Adam the Explainer

Their chatter about school and basketball had kept Charlie from thinking about what he’d come into Adam’s room that night to say. Then the conversation suddenly stopped. Adam was sprawled out on the bed, plunking his old guitar. He could never play; he just thought it was cool to have a guitar.

The worry built, like steam with no release valve, until Charlie feared his chest might explode. Lightheaded, he sank into Adam’s orange beanbag chair. It sighed and squeaked as the stuff inside conformed to his shape. At that moment, Charlie wanted it to swallow him. When they were kids, Adam the Explainer told him about the world. He taught Charlie how to get extra cookies from Mom. He told him how to deal with school and teachers. Now Charlie had something to explain to Adam that he didn’t think his older brother would ever understand. Sometimes, most of the time, Charlie didn’t understand it himself—why God had made him attracted to men, when nearly every guy he knew was dating some girl, and had pinup calendars, and shoved their elbows into his side when they saw a girl’s cleavage at school. Charlie thought girls were pretty and sweet; he liked that they smelled nice and he had a few friends who were girls. Not because they were girls but because they liked each other.

Charlie shifted in the squishy beanbag. Adam kept plucking the strings, and each one vibrated through his head like torture. Finally Charlie pushed through his fear and just said it. “How do you know if you’re gay?”

Adam smirked at Charlie, who expected some kind of homophobic insult. Their father was like that. Always calling guys he didn’t like fags or pussies. Then Adam’s face softened and he looked at Charlie like an adult would look at another adult, not a child. “Do you think you’re gay?” he said.

“Sometimes.” All the time.

“Ever fool around with a girl?” Adam asked.

Charlie shrugged. He’d kissed a few girls, but they’d kissed him first.

“That guy at dinner?” Adam said. “The guy on your team?”

Charlie sighed and felt like he was letting out all the breath in his body, every breath he’d taken in his entire seventeen years on the planet. “Kinda sorta,” he said.

Adam nodded. “Ma know?”

Charlie shook his head. “I’m so not ready for that discussion.”

“His folks know?”

He shook his head again. And his brother went back to messing with the guitar. Adam wasn’t flying the rainbow flag, but he wasn’t making fun of Charlie, either, and in that moment, Charlie loved him so much. He was Adam the Explainer again, the Protector.

“I had a feeling,” Adam said.

Charlie felt blood rushing into his face, not from anger or shame but from relief. “Well, you could have told me.”