And yet, I’m loving it. The chaos, the energy. Maybe I’m the kind of drama queen that thrives on the chaos. Or maybe it’s that Hudson is here, and every time I start to feel stressed, it’s like he senses it, and he’s suddenly next to me, his hand resting on my hip, telling me he doesn’t quite get everything, but it seems pretty cool, or being amazed at how different colored lights change the tone of the set. Everything is new to him, and all he wants to do is be there for me. I’m really lucky.
And we talk, between scenes, during dinner. Really talk, with me as Randy, and he wants to know everything: about my love of musical theater (all-encompassing), why I don’t wear eyeliner (I poke myself in the eye), the first time I wore nail polish (at camp, first week, after asking George if he’d do my nails; outside camp, at thirteen, I stole my mom’s and when she caught me she laughed and said it was kind of weird to see a boy with painted nails, “But if it makes you happy …”). We talk about Randy things, and he listens and loves everything I tell him.
I tell him about our first week, the night we talked. He doesn’t remember, but he says that he remembers that night, because it was the first week he’d slept soundly. And now he knows it was because of me.
Ashleigh gives me the photos from the underwater camera. All the underwater ones are blurry, but there’s one of him kissing me on the cheek above water that I tape to the post of my bed, so I can look at it as I go to sleep.
He even starts helping out with the makeup for the actors in the show. It must be muscle memory or something, because he can apply one of the best cat’s eyes I’ve seen, and fast, too. And he’s made a few changes to the stage makeup that have everyone looking fantastic. I wonder if his grandma looked like everyone onstage at some point. If he’ll see her when he watches the show, peeking out.
He even stole one of the blue eyeliner pencils and has started wearing it when he’s around camp. Just a little cat’s eye. Nothing too dramatic. But it makes me happy to know not only did he find his place in the theater, but it was like he was always meant to be there. Just like maybe I was always meant to direct (but not NOT act, of course. Direct in addition to acting).
I feel bad I don’t have much time with him, though, and I feel especially bad that now that we’re sleeping in cabins again, we can’t get any alone time. On Thursday, he convinces me to sneak away after lunch to hike to our spot overlooking the camp, where we strip and don’t spend any time at all admiring the view before rinsing ourselves off with water bottles and rushing back down to the drama cabin, where Mark rolls his eyes at us as we walk in late.
“I can’t wait to introduce you to my parents,” Hudson says to me over dinner, holding my hand. “I want to show them how happy you make me.”
I smile so hard it hurts at that. “And you’ll get to meet mine,” I say.
I’m worried about Hudson’s parents, though. I’m worried about what he said about how they might react to Brad’s painted nails—by not letting Hudson come back next summer. I look down at our hands—still painted purple, but chipping. I love those nails, and his hands, holding them and seeing our matching nail polish. I love the feel of his hand woven into mine. But I also don’t want that hand to get hurt.
After dinner, we go back to the theater to run a few more scenes. I sit next to Mark in the audience while Hudson is backstage helping put on people’s makeup.
“Can I ask you something?” I say to Mark between scenes.
“It’s really not the best time, Randy,” Mark says. “But make it quick.”
“Hudson’s parents … they don’t like him acting femme. Should I tell him to take off his nail polish before they get here? Should I take off mine?”
Mark snorts. “You should be yourself. And he should be himself. You’ve helped that boy come out of his shell, and he is clearly happier for it, and I’m very happy for you, but I don’t know his family situation. My advice is to always be yourself, and not apologize for it.”
I lean back in my chair. Right. That’s true. That’s good.
“Thanks,” I say. He pats my leg, watching the stage.
“Still, you should talk to Connie. She knows his parents.”
“Oh,” I say, frowning that this isn’t easy and decided. “All right. Can I go find her now?”
“Sure, sure, just … No, come on, the set needs to change faster than that, people! You did it twice as fast three hours ago. WHAT IS HAPPENING?”
I smile. Mark is too busy to give me much advice right now. But I get up and walk out of the cabin. The rest of the camp tonight is playing flashlight freeze tag, running around in the dark trying to catch each other in beams of light. Connie is one of the refs, so I find her standing to the side of the soccer field.
“Where’s your flashlight, Randy? Or are you in the theater tonight? I hear the show is going to be good this year.”
“It is.” I nod, smiling. “But I wanted to talk to you about something.”
“Sure,” she says, turning away from the field and looking at me. “Everything okay?”
“I’m worried about Hudson.”
“Why?”
“It’s his parents. You’ve met them, right?”
Connie nods. “Yes. I’ve spoken to them at the end of the summer before. And I know a little about Hudson’s home life from what he’s told me.”
“So you know Hudson and I are together, right?”
Connie laughs. “The whole camp knows, Randy.”
I blush, happy the dark is hiding it. “Okay, but you’ve seen he’s wearing nail polish and he’s working at the theater.”
“Yes. Young love can change a person. It’s actually very sweet, I think.”
“Will his parents think so, too, though?”
Connie sighs. “I was going to talk to him on Saturday,” she says quietly. She sits down cross-legged on the grass and I sit down next to her. “I wanted to give him some more time being … here, you know? That’s why we made this place. A place away from the world. You ever watch The West Wing? No, you’re too young. Far from the things of man. That’s what this place is. Except man meaning ‘straight people.’ It’s a safe place. A place for you all to be yourselves and have a childhood that you don’t get anywhere else.” She takes a deep breath and exhales slowly. “But it’s got an expiration date.”
“Okay …”
“He needs to take the nail polish off,” she says. “And if he’s going to introduce you to his parents as his boyfriend, you need to take yours off, too. You need to be Del again.”
“But isn’t it better to just be yourself, and be proud?” I ask.
“Here? Yes. Absolutely. Out there? You have to keep yourself safe first. You’re still just kids. Hudson needs his parents to feed him, clothe him, not kick him out or beat him or berate him or send him to a conversion camp. He needs them to let him come back here next summer. And that means he has to stay … what they want him to be.”
“But they’re his parents. They send him here.”
“They don’t like sending him here. I’m always happy when I see his name come in as a camper. I don’t know how he convinces them, but they don’t like this place.” I know what it is. His grandma, guilting them from beyond the grave. “You’ll see, on Sunday. Watch their eyes, like they’re in enemy territory. We’re not the same as them. We’re not them. Maybe not even people. Hudson is, because he’s their son, and because even with this one thing, he hasn’t pushed himself too far outside their idea of what he should be: male, masculine … whatever nonsense words people put on behavior sets they approve of.” She leans back against a tree, and her hands absently start pulling blades of grass. “I didn’t come out until I was twenty-seven. You know that? I injured my leg, I knew my career was done, and it was a relief to me. Because now I could do it, now I could come out. Except I’d come out to my coach before that. Years before. Nineteen. He’d walked in on me one day in a hotel room, and I was wearing this skirt I’d seen and had to have. It was beautiful. Blue silk, dip dyed so it was lighter at the waist, flowed like a dream. He tore it off me. Ripped it to shreds. I tried to explain how I felt, how I’d always felt. But he told me that I couldn’t be that. He said if I wanted to put on women’s clothes in private, that was fine. But I couldn’t do it in public. I couldn’t be a woman, tell people I was a woman, do what felt right to me: longer hair, longer nails …. I had to show some restraint. Like an adult, he said. Everything else was … he called it ‘bedroom stuff,’ which I didn’t understand at first, but then I realized he thought it was a sex thing.” She pauses. “I should not be telling that to a camper.”