Finley
The applause fades as the curtain lowers, and people already start moving toward the theater exits in waves. We get swept up in the crowds of people before we have a chance to talk about what we thought of the musical. We're on the second balcony, so it takes a while, but eventually, we get out of the crush of people and into the cold night air. I step out of the crowd, against the theater wall, and suck in air, ignoring how it stings against the back of my throat.
"You ok?" Harlyn asks, his hand landing on my shoulder.
"Yeah," I gasp. "Just a lot of people. Got lost for a second there."
He puts his other hand on my other shoulder, facing me fully and blocking me from the people wandering past. His eyes are worried, but he doesn't say anything else. He just stands there, rubbing his hands up and down my arms until the crowd finally thins out. He's doing what I told him to, grounding me. God, he's amazing.
His hand stays on my shoulder as we walk to the train station. He's had something on his mind all day. I thought he was finally going to tell me earlier, but then I had to ruin it by blabbing about how he doesn't take care of himself. He doesn't, but I probably shouldn't have blurted it all over him the way I did. He's been quiet since then. Attentive, of course. He seemed to genuinely enjoy the musical. But he's in his own world. Hopefully, that's a good thing and I haven't completely scared him off.
We reach the station, and while we wait to catch the next train, we talk about the musical, the parts we liked, the songs we want to listen to again. When we're seated on the train, side by side, Harlyn turns to me. He opens his mouth. Closes it. Scratches his neck.
"What?" I ask. He licks his lips, but still doesn't say anything. "You can ask me anything. Tell me anything. That's the agreement. And it still stands."
He smiles. "What is it about Victoria? That you like so much?" I squint at him. I have a feeling that's not what he was about to say. But I don't press.
"Oh, well, she's fascinating. She...redefined what it meant to be the monarch of Great Britain. I mean, after her horrible uncles, people were actually interested to see what a young woman would do as queen. And she did a lot. Especially considering how she was raised and that everyone wanted to control her; everyone thought they could control her. And that terrible Kensington System, never alone, always watched." I watch the brick wall scroll past the window. "I guess I relate to her a bit."
"How so?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. I give him a look.
"Always talking about me, aren't we?"
He smiles. "I don't mind. I want to know."
"You want me to psychoanalyze myself?"
He laughs. "Well, psychoanalyzing me didn't go so well earlier, did it?" He holds a hand up before I can say anything. "Another time. I asked you a question."
"Fine," I huff, turning fully in my seat and tucking my right leg under me so I don't get a knot in my neck. "All my life, I've done what everyone has expected of me. I was the perfect oldest son." I pause. I've never laid all of this out to anyone other than Max. But I trust Harlyn. "I always got good grades. I never stayed out late. Always told my parents who I was with and where I was. Although, it was always Max and Holly, so I don't know why they asked." He laughs. "I told them everything. Was open about everything. Well, almost everything."
"Being gay," Harlyn says. I nod. "You mentioned that they didn't take it well."
"No, they didn't. They...looked at me like I was a different person. They just kept asking if I was still going to school, if I was still going to be an English teacher. And I was like 'well, yes. Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm going to change all of my plans.' And so, I continued to do everything everyone expected of me. I worked harder at school than I ever had. I stayed at home instead of moving out with Max, and even that didn't seem to surprise them, like they always knew I wasn't ready to go out on my own. Even my anxiety attack and going to therapy? It seemed like they thought it was inevitable." I pull at a string on my coat cuff. "But then I started to go to therapy. And Eliza helped me work through a lot. And she said something that changed the way I thought about a lot. She said 'I feel like you only really do things that people expect you to do, even if you don't really want to. It's safe. It's easy.'"
"Eliza sounds like a smart lady," Harlyn says.
"She is. And I realized that she was right. Most of the choices I made were based on what people expected me to do. I was going to be an English teacher, because I love writing. But everyone knows you can't make a living as a writer, so of course you should be an English teacher. I was going to go to ISU, because my Mom went there and always talked about me going there. I was going to go back to my high school and teach English, because my dad's a teacher. I didn't even let myself think about finding a nice guy and settling down, because the thought of bringing a boy home to my parents terrified me. Jared was a safe choice, because he was transferring out of state at the end of the semester, and neither of us wanted to do long-distance. It was never going to be a permanent thing."
"Did your parents ever meet Jared?"
"Are you kidding? Absolutely not. The only way they found out we were even dating was because my sister overheard Max talking about him, and she told my parents. That was a fun day." I scoff. "Anyway, all this stuff. And I started thinking about it all. And how I didn't really want to do it. I don't want to be an English teacher. I don't want to go to ISU and stay in Illinois for the rest of my life. I don't want to teach at my high school."
"I don't blame you," Harlyn says, stretching his legs.
"And so I did something spontaneous for the first time in my life. And it wasn't even that spontaneous. I came to England." I laugh. "I planned it for a year. But -" I hold up my finger "- I didn't tell my parents."
"Scandalous," he deadpans.
"I know. And when I did tell them - once I'd already applied and been accepted and saved money and gotten scholarships - they asked the same questions they asked when I came out. 'Are you still going to be an English teacher? Are you still going to ISU?' It was like I'd told them I was running away to join the circus."
"I mean, you kind of did. Have you met Elly?" Harlyn asks.
I laugh again. "Elly is amazing. If she was in a circus, I'd run away just for her."
"She adores you," he says. "She's so excited for you and Max to go over to her dorm tomorrow to watch the Oscars so she can show you off to her hallmates."
"I'm honored," I say.
"You should be. Anyway, you were at the part where your parents are the worst."
"Ah yes." I clear my throat. "So, I told them of course not. I was still planning on all of that. Just a little adventure."
"Like a liar."
I roll my eyes. "Yes. Because everything that's changed about me in the last two years has been because I'm gay, according to them. 'You know, son, ever since you came out, you've seemed a little lost in life. Yes, ever since you told us, you have all these secrets.'"
"Sounds like you have good reason to keep secrets from them."
"Mm. Yes, well, then I came here. And I fell in love." He catches my eye. "With England. With Canterbury. The history. The people. And I started to consider...well, what if I moved here - the farthest I could get from the cornfields of Illinois - and start over?"
After a long moment, Harlyn prompts, "But?"
"But...is escape and spite and wanting to prove myself to my parents a good reason to move thousands of miles across an ocean to a country I've only lived in for a month and half?"
"Ah." He sits up. "I think that's your parents speaking."
"Well, of course it is," I agree. "But are they right? Am I in love with England? Is it England that's pulling me away? Or is it the prospect of being away?" I shake my head. "That's what keeps me from going any further and even applying. I've looked at programs. Christ Church has a really cool creative and professional writing program. But, of course, then I hear all the people saying 'You can't make money as a writer.'"
He points at me. "You can. They're wrong." He takes a deep breath. "Can I say something?"
"Of course."
"We started this conversation by talking about Queen Victoria." He laughs. "And can I remind you that she changed the way the monarchy does things because the monarchy needed to survive? A hundred and fifty years before her, they'd taken the political power of the monarch away. Before her, her uncles were not loved as kings. And that's an understatement. There was a lot of talk about abolishing the monarchy, all through her reign. But she changed things. Because changes needed to be made. For the monarchy to survive. And even thrive. And we still have a monarchy today. It's changed since Queen Victoria, but the role it plays is what she made it to be."
"What's your point?" I ask.
He licks his lips again. "She might have done some things out of spite. Against her mother. Against John Conroy. Against all the people who wanted to control her or who thought she was going to fail. But that doesn't mean that's a bad thing. If it's what you need to do." He looks down at his hands. "You're right. I'm not very good at taking care of myself. Putting myself first is really really hard.
"Last term was really rough for me. The host student we had at the time, Justin, had a thing for Elly. And Elly did not have a thing for him. And she made that known. And he didn't take it well. And it was really uncomfortable. I didn't feel like I could be at my own house, because he was upset. And I'd just gotten a new manager at work who knew that I could work all of the positions really well. So, she kept calling me in for all the shifts that she needed covered. And I couldn't say no."
"Harlyn..." I whisper. I don't know if he even hears me. He was so uncomfortable talking about himself earlier. The struggle now is right there on his face.
"It was Mum who finally told me I needed to put my foot down, put myself first. Tell Justin to chill out. Tell Bobbi I couldn't work so much. It was all too much with exams and final papers." He picks at his cuticles. "And honestly, it was the hardest thing to say no."
"I understand that."
He finally looks up at me. "I'm sure you do. Look, I'm not saying you should move to England, although I am biased." I laugh. "What I'm saying is that you should do what makes you happy. Even if people think you're crazy. Or stupid. Or only doing it out of spite. If moving here and being a writer is what's right for you, I say go for it. Even though it's scary. And telling your parents is going to be a pain. Take it from someone who also needs to do this. Put you first."
I stare at him for a long moment, probably too long. There's still more he wants to say, still more right on the tip of his tongue. But he's right. Is this what I want? What I need? Because if it is, that's all that matters. I sit back against my chair, flexing my ankle.
"I take it back. You shouldn't go to therapy. You should be a therapist."
He laughs. "I think I would probably need to go to therapy before being a therapist."
"And probably while you're a therapist. I can't imagine the things they hear."
"Oh, I can't imagine either."
He laughs softly for a while longer. And then we sit in silence as the train plows toward Canterbury. Toward home. It really does feel like home. Harlyn goes back to his own world, staring out the train window in silence for most of the ride. I want so badly to help him figure out what's going on in his head. But I don't think we're there yet. I think about telling him, as I have all day, that I like him. But I just dumped so much on him. I can't dump that, too.