Dark
Matters

by Donna Lamb

 
“Don’t tell me you haven’t been watching me, Wally,” Jon Carlyle whispered.

I nodded because he had me pinned against the cinder block wall separating the school itself from the basketball courts behind the gym and I didn’t want to piss him off. The wall kept balls from bouncing between the temporary classrooms set up in what used to be the teacher’s parking lot at White River Unified High School and it kept me from getting away.

I didn’t know what the heck he was talking about. Watching him? Well, he was certainly noticeable. Nearly six feet tall, a sophomore on the JV football team, with wavy-curly blond hair and bright blue eyes. And muscles, lots of muscles. So yeah, I might have been looking at him, sometimes. I’m an artist, or I want to be one, so I look at stuff.

“You’re queer, ain’t ya, Wally?” Jon demanded.

I didn’t think I was so I shook my head, no, hoping it wouldn’t make him angry. If he wasn’t already angry, it was hard to tell. Maybe he sneered like that because his face hurt.

Jon laughed at me, nodding in answer to his own question. Then he grabbed my chin and forced me to nod, too. “Yeah, you’re queer, Wally. You know it. I know it, the whole school knows it.”

I swallowed hard. If everyone thought that, it would be hard to change their minds. If even just Jon thought that, it might be just as hard to change his.

I couldn’t be sure I wasn’t queer. I mean, how are you supposed to know these things? I was a freshman at the same high school as Jon, but I was only thirteen because years ago, I skipped second grade. I’d been aware of the difference between boys and girls my whole life though it had only seemed important, other than what games you played in gym, in the last year or so. I hadn’t sorted it all out yet.

I was immature and so was Jon but in different ways. I didn’t know for sure I wasn’t queer because the question hadn’t really occurred to me before. I sure hoped I wasn’t queer.

I squirmed against the concrete wall, trying to get free but it wasn’t happening.

“I want you to come to football practice after school,” said Jon. “Come sit in the bleachers and watch us play. We’ll be having intrasquad scrimmages.” I had no idea what that meant. “You’re gonna be there and watch us, ain’cha, Wally?”

I nodded again. Anything to keep him from pounding me into the wall.

He shook me. “Don’t just nod like a dummy, say that you’ll be there!”

“I’ll be there, Jon,” I said. “Wouldn’t miss it.” I smiled at him the way you might smile at a bear you unexpectedly found in your closet.

He let me go and took half a step back. “You can bring your homework or one of your sketch pads. I know you like to drawr.” That’s how he pronounced it, like it ended in an r. Well, so did half the school and nearly everyone over the age of forty in White River; the local accent owed a lot to the original settlers from Southern and Midwestern states.

“Um,” I said, trying to sound intelligent.

Jon smiled at me, almost as if he liked me. “Don’t forget, we start practice last period, so when you get out of class, come straight to the field. We’ll play till five tonight.” He turned to go but looked back. “See ya, Wally,” he said.

“See ya,” I replied. What. The. Hell?

One thing. This was nineteen sixty-four. Being queer wasn’t a lifestyle choice or something you were born with; in some parts of the country, it was a death sentence.

I sure hoped I wasn’t queer.

* * *

David San Juan and Alex Bradley met me as I rounded the end of the barrier between the classrooms and the gym.

“What the heck did he want?” asked Davy. They’d seen Jon Carlyle pin me against the wall and had ducked out of sight themselves. In high school, there are the predators and the prey and they knew which they were.

“I dunno,” I said. “I think he maybe likes my sister or something.”

“Your sister’s pretty hot,” said Alex.

I made a noise, not wanting to agree to that. Hayley’s just my sister and I never think of her as anything but someone to annoy or be annoyed by.

But now I wondered. This had to have something to do with her; she was a cheerleader, Jon was a football player, they must know each other.

I turned left when Davy and Alex went straight toward our next class. “Gonna go ask Hayley something,” I said.

“Don’t be late to Mrs. Huston’s class, Wally,” Davy warned. Always the worrier. I waved him off and headed toward where Hayley had her locker.

I didn’t ask Alex and Davy if I were queer. Maybe Hayley would know.

* * *

I found my sister near her locker. She had first lunch and I had second so I couldn’t look her up then. Beginning of fifth period was right after lunch for me but between classes for her.

“Hayley!” I called to her. She was with her friends, so she basically ignored me.

I walked right up to her and nodded to the other members of the popular sophomore crowd she hung with. They ignored me, too.

“Hayley,” I said again, standing right in front of her and waving a hand.

She sighed. “What is it, Wally?”

“You know a guy on the JV squad named Jon?”

She started walking away and I followed. “Of course I do,” she said. “I’m on the JV cheer team. Jon Carlyle, you mean? Or maybe John Dumont? Except they call him, Johnny?”

“Yeah, Carlyle, big blond guy,” I said. “You know him?”

We were at the back of the group of her friends now and she glared at me. “Yeah? So?”

“Uh, uh….” I couldn’t think of what I’d wanted to ask.

“Wally, I have to get to class.” She speeded up to rejoin her group.

“Do you like him? Does he like you?” I managed, hurrying to keep up.

“Like?” She grinned suddenly. “He’s kind of cute and I think I’ve seen him watching me.” She tossed her hair. “Goodbye, Wally,” she said, following another sophomore into a classroom.

I stopped, then turned and hurried toward my own fifth-period class. Maybe that explained it. There’s a thing, see.

Hayley and I are two years apart in age but we both have light brown hair and blue eyes, kind of round faces and we’re both skinny, though she insists she’s just slender. She’s taller than me by a couple of inches but other than clothes and hair length, we look a lot alike. Besides being different genders, that is.

Was Jon so hung up on my sister as to want…. I didn’t know what he wanted. I couldn’t untangle it at all.

One thing, I didn’t think it would be smart to be at football practice after school today.

I barely made it to my fifth-period class, History, on time. I slid into my seat behind Alex just before Mrs. Huston started roll call.

“Walker Dark,” she called.

“Present,” I said. After that, I tried to pay attention in class. One thing always amazed me, how boring school could be, even on subjects I personally found very interesting. Mrs. Huston had a knack for reducing the most exciting times in history to a list of dates, names and places.

Another thing, people have been telling me since kindergarten just how smart I am but what do they know?

* * *

I couldn’t be that smart because there I sat in the bleachers after class, reading some of my homework and watching football practice. Jon was one of the bigger players and wore number 23 with his name above the number on the back. Our team name is the Lobos, and our colors are black, white and gold, though the practice jerseys are gray and brown.

It looked like his job was to protect Thomas Tuttle, the quarterback, wearing number 11, or to carry the ball if they handed it off to him. On one play, he ran with the ball right up the middle of the field, through the defending squad, shaking off a couple of guys who tried to grab him and he scored a field goal. No, a touchdown. A field goal is when they kick it.

It was just practice and didn’t count, but it was pretty exciting even so. I’d been standing up to watch when he broke free of the defenders and made his run. I sat down quickly when I realized I had been jumping up and down and giggling. I’ve always hated giggling.

In another field nearby, behind the visitor's bleachers, I could see the cheer squads practicing. The town is only about 14,000, but White River is a big school because it’s also the high school for several smaller towns nearby. That’s why it has Unified in the name.

There are five cheer squads. Varsity Cheerleaders who do the acrobatic stuff and jump and urge everyone to scream. Varsity Songleaders who sing and dance and lead the crowd in songs. J.V. squads the same for the Junior Varsity. And one Frosh Cheer squad with a song section. Each squad is six to ten girls, except the J.V and Varsity cheer squads each have one or two boys to be anchors and tossers for the power play formations.

I watched the coaches criticize everyone for their performance on that last play. Jon had his helmet off and I could see him grinning. Evidently, he had done well and wasn’t getting chewed out like the others seemed to be. I found myself smiling.

At about 4:45 by my watch, the coaches sent everyone to run a lap around the field, and when they finished, they headed directly for the gym. Except Jon. Instead, he came over to the bleachers and yelled up at me. “C’mon down, Wally. Come to the locker room with me. There’s something you’ll wanna see.”

“I…” I tried to reply but he had turned and run off with the others before I could think of what to say. One of the coaches was motioning to me, so I did go on down.

Coach Lamont was a big guy with his hair cut like he’d just got out of the Marines. “You’re Wally Dark, ain’cha?” he asked.

“Uh, yes, sir,” I said.

He nodded as if that were settled. “Jon says you want to be the towel boy for the JV team.”

“What!”

“Go on,” he said. He flipped a key to me. “Key to the towel locker, go in and give the guys each one towel as they come out of the showers. Keep a count of how many you give out, there’s a clipboard hanging on the inside of the door to write the number down.”

“I…. Who? Me?” I know my voice squeaked. I had almost fumbled catching the towel room key and felt a bit overloaded with new information.

“Go ahead, Wally,” he said. “They’ll be annoyed if you’re not there with nice fresh towels when they finish showering. Trot to it.”

Confused, I started toward the gym but I wasn’t moving fast enough for the coach. He came up behind me and yelled, “I said, trot to it!”

I trotted on into the gym, holding my books close to my chest so I wouldn’t drop them. What next? I wondered.