The Year They Burned the Books

At lunch Monday, Brandon, Al, and Sam whistled as Terry and Ernie walked into the cafeteria; Tessa, Jamie, and the others were already at their table. “Ooooh,” Brandon called in falsetto, “aren’t they sweet?”

“The lovebirds,” Al called. Sam cooed, and several people laughed loudly and whistled.

Suddenly Tessa shoved her chair back and leaped to her feet. “Some people,” she shouted, “are so dumb they have no idea what’s funny and what isn’t. I didn’t know we had so many Neanderthals in this school.”

“Hey, Jamie,” Brandon called, “can’t you control your girlfriend?”

Tessa pushed her chair into the table so hard she toppled it.

Jamie put her hand on Tessa’s arm. “Tess, leave it,” she said, glancing toward the teacher-monitor’s table; it was empty, and she remembered seeing one of the secretaries beckoning the teacher-monitor out a few minutes earlier. “It’s better to ignore them. Except,” she added, “we’d better get one thing cleared up. Sorry to disappoint you, Brandon,” she called, “but I don’t have a girlfriend.”

“Can’t even make it as a dyke, huh, butch?” Brandon called back. “Maybe you need lessons from a real man.”

“That sure wouldn’t be you, Brandon!” Tessa shouted.

“Enough,” Jack said quietly. “You’d better let it go. Don’t get him any madder. Truce, man,” he called to Brandon. “Why waste everyone’s time? Who cares, you know?”

But Brandon pushed his chair back and sauntered toward them, toward Jamie, right up to her, put his hand out, open, ran it over her cheek …

Jack stood up, but it was Terry who grabbed Brandon’s shoulder. “That’s enough, Brandon.” Terry stepped between him and Jamie. “That’s enough.”

Brandon whirled, his fists clenched. “I love it! I really love it. The fag comes to help the dyke. Geeze, Gage, I don’t think I better hit you. I mean, that’d be like hitting a girl, and …”

Terry’s fist shot out and caught Brandon on the chin, sending him to the floor.

Instantly the other boys at Brandon’s table rushed in, grabbing Terry and bending him facedown over the back of a chair.

“Let him go!” Ernie shouted, running toward Brandon. But Sam Mills pushed Ernie into a chair and held him there.

Tessa stepped quickly between Jamie and the boys. “Get out of here,” she said to Jamie, her voice low and urgent. “Get out of here and find a teacher, any teacher. This is going to turn really nasty.”

But Jamie couldn’t move.

“Look at that pretty fag butt!” One of Brandon’s friends pointed to Terry’s rear end as Brandon slowly got up from the floor. “Isn’t that cute?”

“Cute as heck,” said another boy. “I think we need to fix it up some, though, don’t you?”

Out of the corner of her eye Jamie saw everyone in the cafeteria watching, saw someone from the kitchen staff emerge, saw Tessa run out of the room—as Brandon, rubbing his chin, said, “Yeah. We need to fix both fag butts.” He grabbed Terry under one arm; Al Checkers grabbed him under the other. Sam and another boy yanked Ernie to his feet.

“Brandon, no!” Vicky shouted—but Jamie’s voice was louder. “Let them go!” she yelled, elbowing her way past Jack and Clark, who were heading toward the boys. “Let them go!” She saw as she moved that Nomi and Cindy were motionless, their faces frozen in horror.

“Oh, mercy,” said Brandon in a squeaky-high voice. “It’s the dyke editor.” He dropped his voice. “You might as well come along, too. See what real men can do.” With his free hand, he grabbed Jamie’s arm, wrenching it painfully behind her back, and pictures of the wrestling matches he’d won for Wilson High flashed into her mind as she heard herself cry out in pain …

“Hang on there, Tomkins!”

The door to the hall burst open, and two teachers, followed by Mr. Bartholomew, ran in.

“What do you think you’re doing, Tomkins, Mills, Checkers, the rest of you?” Mr. Bartholomew boomed at the boys. “Let go of those three instantly!”

“We were just kidding.” Brandon pushed Jamie roughly away.

“Some joke.” Terry, released, rubbed his shoulder and looked anxiously toward Ernie, as he, too, was let go.

“There’s no way they were kidding, Mr. Bartholomew,” Jamie gasped. “No way.” She was glad to hear an assenting murmur from most of the other students.

“In my office,” Mr. Bartholomew ordered, grabbing Brandon’s arm. “All of you. Now. You, too,” he said to Tessa, who, Jamie now saw, was standing by the door. She must have gotten him, Jamie thought gratefully.

When they reached the office, Mr. Bartholomew pushed Brandon and his cohorts inside and barked, “Find someplace to sit. I’ll deal with you in a minute.” He slammed the door shut and turned to Terry, Tessa, Jamie, and Ernie. “First of all, anyone hurt?”

“A little sore,” said Terry, “but no, not really.”

“Jamie?”

“No, I—I’m okay.”

“Ernie?”

“Me, too.” Ernie’s face was very white. Jamie could see that he was shaking and trying hard to control it. Then she realized she was shaking, too.

“I want you to know that I will not tolerate this kind of behavior in this school. I intend to suspend the ringleaders at least till after Thanksgiving, and I intend to notify their parents. If there’s anything you want to say to them or their parents, let me know. The four of you can have the rest of the day off if you want.”

“There’s the paper,” Jamie said, cradling her throbbing arm. “We’ve got to work on the next issue.”

“If you wish. But you don’t have to go to classes.”

“Yes, we do,” Tessa said with a quick glance at the others. “Excuse me, but we do. If we don’t, kids’ll think they got to us. And that’s the last thing we need.”

Mr. Bartholomew sighed. “You’re probably right, Tessa. I just want you to know,” he told them, “that I think you are very, very brave. I respect all of you more than I can say. But I think you’d better be careful around here from now on.”

Tessa muttered something under her breath.

“What?” asked Mr. Bartholomew.

“I said ‘Silence Is Death.’ I don’t think we can be quiet. I know Jamie can’t be. We can’t let them win, Mr. Bartholomew.”

“No,” said Jamie, “we can’t,” and Terry nodded.

“I don’t want to silence you,” Mr. Bartholomew told them. “But I also don’t want this school to be torn apart. If Tessa hadn’t come for me, I really think there could have been a riot. Let’s all think about a possible solution, okay? Meanwhile, do what you have to do.”

Terry looked at his watch. “What we have to do,” he said, “is go to class. We’re already late.”

Jack and Cindy were waiting around the corner in the hall, and they walked Jamie and Terry to math class after walking Ernie to English and Tessa to biology. The other students stared, but for the first time all week, no one said anything. Jamie’s head ached and she found it hard to concentrate; her arm and shoulder ached, too, from where Brandon had twisted them. Her mind felt numb, and every once in a while tears rose in her eyes, though no conscious thought had precipitated them. After math, Nomi, still looking shaken, gave Jamie a tentative smile and whispered, “Are you okay?”

“Yes, thanks,” Jamie answered stiffly, but before she could say anything else, Nomi was gone.

At the end of the day, Jamie, carrying her books and her jacket, found Terry standing outside the newspaper office.

“Jamie.”

Something in his voice stopped her from fishing the office key out of her pocket.

“Have you seen Ernie?” he asked tensely. “I can’t find him anywhere.”

“He doesn’t have swim practice?”

“He does have swim practice. But he didn’t go. And he can’t be doing laps, because the team’s using the pool.”

“Maybe he went home after his English class?” Jamie suggested, but Terry’s face made her doubt her own words even as she tried to justify them. “I mean, I don’t think I’d go to swim practice either, after today. The team’s not exactly what you’d call gay friendly, right? If it wasn’t for the newspaper … What?”

Terry was shaking his head; his voice was tight, barely under control. “He wouldn’t go home. His parents are too awful. Jamie, I know this has happened before and it’s been okay, but would you help me look for him? Please? I’m really, really worried …” Terry’s voice broke.

Quickly Jamie put her hand on his shoulder. “Okay. We’ll go find him.” She shrugged awkwardly into her jacket. “Where do you want to look?”

“The beach, I guess. Harbor, too, maybe. And the lake. I think he’d want to be … You know. Near water.”

“Okay.” Jamie followed him to his car, trying to ignore the implications of what he’d said, trying to push away the feeling that “near” probably wasn’t the word he’d really meant.

They drove in silence to Sloan’s Beach. It was a gray day again, and chilly; the sky and the sea were almost the same pale whitish-blue. The tide was high, with water lapping against the shore.

And standing on a rock at the edge of the sea was a small, forlorn figure, silhouetted against the sky. Next to him was a dark object—soft, draped—some kind of garment, maybe, Jamie thought as Terry sobbed, “Oh, thank God!” and they both hurried out of the car and down onto the beach.

Ernie turned to face them when they were almost there, and Jamie saw that the dark object was really a discarded jacket and sweater. Ernie was wearing just his shirt and pants; his shoes, socks tucked inside them, were neatly beside the jacket and sweater, and the bottoms of his pants legs were wet nearly to his knees.

“It’s okay,” he said, smiling benignly when they stopped, unsure how to approach him, what to say. “It’s okay now. I’m sorry. But …”

With a choking sound, Terry ran to him, threw his arms around him, held him there on the rock with the gulls wheeling around and the sharp November wind blowing cold and strong, mingling his dark hair with Ernie’s—blond and black strands intertwined, Jamie thought absently, picking up the jacket and sweater, shaking them out, brushing them off.

“Here.” Terry took the sweater Jamie held out to him and slipped it over Ernie’s head. “You must be cold; here. Jacket, too.” He helped him into it, dressing him as if he were a very little boy. “Come on, we’ll turn the heater on in the car, get you home. Sit down a minute; let’s get something on your feet.”

Obediently, Ernie sat, and Terry rolled his socks onto his feet tenderly—long white feet, they were, Jamie saw, with slender toes, neatly trimmed nails …

“Your feet are so cold!” Terry chafed them before putting Ernie’s shoes on.

“I couldn’t do it.” Ernie’s voice was dreamlike, but—proud, that’s it, Jamie thought; he’s proud. “I was sure I would. It was—so awful, what happened today. So horrible.” He shivered, but hardly seemed to notice. Terry helped him stand, put his arm around his waist, and led him off the rock; Jamie, her arm around him, too, walked on his other side, both of them trying to warm him as they led him back to the car.

He went on talking, words pouring out of him now. “Like I told you, I tried with Vicky, even though I really knew I loved you, Terry.” He took Terry’s hand; Jamie could see tears glistening on his lashes. “But after I broke up with her, I wasn’t sure I was brave enough to be gay. I was afraid I wouldn’t have the guts, you know, with my parents and all. It felt so good, so right, to be back with you, Terry, so good not to be lying or hiding, and good that you, Jamie, were our friend; I knew we weren’t really alone and I kept telling myself, Okay, I can do it; I have to do it. Then there were the things with the lockers, and today—it wasn’t just me who was the target, and I kept thinking maybe it was my fault you guys were—were targets, too. If I’d stuck it out with Vicky …”

“If you’d stuck it out with Vicky,” Terry interrupted, “like you said, you’d have been living a lie and making us both miserable. Vicky, too, eventually. And like I know I told you, Brandon’s an old enemy of Jamie’s and mine.”

“I wanted to come back to you a couple of weeks ago, Terry,” Ernie went on. “And I know I want to—to stay with you. But after today in the lunchroom … I was so scared, Terry, so scared!”

“Me, too.” Terry hugged him.

“So was I,” Jamie said. “Terrified. We’d have been stupid not to have been scared. I don’t think that’s cowardly. Just sensible.”

Ernie smiled wanly and shivered again; they were nearly back at the car. “Today after they almost beat us up, I kept thinking again of what everyone’s been saying, and what the Bible says and my parents, and I just didn’t see that there was much future in anything. It was like I couldn’t be straight or gay either, you know?”

Jamie opened the passenger door. “Let’s all sit in front. Ernie, you sit between us. Here, Terry, I’ll drive.” She got in the driver’s side and switched on the ignition and the heater. “Where to, Ernie?”

“My house,” Terry said quickly. “I’ll lend you some clothes. It’ll be okay,” he added when Ernie looked alarmed. “Mom likes you, remember? So does my dad. They were glad when I told them we were together again. I think they’ll be okay even if we tell them, you know, why your clothes are wet. But we can say whatever you want to say. I don’t think they’ll pry.” Terry took Ernie’s hand. “Come on, Ernie. How about it?”

Ernie hesitated, and for a minute Jamie was afraid he was going to refuse. She was about to offer to take him to her house, at least to dry off, when Ernie finally spoke.

“Okay,” he said gratefully, and Jamie, relieved, backed the car out and turned it around. “Thanks. I don’t think my folks would buy any explanation I could think of.”

“We’ll buy it, though,” said Terry. “The true one, anyway. If you want to tell us the rest of it.”

As she headed out of the lot and felt the heat come up, Jamie saw Ernie grip Terry’s hand harder. “I took off my jacket and sweater,” Ernie said without expression. “And I took off my shoes and socks, and then I thought, no, I want to be weighed down, so I picked up some stones and put them in my pockets.” He let go of Terry and dug in his pockets, laying stones on the dashboard shelf. “And then I waded into the water. I didn’t even feel it was cold, or that the bottom was stony and rough. And I was—I was just walking, you know, straight out, and thinking, I’m a swimmer, I have to remember not to swim, when this seagull swooped down and grabbed a fish, and I could see the fish struggling and flapping around in the gull’s claws. And then the gull dropped it, or it wrenched itself free, and it fell back into the water and swam away. It looked so joyful and so—so free. It was able to be itself again, you know? And it was free to do what it was supposed to do. I thought of the joy I’ve felt with you, Terry, and then I thought, okay, God made the fish and He made me, too, and maybe what people are supposed to do is find out who they really are, and maybe it isn’t evil and wrong as long as no one harms anyone, and … Well, anyway, I turned around and went back to the rock, and I felt—wonderful. Clean. Free and stronger. Not strong, but stronger.

“I’m not as strong as you two,” he said as Jamie turned onto Terry’s street and pulled up outside his house. “But I’m stronger than I was. Much stronger.”