Joey asks a few more questions about Timothy, but my answers—or lack thereof—tell him I’m not interested in the subject and eventually he drops it. My sexuality has never been an issue to him. He’s so accepting of everything about me—how can I not love him for that, if nothing else? No matter what I say or do, how much I bully him, how mean I am, he’s always right there, by my side. Damn him.
I never had to tell Joey I was gay—he found out himself the summer I turned sixteen. I had a learner’s driving permit burning a hole in my back pocket and on those days when my dad didn’t have to work, he would let me drive short distances in his battered Ford ltd, thirteen-year old Joey buckled into the passenger seat and our father stretched out in the back for a nap. At first we stuck to the islan
