Chapters (47)
- Front Cover
- Title Page
- Copyright
- Contents
- Part One
- One
- Two
- Three
- Four
- Five
- Six
- Seven
- Eight
- Nine
- Ten
- Part Two
- Eleven
- Twelve
- Thirteen
- Fourteen
- Fifteen
- Sixteen
- Seventeen
- Eighteen
- Nineteen
- Twenty
- Twenty-One
- Twenty-Two
- Twenty-Three
- Twenty-Four
- Part Three
- Twenty-Five
- Twenty-Six
- Twenty-Seven
- Twenty-Eight
- Twenty-Nine
- Thirty
- Thirty-One
- Thirty-Two
- Acknowledgments
- Excerpt from Survive the Dome
- Prologue
- 6 Months Later
- One
- About the Author
- Back Cover
I catch myself before saying, A guy like you could get any guy you want. Because, yes, Michael is hot—very, very hot in that River Phoenix type of way. But it’s harder in the seventies for gay people. In most U.S. states, it’s illegal to be gay. AIDS is going to be a thing soon. Gay people aren’t on TV, and when they are, if they are, it’s always negative rep.
I’m lucky. It’s easier for me. It’s not perfect, sure. But I have rights. I don’t have to be closeted. There are people in my generation who still deal with that. I don’t think I’ve ever thought about how privileged and lucky I really am.
“Well, that’s good for both of us, isn’t it?” I say, focusing back on Michael. “Means you’re not a cheater.”
“And you’re not a home wrecker.”
“Good.”
“Good.”
Silence falls over us again, a comfortable silence. I’m not sure what part of Boston we’re in; the nighttime, fifty years of history, and the blanket of white snow make it harder to pinpoint any specific time or place. But I suppose it doesn’t matter, because being with Michael, I could be in 2021 or 1719, and I’d still be happy.
Actually, I’d be truly happy.
“I’m sorry, by the way.” Michael’s voice cuts through the silence. “When I questioned whether you were just following your parents’ desire for you to be a doctor or your own? That was wrong of me. Everyone should be free to be who they want to be.”
“You remember that?” I ask.
He nods. “I thought about it a lot, actually. How wrong it was of me to attack you like that.”
We pass by Faneuil Hall, the marketplace and meeting hall located near the waterfront and Government Center. I think about how in 1960 it was designated a National Historic Landmark. Just ten years ago, this place became solidified as an essential part of Boston history. For a moment, I wonder if I can jump back there, to see that moment and create my own scrapbook, like Claire has.
“Hey.” Michael gently nudges me. “Where did you go?”
“Nowhere. You thought you were helping me.”
“Actually, I was being awkward and didn’t know how to flirt with you. I think about you when you aren’t here. I run through everything we say… And that’s one of the only moments I regret with you.”
Michael takes a deep breath, the type of breath where you know something bigger is coming, and I stay quiet. No quippy response, no sarcastic jab, no romantic interjection.