Growing Up
(Meta note: the world can thank Akeron Valanx for inspiring this story, based on some work he intends to publish... someday. Note that this story is not in my usual universe, which is much more tolerant than this one.)
Growing Up
Don had a nightmare, two weeks into the semester. As is often true with nightmares, it made no sense in the light of day.
He had just gotten done with the last day of senior year, and was walking out of 6th period history for the last time, when every single bully he'd ever met formed a ring of steel outside the front door.
The striped hyena took a deep breath, and marched toward them, glaring straight at Hans, the panther on the football team who had always done the worst to him. He immediately got into a fight, but because it was a dream, had the strength of them all put together. He threw them against walls, his fists broke their skulls, and his kicks sent them flying into the front doors.
It was when he was demanding that they try to call him "faggot" and "queer" now that his parents suddenly walked out of the principal's office, 10 feet away. After the principle dragged him off of his pile of wounded and bleeding bodies, he read a decree in a loud voice. It declared that, because of this incident, Don would have his high school degree revoked, and be unable to enter college.
As he realized in terror what he would have to face, he heard a strange noise. It was his alarm clock.
Even after he awoke, it took Don a moment to realize it wasn't true. His brain had to get his eyes open to see that he was now 19 and already in college. He had to walk to the bathroom, heart still pounding, before he remembered that his apartment was over 100 miles from that high school. But his trauma of hopes dashed by the fight lingered, in spite of reality's facts.
He took a shower, and tried to wash it off of him. He re-dyed his mane of hair down the back of his head, with his carefully done green stripes the same width as the stripes than ran down his body. The hyena loved being unique and flashly; as he prepared, he felt more "him", and he began to shake off his dream.
When he got out of the shower, and looked at the hair from his head half-way down his back, he smiled. He was eye-catching -- which aside from being the center of attention, made him certain someone would take a second look at him. He had worn it since high school, but back then, it seemed to attract the wrong kind of attention. That, after all, was what his dream was about.
As he brushed it from wet to spiky, reaching his best opinion of goods looks for a Monday, the dream seemed to have worn off. After brushing his teeth, he got a slice of refrigerated pizza for breakfast. The out-of-tune microwave only got it from frigid to cold, but he was used to that.
When he thought about it, he seemed to be getting used to a lot. He was used to living alone, even though in the evening he got quite depressed. He knew he needed to meet some friends. It was two weeks into the semester, and he only knew guys in his classes who didn't party. They were all non-traditional students who didn't have time to enjoy themselves on weekends.
But there was a little more to it than that. In spite of being good at jumpball, he never signed up for the team. Something told him not to, in the back of his mind. He knew that, unlike high school, cliques did not naturally form from the social pressure akin to surviving in the wild. Without as much pressure to conform, beneath the glaring eyes of teachers or parents, the choice of who to socialize with meant one had to actually choose.
Somehow, Don had resisted choosing. He wanted to make friends, but found himself digging in his heals for reasons not clear to him. He could only guess that they were related to that other subject he was digging in his heels on. He would occasionally sit in the cafeteria, and look at whoever happened to catch his eye. And in spite of the fact he would not admit it to anyone, everyone who caught it happened to be male.
In high school, he was accused of fagdom mainly for his manners and speech habits, not for anything he had done. His hair got him dates with probably three dozen girls, but the rumor still persisted. The friends he'd had didn't know -- and had they suspected, he was uncertain how many would have accepted it, given the mood of that town. He'd kept it a secret, successfully, for 6 years.
But all that was behind him, he reminded himself for the fourth time, as he put on a clean shirt. That was the past. This was college.
In math, the first class of the day, he sat by his new pal Dwayne, a rather stocky husky he had gotten to know by chance. Dwayne was taller than him, something of a rarity in this student population, and they both sat in the back out of courtesy to others who wanted to pay attention. Dwayne seemed easygoing like him, and their shared plight of (remedial) Trigonometry gave them an easy topic to start a conversation.
When class got out that day, Dwayne talked to him as books rustled.
"You seem quiet today," he offered, "nothing about deriving the sine of the tip of Dr. Bayne's ear?"
Don smiled weakly, "yeah, I'm a little off. Don't know why, must have had a strange dream."
"That's what coffee's for, right?" Dwayne offered.
"No," retorted Don with a grin and wave of his finger, as they walked toward the main hallway, "Jack Colton."
The husky snorted. "You actually drink that stuff? What does it have besides caffeine in it?"
"Lemme buy one, and we can see," Don yawned, as they arrived at the vending machine.
"Right Buddy," said Dwayne, patting him on the shoulder.
It was the kind of friendly pat that Don thought nothing of -- until he got home, to the privacy of his apartment, and spent a good deal of time thinking about it with his pants down.
"Okay," Don announced, putting his change into the vending machine, "let's see."
The can dropped down with a thunk, and he almost bent in half in order to reach down and grab it from the holder. After he picked up the blue and grey piece of aluminum, he had the verdict.
"It contains... Water, caramel color, saccharin, --"
"Yeah yeah, artificial crap that'll give you cancer."
"They haven't proven that yet! And caffeine, I read, is higher than your bitter awful coffee."
"Hey, don't knock it!" teased Dwayne, "you're just too young to appreciate it."
Don winced at the jab that pushed one of his buttons. "Nice of you to point that out, Mister I-started-college-five-years-too-late," he snapped.
"Oh c'mon, I didn't mean it that way. Besides, I'm here because I probably suck at math more than you do. Everyone's different, you know."
The hyena smiled and opened the can loudly to hide his clenched teeth; boy, did he know that.
Since Don had actually paid attention, and seemed to have a basic handle on the material, he explained the material -- again -- to Dwayne. It was more rhyme that reason to him; permutation and combination of symbols on a page which was two degrees shy of meaningless. As a result, Don was quite thrown off when Dwayne asked a simple, but deep, question: what was a cosine?
"If you don't understand that," sighed Don in mild despair, "then you'll never get to tangent, which is the sine over the cosine."
The husky seemed just as frustrated as he was. "Oh great. Dividing them. Can we just talk about something else? I'm tired of this."
"Okay," sighed Don, as he began trying to think of a new subject.
The husky spoke first. "Did you hear about that kid, Stephen Phillips?"
"No," answered Don.
"He committed suicide, after someone found out he was gay, and told all his friends. He was 15 years old."
"That's terrible," said Don, eyes and ears lowering. He was unable to hide the lump in his throat, as his dream echoed in his ears.
He glanced up to see the husky react to his suddenly appearing ill, and knew he had to answer the unasked question.
"I knew someone like that," he stated solemnly.
"You mean who killed himself?"
"Almost did, He was gay too. 16. It was close. That is probably the worst thing that can happen to someone."
"If Stephen could have just waited, ..." Dwayne began.
"It's not that easy," blurted Don.
The husky seemed a little surprised, and Don wished he hadn't jumped into that opening, but that was just how he was.
"When I talked to this kid, he was completely immersed in his environment. Who he knew, who liked him, who hated him, all defined him. They were, who, he, was," he emphasized. "And he didn't want them to make him gay."
The husky gave him a funny look. Don had obviously overreacted. "You seem to know a lot about it," he added, "you gay?"
"No no," answered Don without thinking, "I'm the one who talked him into not doing it."
Don downed what little remained in the can of Jack, his nerves and lies starting to bother him, and swiftly got up to throw it in the recycle bin by the vending machines. He walked back slowly, trying to keep his face calm as he faced the husky once again.
"I wish you'd have been there for Stephen," said Dwayne.
"Yeah," added Don, "so do I. Gotta get studying for history, sorry. I'll call you later to see if you still need help with Trig, okay?"
"That works," nodded Dwayne, "see you later."
In the glass of the window of the exit door, he briefly glanced at his reflection -- the kid he'd saved by a thread.
***
Don only had one more class that day, and it was in the afternoon. His other classes had no homework, except history, and he was too lazy to do the work until now -- 3 hours before. History was his least favorite subject, even worse than math, and so of course it would be the history class that gave him homework.
However, he had serious trouble concentrating. After getting the first question done out of 5 -- which required 10 pages of skimming -- he found himself looking out the first floor library window onto the courtyard. There was some speechifying going on, with a megaphone and a rainbow banner, probably over Stephen's death.
Though he could not hear through the thick glass at this distance, the thing he focused on most were the same-sex couples with wrapped shoulders. Looking at those hands -- seeing the smooth palm against the furred shoulder -- made him shudder. They provided an idyllic picture of what life could be like, if only he would embrace it. He couldn't take his eyes off it. In the back of his mind, he knew it wasn't that simple, but that didn't allow his eyes to let go of the small crowd any easier.
He knew that he needed someone to talk to about this -- something he had never really done before. Talking to a guy about being gay still seemed to him like a wild coyote confessing to a sheep he was a carnivore. He knew it wasn't like that, but he didn't know if his conversant wouldn't know that.
"Hey there."
Don turned to see a rather cute female cheetah standing behind him. Something in the back of his mind told him she should be attractive, and that perhaps she was looking at his stripes.
"Hi," he said, looking back at her, and smiling his well-practiced "you're sexy" grin.
She handed him a flyer. "There's a big meeting of the SGSA today at 4. You should show up."
"SGSA?"
"Straight-Gay Student Alliance."
"Oh, sure," he said, without a second thought, "cool!"
"See you there!" she said with a smile, and walked off.
Don's smile did a 180 as he looked at the flyer, a half piece of pink paper, which explained it was an open forum. "Get your questions answered," and "separating truth from fiction" were the big ticket items.
He just stared at it for a while. It seemed quite casual -- as the cheatress then walked around to several other students and offered them one -- but some part of him was suspicious. Why him? It made him wonder, briefly, if she saw something in him that said "gay and closeted."
Either way, he put it into his backpack, and wrote a note on his calendar. With 5 minutes to spare, he got his history homework done in time for class.
That afternoon, outside the Weinberg Auditorium, at 4 PM, Don was milling around with the crowd. At the door were boxes of notecards, offering the ability to write a question dropped into a pool. Don took one, walked over into a quiet corner, and thought really hard. This might be his only chance to straighten himself out, he thought; he would talk to the note card. What did he want to ask it?
He sat, tapping his two-inch pencil against it, wishing that he had dressed in a way that was not his usual desire to draw attention. Half-hiding behind a pillar, he though about the flag out there in the courtyard. All he wanted was a relationship; he didn't need to salute that flag, or deal with people, or do the other things that seemed to be expected if one was gay. He didn't really know where to start.
This realization suddenly led him to a question he wanted to ask. Quite secretively, he wrote it down on the card, folded it in half, quickly stepped over to the box, and dropped it in. With his goal accomplished, he non-chalantly walked into the auditorium, with guys and girls of every shape, size, clothing choice -- and presumably, orientation.
As the audience filled the room, and he wound up between two slightly shorter guys who he didn't know. They didn't seem to be his type, so at least he wouldn't be distracted. Behind him were two girls doing a lot of whispering, which he expected, but at least they shut up when it started.
There was one moderator, and a panel of eight. Four were straight, four were gay, splitting the sides of two long tables. A pair from each side were of every year: freshman, sophomore, junior, and senior. More than that, they tried to represent species: dogs, cats, scalies, and even an otter and a falcon were on it. Don couldn't help but smile at the idea of a cross-section that was so perfect, it was impossible outside this room.
The moderator did very little, except introduce everyone, and get handed a stack of cards to start reading. Don snuck a notebook out of his backpack, hoping no one would see, as he heard the first question.
"We'll start with a fairly broad one: what does sexual identity mean? There is certainly an academic definition, but I would like to hear yours."
The answers were surprisingly varied. The gay senior, a feline, answered with that definition, the notion of affection, fantasy, and a mate choice.
A junior, straight, German Shepherd just answered that "identity is part of who he was," and it needed to be no more. Don quite liked that one.
But the straight freshman pointed out that there was a group identity aspect, and that is when the discussion really started.
It was a 15 minute debate. Don watched intently, hoping his side to win. It seemed to be the elder against the younger: the elder thought that group identity was important, because it allowed them to survive in a hostile world. The younger agreed it was important, but that there was now leeway in society for gay to become no more different than straight, and so it should be treated as just "part of a person".
Don's pen didn't make a single mark on the page. He was too fascinated; and when the moderator just called a truce, disappointed. The topic changed to something much different: what can gays and straights learn from each other. After several more questions like this Don became rather bored, and lost focus.
But soon, the questions took a different turn to make him perk his ears up again. "I am currently in the closet," wrote the questioner, "but don't want to be forever. Do you have any advice on coming out?"
The reactions were astonishingly broad.
"If you know and trust your friends, then it shouldn't matter to them. They know what you are like, and if you have been gay all this time, then nothing changes," offered the straight sophomore, the bird of the group.
At the other end of the spectrum was the gay freshman. "It took me quite a while to decide to do that. It took me a long time to find others who I would feel comfortable knowing. I would instead answer the question with a question: what is keeping you from coming out today? That is what you should think about, really hard."
Don was at the edge of his seat, and about to start doing that, when the next question came up, and was extraordinary.
"If I could interrupt you Jeane," said the moderator, looking through the cards, "I have a rather interesting question which might be one answer. And in fact it ties back to the political topic you mentioned earlier. Here it is:
"'I am gay, in the closet, et cetera, I don't identify myself that way. It is part habit and part politics. All I want is a male to keep me company someday, not to go out and march or have a cause.' He suggests perhaps two reasons, habit and politics."
She seemed genuinely surprised. "Really? Well, I suppose we might seem political from the outside, but really, we're not. All we want is the same thing, and everyone else is making us fight like that. I would tell the second questioner, if you can find a safe situation for yourself, just go for it! Try and break those habits to be happy!"
She couldn't get any more words out for 15 seconds, as the audience applauded. All of the audience, that is, except for one striped hyena with dyed hair, two thirds of the way back, who looked totally stunned.
Don felt the eyes of two girls on his back, and then out of habit, stared clapping to blend in. He contributed his bit to the chorus of sound, so as to drown out his silent tears of joy.
"We understand how hard it is," added the straight freshman, "we who have been around a while. If you're nervous, if you're shy, don't worry about it. There's a room on Belkin street dorm where you can get some confidence."
For the first time, in spite of who was surely looking, Don wrote his first words on the notepad: Belkin street.
***
Don was still a little overwhelmed when the event was over. Aside from his heartfelt, if anonymous, round of applause, he found the entire conversation astonishing. These were students who obviously put a good deal of thought into the entire question, and answered many layers of questions that hadn't even yet occurred to him.
He tried to get out before too many people saw his drying tears, but alas, the method of leaving the room was one row at a time. He couldn't even get up until several higher rows had left, making him feel trapped and embarrassed to see everyone walking by him, and being drawn from his stripes and his mane to his face.
He nearly pushed one or two people when he got to the door, and then ran out of the building, planning to take a very circuitous route back to his apartment. It would surely be odd for passers-by to see someone like him with tears on his face, but it would be better than seeing him come out of that event and know why.
When he got to his apartment, he slammed the door, and just broke down. Though it was clearly meant for support, it felt like pressure; the same thing he felt when he watched those groups out the window. Join us, they suggested; be one of us. Some part of him wanted to, but another part of him was utterly terrified, and it had control at this moment.
He managed to steady himself enough to order pizza, even though he had half of one in the fridge, and was barely able to face the hunk of male student delivering it to him. He managed to concentrate on eating, and a full stomach seemed to settle his emotions also. He knew he wasn't usually like this, and hoped it wouldn't last.
He managed to concentrate on homework, getting all of it done in advance -- at least, almost all. About 8 o'clock, he went out, just for some fresh air. But before he knew where he was going, his feet had taken him to Belkin street, on the opposite side of campus from the football field.
The building he walked up to was a rather large dorm which had been built for the specific purpose of serving students with disabilities. As a result, Don was quite relaxed as he walked through the front door, past the calm and quiet SGSA office, with a lone shadow behind a glowing monitor.
And it also meant that when he opened the steel fire doors, and the noise hit him, he hustled to a corner without a thought.
When it was underutilized for three years in a row, the university started moving offices in the main floor. As a result, it wasn't long before someone had the bright idea to also put in a room for socializing. It really wasn't so much a bar as it was a party room with fitted taps and a sink. There was no alcohol, just a bunch of males and females who wanted to have a good time -- with the own kind.
Don was torn in two. Half of him wanted to dive into the ocean of noise, and see what it held for him. But the other half was petrified at the size of the waves. This seemed to be hitting all of the wrong nerves, making him seem far more worried and shy than he had been in years.
It took all his effort to take a deep breath, and calmly walk in -- just enough to get to a quiet spot along the far wall, away from both several large groups and from the other individual lone wolves (so to speak) examining them from a distance.
He looked over the crowd. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary at all, especially the big groups. It was just discussions; exactly like the parties he attended when he was younger -- though these participants were not getting smashed. And in spite of that, he felt almost petrified.
He barely heard it when a rather large tiger walked up and asked, "drink?"
Don flinched, but just blurted, "thanks," and took the can of tea. When he opened it, it was clear his hands were shaking.
He had no idea why he was so nervous. He should be more relaxed, not less. It was like some part of him was expecting this tiger, who he didn't know, to just jump all over him. In this room. In the safest place on Giaya. It was completely ridiculous... and yet, he couldn't help but feel that way.
"So, what's your name?" the Tiger asked.
"Don," the hyena answered, finally getting the nerve to look him in the eye.
"Jake," he answered, sipping his own can of tea.
"Nice to meet you," said Don, though his higher-than-usual pitch didn't really agree.
"You seem a little nervous," Jake stated calmly.
"I've never been here before," answered Don, "and yes, I am. I mean, it's really the first time, like ever, I have admitted --" Except with the end of that sentence, he didn't admit it. "It's really hard," he continued instead.
"Been in the closet a long time?" Jake asked kindly.
Don flinched again, but managed to say, "yes. You?"
"Years," answered the tiger. "I had quite a struggle. I grew up far away, in a small town, where no one knew anyone like me. And I was told, over and over again, being queer was evil. But, I found my niche, and no one questioned it. I was a choir boy -- literally," he offered with a smile.
The idea -- that this big, bulky would-be football player sung in the choir -- made Don smile, at last. It succeeded in distracting him from his worries. "Really?" he chuckled.
"Hard to believe, isn't it? But yes, I was. I was the best baritone they had. And no one dared call me a fag, because they could see what would happen to them."
That, however, had an unintended effect. Don's own memories brought up by that word -- "fag" -- struck a nerve. Before he even had time to think about it, a wave of anguish and fear drove him into the corner, behind an empty table, concealed by a support beam, after dropping his half-full can of tea.
This, he now realized, was what he couldn't face; the direct echoes of the past, reverberated in his head. He was trying, with all his might, not to cry... and managed to keep it down to a silent tear or two. Keeping from crying, after all, was a well-practiced skill of his.
It wasn't long, however, before he heard the familiar voice had followed him. "You okay?"
Don didn't answer.
"I'm sorry if I said something wrong," he offered.
"It's not you," answered Don, as evenly as he was able, with a lump in his throat. That was all he could get out, before that lump tied up his tongue, as the tears tried to make a break for it from his ducts.
"You know," Jake offered, "talking about it helps. Just talk to me, and it will get better."
"Somewhere else," Don managed to gulp.
"I know just where. Let's go." Jake put his hand on Don's shoulder.
Contrary to everything up to this moment, Don didn't flinch. In fact, just the opposite. The hand seemed to soak the pain from him, like some sort of divine being. This sensation -- that someone really wanted him to be who he was -- gave him the strength to wipe up his two tears, and with clenched teeth and a level head, walk with Jake outside, across the hall, and then into the empty office of the SGSA.
The moment they shut the door, Don felt a little more nervous. Without considering how it would look, he checked the door. It was unlocked. He sat down in the waiting area, right by it, and Jake sat down next to him.
"So, want to talk?" whispered the tiger.
His eyes were gentle, and to Don, seemed almost magnetic. He was a gentle giant, whose heart made him Don's type, rather than his looks. Don found it quite difficult to speak, but his heart would let him. This tiger, who he had known all of 2 minutes, seemed worth the effort.
"I'm not -- sure w-where to start," he stammered.
"How about: why did you walk in that room?"
"That's... hard to answer," Don replied. "I've... just been told I should try it. It's the first time, really, ..."
He paused, as he found the thread he was looking for, and could see where it would lead. He looked up, to see the soft brown eyes of the tiger. They weren't just listening, they seemed to be giving him strength to speak. He wanted to draw the story right out of Don... to make him feel better.
"All through high school," Don began, "I never said anything. I figured it out, on my own, in middle school. It was pretty clear, going out on date after date, that the girls were expecting something I wasn't. That I couldn't look at them the way they were looking at me.
"And so, it may sound stupid, but when I got to be Captain of the swimming team as a junior, I joined a club of total prudes." Don smiled, but Jake just nodded.
"I just wanted the girls I dated to stop it. Stop looking at me like that. They never did, but at least they didn't like try to hold hands or anything. After a while, I had it down to an art form: every time they looked at me that way, I could just wave my promise ring at them, and make a sharp remark. I was horrible." In spite of that statement, however, Don was smiling, as tears leaked out of his eyes.
"But," dared ask Jake, "you went on all those dates for a reason, didn't you?"
"Yes," answered Don, smile wiping away with that single word, "I had to. Everyone called everyone else 'fag.' I mean, everyone. At least, everyone not as strong as you, who could beat them up. So, that meant football players. And, that meant some other of the swimmers, at first, when I was a freshman. And... I was sure, just sure, they knew something. They always said it different, to me..."
Don's jaw locked, and his eyes blinked, and his tear ducts swelled. But he tried to be strong, just for one more moment.
"And I had no idea if they could see me look at them, in the showers, just for half a second. Not even lust. Just to look. Was that really it? Did I really have a 'queer eye'? How did they know? Why did they suspect!? What the hell did I do!? How long was it until they told somebody else!?"
And then, he lost it in his hands. He barely felt the box of tissues land on his lap, and still took a good minute to get to them. As he sobbed, he could feel the hand on his shoulder pet his back; strong, protective, calming. He felt safe, like he was alone in his apartment, that there was no one around who would use his weakness to crush him as he so feared.
All of the crushing he had endured fueled the tears; football team, swim team, dozens of random kids -- many girls, even! -- who insisted that he was gay, or a fag, in that voice. In that voice with the hook in it that he could still hear if he just closed his eyes. It was the word that caused him to be hazed to join the swim team, and to leave the locked room after school if the football team finished first. It was the passkey to everything horrible about high school.
As he calmed down, and his body got tired of crying, and his feelings started searching for recovery, Jake finally spoke.
"Everyone handles it their own way," replied the choir boy, to an unspoken question. "I didn't want this muscle. I had to earn it. I wasted my time, when I would rather have been reading books. Because I decided the only way to keep people from calling me that was to threaten them. And I bet you won't believe me," Jake said gently, as Don blew his nose, "but I would rather have done what you did."
Don looked up in shock, still recovering from the pain he was letting seep into the tissues. "What?" he asked.
"You did what you wanted in high school, and put up with it. You did dating to prove you were straight. You didn't spend 12 hours a week, every week, building muscles instead of reading, or singing -- or swimming. I hated every minute of that. I wish I could have done a hundred other things, now." His voice seemed to share Don's sorrow, but he was nowhere near tears.
"Then... why do you still have it all?" he asked, looking up and down the tiger's chest -- really looking for the first time.
"Because later, I found out," he growled with a grin, "it gets me a lot of cock."
That, finally, got Don to laugh. And when Jake put his arm around him, it felt natural. More than natural. It was love.
***
The next day, Don woke up seemingly a new hyena. After more talking, and even a little uneasy kissing, they had agreed to go on a date at lunch tomorrow. Last night was a night that he supposed every girl was trying to have with him, in high school. This was the feeling they wanted: to be aglow with -- something special.
He went to math class, and it was this radiance, he was convinced, that made many more of the students -- both male and female -- look at the same striped hyena who had been in class with them for weeks, and stare for a moment. But when Dwayne asked about it on the chat program on their laptops, Don typed simply, "later."
After paying quite good attention, and feeling like he had actually learned something, Dwayne took him aside as he bought his morning tea. "What is with you today? You never called last night." He didn't sound frustrated, just a little in awe of the sudden mood that held sway over Don.
"I was just about to ask the same thing," suddenly asked a girl behind him. Don smiled his usual "be nice to the girl smile", and answered.
"I'm going on a date today," Don announced. He turned to the zebra and added, "sorry Jen, not you."
She seemed a little disappointed, in spite of her silly chuckle, but calmly got her tea after Dwayne did.
"So, who is it with then?" asked Dwayne -- a question which, all of a sudden, made Don feel stupid.
He mentally slapped himself for having lied -- out of habit, rather than malice. But, he knew that unless he wanted to make an even bigger deal out of it, it was time to discuss the taste of meat with the first sheep.
"You really want to know?" he asked, voice reflecting his sudden wave of nervousness.
"You seemed to want to tell me a minute ago," he pointed out, with raised eyebrows.
"And I still do. I'm going on a date with..." It took a moment for Don to actually get the words out of his mouth "... with Jake."
The husky's jaw dropped.
Before he could say a word, however, Don jumped on him. "I'm sorry I lied. Are you still friends with me?"
The answer: a long pause, and a look of either worry or confusion spread over his face. "Yeah, it's fine," he said.
But Don reacted more to the tone than the words. It certainly didn't sound fine.
"I'll talk to you later," he blurted in terror, and got up.
"Wait! Don!"
He kept walking.
"I need to learn this stuff!"
That was the last thing the hyena wanted to think about, and it made him only walk faster.
Telepathically, he could feel the word start spreading behind his back, just like it did in high school. He went to the library, in his usual spot, but saw that same female cheetah looking at him from across a bookshelf.
When he saw her, she smiled -- and his instinct was to prove his straightness. But instead, because he knew that option was off the table because of Don, he just got up and left -- again.
Don considered it strange how, as soon as he had decided to look at himself differently, everything changed. At first, he was sure the changes were better; now, they seemed to be worse. This was exactly the sort of thing he didn't want to deal with -- although perhaps he did not imagine quite how personal its effect would be.
He wandered around, doing nothing but getting exercise from building to building, and block to block. He was running away from this thing that he had decided -- though his feet, governed by civilization, would only let him walk.
It took him three laps around the entire set of dorms for him to realize that was what was happening to him: he really was running. He was afraid, and until he got over this fear, he would not be able to sit down and study. And there was only one way to do that: to face it.
But Don couldn't do that all at once. That was what he tried with Dwayne, and it didn't work. So, he walked into the lobby, and on a bench outside the SGSA office, sat down, and hid in his book. He peeked out from behind the book, and watched the crowd walking by.
When he looked at them, eyes hidden mostly behind his book, he could see their looks were no different that anyone else's. Just like was often the case, his uniqueness drew them in, but none of their eyes stayed long. He got the sense, in spite of doing nothing, that sitting in front of the office was an amplifier for the signal he was transmitting: I am gay.
He was still convinced that anyone could see it a mile away. He needed them to decide that it was okay -- because, as any shrink could have told him, he had yet to decide it as okay, and was projecting it onto them. And while he didn't feel comfortable with himself, he at least was able to get the math chapter read.
"Hey Don," offered a familiar voice, as he got to the last page, "would you like to come in?"
Don's heart leapt as his eyes jumped up to see Jake -- the tiger who had persuaded him to make the public change. He got up, getting more nervous by the moment, as he felt everyone could also see that this was his date-to-be.
Don followed Jake into the SGSA office, past everyone else, and found himself walking into one of the counselor's offices. Without really thinking, he closed the door behind them, as he saw that the office belonged to Jake.
"Counselor, huh?" asked Don, "Is that how you knew I wanted to talk?"
"You could say that," he answered with a gentle smile, sitting down behind the desk covered entirely with paper. "And I also know," he stated calmly, "that before I walked over to you, you were quite upset. Would you like to talk about it?"
In spite of the desk, and the distant demeanor, he knew that this could not be an arms-length thing. But because of the visage of the tiger, with whom he was so attracted specifically because Don could talk to him, this was not necessarily a bad thing.
"Well, I'm... upset," he stated with a sigh. It was the word Jake used, so Don decided he could say it.
"Why?" asked Jake in his counseling voice.
"Well... I did something incredibly stupid, and I'm mad at myself. And I don't like this being gay bit. And yet, I like you a lot. And it's all too much, I guess. And why the hell am I feeling this way?" he demanded, as tears suddenly appeared in his eyes, though they did not fall.
"Well, if you are like I was when I first got a boyfriend, then you are used to lying about it, and now you have to stop and face it."
Don nodded and swallowed hard. "That's about the size of it," he sighed, ears drooping, wishing that Jake would stop being a counselor and come around the desk to hug him.
"I'll tell you what I tell all of my students: give it time, and trust your friends. Unless they have made suspicious comments, then they won't break your friendship over this."
"But I lied to them about it," pointed out Don. "I lied to them, and that will make them --"
Jake suddenly stood up, and walked around his desk, and hugged him.
Don didn't even have time to react. His negative emotions were wiped out the moment he was touched. He forgot about his friends, and his lies, and his worries. The only thing in the universe, it seemed, was a tiger who cared about him in this way that had him so upset.
All of a sudden, it was more than worth it for him to feel this love, even if all of his friends did stop speaking to him.
Once they let go, it took all of Don's mental effort not to kiss him. The sense that this was an office, and that work was actually done here, managed to restrain him.
"I'm not saying it's easy," continued Jake, "I'm saying it will take time. Some might dislike the fact you lied, but not everyone will. I bet almost all of them are aware of how difficult it is for you, and if they get some time to think about it, they'll understand."
It made sense. Don knew that his hormones were delivering the message of agreement to him, but even with the detachment he could apply, it made sense. They would just need time. Friends could get back together, as well as break up.
"Thanks," Don sighed.
"Now, would you like to go to lunch with me?" Jake asked.
It was a hard question, but Don knew that Jake could resolve it, so Don just voiced his concerns. "I'm worried about what people will think, because I can't -- because of how I will behave. With you, I mean."
"And what's wrong with that?" asked Jake with a smirk.
"It seems... well, scary. It means everyone will know about me being gay."
"And if you don't want everyone to know about you being gay, then why did you show up last night?"
Don didn't have an answer, so he let Jake talk.
"This, really, is what takes time. Your brain, and your habits have to adjust to this new you. If this is really what you want..."
Don nodded in the pause.
"... then it's a big change. It is for everyone, if they have been hiding. Some handle it better than others, but everyone, if they really love somebody, will pull it off."
To anyone with a hidden microphone, they would recognize this speech as one Jake had given to dozens across that desk, with many different situations. But it always succeeded, both because it was new to them, and because strong and driving emotions were often why they were in a counselor's office in the first place.
Don found the words just as applicable, and heart-felt, as many others did. "Okay," he answered, and they walked out of the office.
Jake locked it, and told the secretary that he was going to lunch "with his boyfriend". The collie said that he was new, and she seemed to approve of him. Of course, Don thought, this was the SGSA office, so that was easy. It was the rest of the world that was the question.
But as they walked down the hall and out of the building, holding hands because Don wanted to, something astonishing happened to Don: Nothing. The football team gave them no more than the usual look, when they walked by the field. Everyone around them barely noticed the two of them, except occasionally to get out of the way of the bulky tiger. They were just a couple. That was it.
And it was during that walk, through several buildings without incident, that Don had realized that his question at the lecture was answered. Though it was not elaborated as such, his mistake was confusing an action driven by the heart with politics. He was not holding hands to make a statement; that is just what the bigots always insisted, and he had always gone along with.
But here, in a more liberal place, nothing happened. This was not believed to be the same kind of statement it was back home. All it meant was what Don meant it to be: a show of affection between two individuals. The fact that they were male was entirely beside the point.
"Can we, um, walk a little more?" asked Don, not quite able to elaborate on all this, "just another lap or two?"
"Sure," answered Jake, with a knowing smile, "lunch can wait."
The End.