogue about the LGBTQIA+ community is flourishing, as queer people connect and theorize and share their stories with one another. Nuanced and honest queer representation in the media grows more prevalent by the day, and I consider myself very lucky to offer this novel into the booming genre of queer YA literature. The queer community over these past few years has made tremendous strides—for instance, the legalization of same-sex marriage in the United States—and has also rallied together in the face of tragedies like the Pulse nightclub shooting in Orlando. These days, the world seems in some ways to be more backwards than ever, and yet because of the inspiring resilience and strength of queer people around the world I remain comforted and optimistic about the future.
On a personal level, when I said updating the book made me hopeful it is because I see how the communal achievements and advances of queer people are reflected in my own journey. The fearful, ashamed Jamie of thirteen or fourteen would never have believed he’d one day attend a poetry reading in a male strip club with a couple of drag queens, or dance to Lady Gaga at a gay bar, or walk hand-in-hand with his boyfriend through the Village during Pride. He would not yet have met someone who didn’t conform to the gender binary and he would not understand the importance of advocacy. So I feel grateful to be able to add elements of those experiences and that knowledge to this book.
While the slogan “It Gets Better” may read as clichéd, I believe in those three words wholeheartedly. While things will almost certainly be hard—and while it may not be possible or safe to come out publically right away—that will not always be the case. There will come a point where you will look back at those years of hardship and shame, and be grateful and proud that you endured them and rose above that time. You will reach a point where you can be who you were born to be, and live your truth with pride every day. And until then, reach out to that friend or support group (in person or online), read up on the amazingly diverse community you belong to … look at yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you are strong and valid.
I hope this book can be a source of inspiration for the queer kids who will read it and who may hopefully see themselves represented in its pages. To the parents, families, friends, and educators of queer kids, I hope it’s a story that shows the best thing you can do is be a loving and supportive ally. And to readers who are just here for a cute love story, who may think they don’t know a queer person (although statistically, you know many), please enjoy, and remember that love is love is love.
With that said, much love,
Jamie B. Laurie
September 10th, 2017
Foreword
Acceptance
That is what this book is about, but isn’t it also what life is about? Accepting ourselves with our imperfections (a little too much flab around our midsection) and our differences (skin colour, religion, sexuality), accepting our friends with their quirks (and sometimes annoying habits), accepting that our first crush does not “like” us back, accepting that our parents have their limitations, accepting that our kids grow up to be something that we didn’t expect…
Acceptance will help us attain happiness and yet, there are many situations we ought not accept. We should not accept that our buddies disrespect us, that t
he school bully terrorizes our friends, that ignorant strangers ridicule our siblings. We cannot accept that these horrible things happen to our children. We must not accept that anyone suffers because of anti-homosexual attitudes.
Fifteen years ago, my colleague Richard Montoro and I founded the McGill University Sexual Identity Center (MUSIC) because we would not accept that homophobia, heterosexism and transphobia still caused so much pain. Since then, we have worked tirelessly to eliminate discrimination against LGBT people, decrease homophobia and transphobia in society and in LGBT people themselves, and treat the psychological damage caused by believing these negative stereotypes about oneself. We do this through direct psychiatric services, education and training of other health professionals, research, community involvement, and advocacy.
Throughout the years we have helped many kids like Will O’Connor who struggled with their sexual orientation or their gender. Some were bullied in school. Some were rejected by members of their own family. Some felt ashamed and some felt lonely. Most did not want to be different. Many feared their parents’ rejection, even when it never happened. A few felt so hopeless and helpless that they believed suicide was the only way out. For all of them, there came a breaking point. Something had to change, and something did. They came to believe that their sexuality and their gender identity were nothing to be ashamed of, that they deserved respect, and that they could find love. We helped them accept themselves.
We also helped their parents. After a period of grieving the child they thought they had, most parents recognized the strengths and courage of the child they actually had. They learned about sexuality and gender and understood how homophobia and transphobia were harmful to their kids. They became empowered advocates of their children and helped them make smart choices about coming out to extended family and social networks.
Coming out in high school is not always safe. Sometimes it is more strategic to remain discrete: not because there is anything shameful in being LGBT, but because of the very real danger of bullying and harassment. Many schools now have anti-bullying policies but they are not always adequately enforced. If this is the case in your school, know that the bullies are not justified in their behaviours, know that you deserve respect and love, know that it is OK if you choose to stand up for yourself AND it is OK if you choose to stay hidden to protect yourself. Know that high school isn’t forever. Hiding takes its toll so it is important that you not be alone. Speak to an adult you trust: a teacher, a coach, a school counsellor, a doctor, your parents. There may be some friends you can trust as well. If not, consider making new friends: there are plenty of LGBT youth groups on the net. Coming out can be very empowering and it is much more likely to be so with good support.
There is no therapy that can change someone’s sexual orientation or gender identity. No one can do that. What we can do though is rethink our preconceived ideas about gender and sexuality to better understand, love, and be proud of our LGBT selves and our LGBT children.
Karine J. Igartua M.D. C.M., F.R.C.P.(C)
Assistant Professor, Department of Psychiatry, Faculty of Medicine,
McGill University
President of the Quebec Psychiatrists’ Association
Co-Founder and Co-Director of the McGill University Sexual Identity Centre (MUSIC)
www.mcgill.ca/cosum/
Chapter 1
I’m Will
The Big Summer started with a haircut.
I was sitting in the seediest barbershop that my hometown of Bridgeport, Connecticut had to offer. It was the kind of place where they sat you down in a plasticized chair that stuck to your skin, where the floor was carpeted in various shades of brunette and redhead, and where 90 percent of the clientele had been loyal customers since before the First World War.
I’ll admit that I was a little on edge as the buzzer sheared through the hair above my ear, considering that the potbellied Italian man wielding the dangerous tool had his eyes glued to the soccer game unfolding behind a curtain of static on the big, boxy television.
“Run, idiota, run!” he cried, the buzzer drifting precariously toward my ear.
Despite putting my very life in danger, I was certainly in need of losing a few pounds off the top of my head. My hair is thick and fairly manageable under most circumstances—the shimmery color of straw spun into gold by Rumpelstiltskin’s nimble fingers and brushed with a few slightly darker tones … dirty blond, as lowly peasants would say—but a wild mess when left unchecked.
“Can you believe this, kid? Did you see that goal?”
I didn’t want to nod for fear that the buzzer would gouge a hole into my brain, so I mumbled, “Uh-huh.”
“They’re playing like girls, huh?”
“I know. Um, could you take a little more off the top?”
And so it was that I emerged from the barbershop sporting a clean-cut look approximately four minutes after I had sat down—the benefit of forfeiting a head massage and a cappuccino at the fancier salons.
Freshly groomed and enjoying the warmth of the sun on the back of my newly visible neck, I set off for home … a home I would soon leave behind. The Big Summer, a masterfully crafted plot born from my teenage misery, was about to begin.
There was only one problem with my otherwise perfect plan: I still hadn’t asked Aunt Nellie.
The Big Summer. Those three mysterious words can be summed up as a desperate teenager’s blueprint for an escape. I needed to get away from everything: school, friends, and the thoughts that plagued my mind. I was suffering from a crippling case of something much worse than mere adolescent angst … a feeling of being completely ordinary.
I was like a gingerbread man; a cookie-cutter boy, the same as all the others lined up on the tray … decorated with gumdrops and, I suppose, edible.
And so I came up with The Big Summer, a phrase that can be shortened to the acronym TBS—no, that sounds too much like the name of a sexually transmitted disease. The Big Summer will do just fine, I think.
I came up with the idea while sobbing hysterically after returning from the big party at Jessie Stuart’s house (a tale for another chapter) and then researched the plan extensively. It wasn’t complicated in theory, simply a list written up on a page torn from my math notebook.But all the hoping and dreaming would have been in vain if I didn’t get the okay from Aunt Nellie.
Aunt Nellie is my mom’s sister. She became my legal guardian after my parents died, and she’s probably the most amazing person I know.
Case in point: When I stepped through the door into our modest yet cozy home, she was sitting upon her throne (the ratty, old armchair that was almost a third member of our family). It was mostly a dull shade of gray and stained all over with a rainbow spectrum of pen and marker ink. The corduroy fabric had a nasty habit of shedding and was interwoven with old bits of eraser.
Aunt Nellie is a high school English teacher. Not surprisingly, she is universally adored by her students. And though she should have a totally cool name like Ms. Sunshine or Ms. Unicorn-Chocolate-Rainbow-Awesome, she is called Ms. Crimbleton. Her legal name is Eleanor Crimbleton … which sounds like the name of an elderly neighbor who takes gardening way too seriously and makes you look through photo albums of her cats when you ring her doorbell on Halloween.
I came in to find that Aunt Nellie was grading papers. She sat cross-legged in the armchair, her dark brown hair twisted into a bun and skewered with two pencils. She wore a vintage T-shirt from Queen’s 1982 Hot Space Tour, denim overalls, and a pair of puppy slippers.
Do you see what I mean?
“Hey, kiddo!”
I kicked off my sneakers by the door and went to join her in the living room. “How’s the correcting going?”
“Almost done, thank God! Exams are so stressful.”
I laughed. “So true. We students get off easy. It’s the teachers who have it really bad.”
“Thanks,” I replied, twirling around for her. “I paid for it myself.”
“Oh, well why didn’t you ask me for money?”
I shrugged it off. “It was super cheap. Don’t worry about it.”
Aunt Nellie rolled her eyes. “William O’Connor, you march over to my purse and get yourself a nice new twenty-dollar bill this very instant.”
I rolled my eyes right back and said, “If the lady insists.”
“Oh, but she does!”
And so, begrudgingly, I went and found her purse and took a nice new twenty-dollar bill.
“I hope you’re hungry, kiddo!” Aunt Nellie called as I headed upstairs. “I’m making lasagna!”
By “making,” of course, my aunt meant “attempting to make.” What Aunt Nellie lacked in culinary prowess, she made up for in the skillful way she could order food on the phone.
As I walked up the narrow stairs, I passed the familiar picture of my parents that hung on the wall. It was a formal portrait from their wedding day. My mom looked beautiful, and my dad was handsome. As for me … I’m the awkward mishmash of their various features.
It’s still my favorite picture of them; they look so happy. It’s how I like to think of them.
I was seven years old when they died, old enough that I remember every second. It’s a movie that plays on a loop in my dreams sometimes. And it’s the one memory of my parents I wish I could erase.
I remember my father shaking me awake, and I remember the terrible heat and the thick smell of smoke. I can still see my childhood home burning around me, my toys melting, windows shattering, chunks of wall crumbling.
The Big Summer