Chapter Text
Books were the only thing Jonathan hugged in his life. They were the something that replaced someone being against his chest.
As he walked through the halls of the school, he carried the books in his arms close to his chest. He was aware that he looked like a damn bookworm loser. At the same time, however, it gave him a sense of security. For he sensed that at any moment, some student might walk up beside him, pull out a knife, and bury it straight into his chest. It didn't matter if Jonathan knew them or not. Anyone had the potential to hurt him. The books were a shield from all harm.
His bad feelings came true when he put one of his books away in his locker.
Sherry Squires greeted him.
“Hey, Jonathan!” Sherry called out, breaking away from her group of friends to walk through all the other students and reach him. “Jonathan, I'm talking to you,” she said as she reached his locker.
“Why?” he questioned without looking at her, changing his History books for Chemistry.
It wasn't the first time Jonathan had made a girl laugh. He was good at it. It was enough to walk by them and stumble over a foot before him. In fact, it wasn't even necessary to fall. Just by walking past them, he could hear their giggles and whispers.
Amused, Sherry rolled her eyes and blew out her bangs to fix her red hair, which was out of place. She looked Crane up and down; he was wearing a long-sleeved brown shirt and gray jeans.
“You aren't very good with girls, are you?”
“You haven't answered my question.”
“And you haven't even said hello back.”
Jonathan closed his locker and sighed. He regretted even continuing the conversation. What did she want? The final exams were over, and it was too late to ask him for help.
“Hello, Sherry,” he greeted, sounding as artificial as a robot. “What do you want?”
Sherry swayed on the small heel of her high boots and bit her lip innocently.
“I wanted to ask if you'd like to go to the prom with me.”
The look on Jonathan's face couldn't have screamed his answer to that more. He had one eyebrow raised, brow furrowed, and lips in a grimace. Sherry would be offended if a boy looked at her like that, but she could forgive Jonathan since it was, well, him, full of tiny pimples all over his face and under his chin. It was understandable that he was surprised.
“Didn't you have a boyfriend?”
Sherry sighed in frustration and shook her head, looking away.
“Bo and I broke up two weeks ago. Didn't you know?”
“I did hear. But I thought you'd be back together in a week like you always do.”
“No. I told him we're done forever. He's an idiot.”
“...He is,” Jonathan muttered, looking down. He confirmed that personally. Bo Griggs, Sherry's ex-boyfriend, was Jonathan's number one abuser. He was much bigger and stronger than he was, so once Crane encountered him around school, there was no escape.
Would he have laid a hand on Sherry, too?
She leaned her head against the lockers, looked Jonathan straight in the eye, then ran her delicate hand down his slender arm and asked, “What do you say, shall we get even with him?”
The physical contact made Jonathan tense rather than comforted him, and he roughly pulled her hand away. Sherry looked at him in surprise. Jonathan looked around, hoping no one had seen them.
“What the hell is wrong with you?”
“You should keep your distance from me,” Jonathan said quietly, head down. It was not a warning but a piece of advice. The weirdo labels infected anyone who approached Jonathan.
Sherry didn't take it that way, however.
“Then the rumors are true.”
Jonathan looked up, confused.
“Hell, you really are a fag,” Sherry said, not with disgust but teasingly.
“Stop,” Jonathan whispered, glancing sideways. He wanted to bury himself ten feet under, though ironically, that was the same thing his classmates wanted to do to him.
Jonathan never understood why people called him that. He didn't talk to girls, it was clear, but much less did he talk to boys; almost all of them beat him up. Why would he be attracted to one of them? It was just the opposite. He hated them.
The first time he heard the term 'faggot' was from his great-grandmother when he was less than ten years old. She was talking to Father Bennett outside the church, and she mentioned something about an epidemic and that God was finally teaching those faggots what was right. Jonathan had no idea what she was referring to. But if God was punishing them, then it was a bad thing. Oh, and it became so much worse when someone labeled him as one. Who would have more rage against Jonathan, God or a disappointed woman?
“Then come to the prom with me,” Sherry said, shrugging her shoulders. “Otherwise, I don't see why you wouldn't want to.”
“I'm not a… I'm not a fag for not wanting to go to the prom with you,” Jonathan argued, irritated.
“No. You're a faggot for blowing Xavier.”
“I didn't!” Jonathan stopped when he remembered they were in public with other students walking by. “I didn't do it,” he whispered.
“It's not what the others are sayin'. You two under the bleachers? Are you gonna tell me you just happened to meet there?”
“We met there to study for finals,” Jonathan said, not looking Sherry in the eye and hugging his Chemistry book tighter. “He asked me for help in Chemistry, and I had some doubts in Spanish that he cleared up for me. That was all. Nothing else happened. What the others say is not true.”
The rumors could not be more false.
Xavier Reyes was Jonathan's classmate. They had several classes together, but both always sat at opposite ends. Xavier also attended the same Catholic church as him every Sunday. However, they never exchanged words until finals season when Xavier approached him at the end of a class, and they were the last ones to leave the classroom. Xavier told Jonathan that his mom would kill him if he failed a course. Jonathan was struggling with a Spanish topic, so they made a deal to study together and agreed to meet under the bleachers on the field. The closest they got to each other was when Xavier offered him a cigarette on the sly and mentioned that he had stolen his uncle's pack, and Jonathan accepted. That day, Jonathan went straight to his room and lit an incense so his great-grandmother wouldn't notice the smell of tobacco.
Some classmates also picked on Xavier for different reasons than Crane: his family was Mexican, and when someone was born outside of Arlen, or worse, the country, they were seen as a threat. But unlike Jonathan, Xavier was strong and knew how to fight. He was a wrestling fan and replicated what he saw on TV in real life. The teachers didn't like a Latino teenager beating the blond white guys from the soccer team, so he constantly went to the director's office. The same teachers would hit his hands with a ruler when they heard him speak Spanish in a non-Spanish class.
How pathetic Jonathan was to think for a second that the others would fear him for hanging out with the strong and rebellious guy just once.
“Fine-- fine. Calm down,” Sherry vocalized in a sour tone as if calming a nervous dog that barked incessantly. “You can shut everyone's mouth when they see you at prom with me.”
“Sherry, cut it out,” Jonathan stopped her abrasively, then exhaled and shook his head. “You didn't even invite me to your Halloween party. Why would you want me to go with you now? And on something as important as prom.”
There was no "all" without some. But when it came to Crane, he didn't count. Sherry invited everyone to her Halloween party, and everyone attended. They didn't stop talking about how great it was until after a month. Jonathan wasn't even sure if he would have gone if Sherry had invited him, but he wasn't given a choice. Halloween was the night he felt like he was a part of something, and they proved him wrong then.
Now she insisted he accept an invitation? She and everyone else could go to hell.
“Okay. I'll tell you the truth.”
With nothing more to say, Sherry confessed.
“It was my mom's idea. She said she wouldn't buy me the car I wanted if I didn't ask you to go to the prom.”
That gave Crane more questions than answers.
“Y-Your mom? Why does your mom want to see you with me?”
Sherry sighed and leaned her back against the lockers.
“The other time, she picked me up from school and saw you walking home alone. Then she started telling me about how she and your mom were best friends in high school and--”
Jonathan's eyes expanded like a twinkling star, and he raised his head slightly.
“Your mom... knew mine?” he interrupted.
Sherry paused and turned to look at him. Jonathan's voice had a tone of hope. She immediately understood it as if she were inside his mind or, worse, his home. While religious paintings replaced the empty pictures in Crane's house, Sherry came from a home with both parents in the family vacation picture at the beach.
Everyone who knew Jonathan knew that his great-grandmother raised him alone. His mother and father ran off in opposite directions, but they were connected for the same reason: him. The worst thing about not having parents was that he still had something to prove to them. Even if it was a "you missed my great life," it was directed at them. However, Jonathan's mere existence was always about proving; proving to his great-grandmother that he was strong, proving to his peers that he wasn't a homo, proving to God that he was worthy of His realm, and proving to himself that he wasn't a prove alone.
“She said your mom was the prettiest girl in town,” Sherry replied serenely. “She showed me a picture of them together, and I don't doubt that every guy was interested in her.”
Jonathan smiled without showing his teeth and eyes wide open, unconsciously hugging his books tighter. Mary removed all the pictures of Jonathan's mother after she put the family to shame by joining the man who was Jonathan's father. Jonathan always wondered which features of his body belonged to her or him. To have something of theirs was to have a love memory of something they adored so much about each other that, in conceiving, it was embodied in him— a decaying love memory.
“Mom told me how she used to guard your mom and dad from the witch of your great-grandmother when they were sweethearts. They'd go into the cornfield and meet at the scarecrow to make out on the sly… Mom said that damn scarecrow gave her nightmares for two weeks,” Sherry said, then laughed in derision. “What a stupid thing.”
“No, no. I get it. That scarecrow gives me the shivers, too... I-I-I had a nightmare once where I was in the cornfield, and then a bunch of hands grabbed me from behind and pulled me to that scarecrow. I ended up with cuts all over my body from the sharpness of the corn leaves. It felt so real that when I woke up, my body burned with pain. And--”
Jonathan had to stop when he saw Sherry's confused and uncomfortable expression as if a bug was trying to communicate with her; she could only see it as tiny and disgusting before smashing it with a newspaper. He looked down in embarrassment and apologized for his rhetoric, which no one had asked for. Sherry ignored his stupid and pitiful apologies.
“My mom said she and yours always dreamed of their children being close friends like them… that's why she told me to ask you to prom… for your mom, ” Sherry said delicately, and Jonathan thought that tone of voice was just how the other people must have pronounced his mother's name, so sweet and soft.
His mother dreamed of him, and unfortunately, her dream came true before realizing it should have been just that— a dream.
Before Jonathan could respond, the bell for the next class rang, startling him.
“I-I'll think about it. I'm already late, excuse me.”
───
All Jonathan's thoughts vanished as a bird slammed into the window right next to where he sat in the chemistry lab.
Jonathan gasped at the sound of the death blow that was whispered so close to his ear. Some of his classmates turned to look at him, and before he could explain himself, they returned their gazes to the board or their notebooks. He turned to the window again, seeing the bloodstain that remained. His chest rose and fell hard.
After class was over, it was lunch break. Instead of going to the cafeteria, Jonathan went outside to look at the fallen bird.
It was a goddamn crow.
“That's not gonna help your reputation, scarecrow .”
The name-calling flipped a switch in Crane. He didn't hear a click or see a flash, but he felt that same feeling of being captured in a photo— locked in a memory box that would cause him to be remembered as a scarecrow all his life.
He turned and found Xavier watching him intently.
“Xavier, I thought you were-- forget it,” he spoke agitatedly, then took a breath. “Er, I heard the professor congratulating you on your final exam,” he nervously said as he saw Xavier approaching him.
“Yeah. Do you know what I heard?”
Jonathan raised an eyebrow, not understanding.
“Wh-- Don't tell me they accused you of cheating just because you did well. That's not--”
“Don't be a fucking imbecile,” Xavier raised his voice. “You know what I mean.”
“N-No. I don't--”
Xavier pressed his chest against his, pushing him away.
“Everybody's saying you sucked my dick.”
“C-come on, Xavier. You and I both know that didn't happen,” Jonathan stammered, ashamed, walking backward slowly.
Before Jonathan could take another step, Xavier grabbed him by his hair and shook his head to pull him closer to him. He muttered in a deep voice, “No. No, it didn't. But that's what you wanted to happen, isn't it, you fucking faggot? Fuck, I suspected it from the way you were looking at me.”
Jonathan gave a pained pant, his lips quivering.
The only special thing about how Jonathan saw Xavier before was that he wasn't afraid of him. Now, he was looking at him, scared.
“N-n-no. No. It's not like that. I'm not what the others say.”
“What? A fag? Or a scarecrow?” Xavier questioned, then snorted and turned to look at the dead crow on the ground.
Xavier turned to Jonathan and leaned closer to his face to whisper, “I bet you're both.”
Jonathan felt Xavier's hot breath on his cheek as he said that. He'd rather have a silent smack in the same area that left a bruise than those words getting under his skin with the stinking smell of his breath.
“Please... I-I-I'm sorry that others are saying things about you, too. I'm really sorry.”
“Do you want to fix things up with me?” he said, then let Jonathan go and pushed him hard. “Go on. Grab that crow.”
If there was anything more dangerous than being labeled queer in a Southern town, it was a teenager willing to do whatever it took to rip that label off their person and stick it on someone else.
Jonathan looked at the crow's corpse, Xavier, and back at the crow. He bent down and cradled its hard body. Crane thought about how being alive put him in no better position than the dead animal. He was alive but more rotten than the bird's carcass.
For some reason, an insatiable hunger came over Jonathan. It made him want to put the crow in his mouth and tear its head off with his teeth so Xavier could never get the taste out of his mouth even though he hadn't tasted it. Maybe it was because Jonathan couldn't bear the weight of a dead life in his hands or because he skipped lunch.
Instead, he ignored the intrusive thought and hugged the crow. He let Xavier grab him by the shirt and pull him out to the schoolyard where everyone was. He let Xavier put on a show for the others where he would beat him up and repeat several times that he wasn't a fag like him. He let his classmates surround them and listen to his whimpers and groans of pain.
He should apologize to his body for letting all the times someone touched it have been loveless.
As Xavier's fist knocked him to the ground, throwing off his glasses and the crow, Jonathan remembered how in church they told him the story of a sheep lost in the woods that survived from the wolves because of its big fluffy fur; the predators' fangs couldn't get through the wool because of how much it was. That story taught a great lesson about how a person didn't need to become tougher to face the world's cruelty but kinder and softer.
Jonathan was soft, not like a sheep with a lot of wool, but like a scarecrow. He absorbed blows without defending himself. He would just stand there and let the crows gouge his eyes out. The others would pull his limbs until they broke, and nothing but straw would come out of him. Then they would sew him back together with needle and thread, and the cycle would repeat until the thread ran out.
The last blow was to Jonathan's eye. Xavier yelled something about being a queer scarecrow at him again and retreated to wash the blood from his knuckles. The others mumbled a couple of things, laughing about Crane being a scarecrow over the bird carcass, and left for class at the sound of the bell. Then Sherry appeared, watching him from above like he saw the dead crow.
“He showed the others that he wasn't a fag by beatin' you. How are you gonna show them?” Sherry said offhandedly before walking away with a smile.
───
“I've always told him that being on time is important,” said Mary after an uncomfortable silence in the school counselor's office.
The counselor smiled awkwardly and nodded, fiddling with her pen.
“Don't bother, Ms. Keeny. I know your grandson is a good boy, and--”
“I'm sorry I'm late,” Jonathan apologized as soon as he opened the door. “I was in the nurse's office.”
“Jesus, there you are, boy. Do you know how long we've been waiting? If you're scheduled for two o'clock in the afternoon, you have to be there five minutes before, not at two o'clock, not at two and five, let alone after,” Mary scolded without waiting for Jonathan to sit down next to her.
“My God, Jonathan, are you all right? What happened to your face?” the counselor questioned at the visible inflammation in the student's busted lip and eye.
Jonathan raised his hand slightly, indicating he didn't want to address the scolding or the questions.
“Can we begin, please?” Jonathan asked, sitting down.
The counselor's mouth dropped slightly open, then cleared her throat.
“Yes, well... Ms. Keeny, I called you here with your grandson to discuss Jonathan's plans after he graduates from the class of 1991. As you know, one of our graduation requirements is to be accepted to at least three colleges. We like to ensure that our students are college-ready and that most get into one immediately. We always have students apply to the University of Georgia at Athens, Georgia State University at Atlanta, and any other of their choice. Jonathan applied to Gotham University. And well, he presented his acceptance letter from all three universities. That's great! Have you picked one yet, Jonathan?”
Jonathan settled back in his seat and looked at his great-grandmother briefly.
“I... well--”
“He's not going to college,” Mary answered for him firmly and then smiled at the counselor. “Listen, I understand that the school wants that prestige that all their students are prepared and will have a promising future at a nice university. But God planned my grandson's future when he was born. He will stay here in Arlen and be responsible for the farm.”
The counselor watched Jonathan drop back in his seat, shrinking and looking away.
Jonathan had the doors open. However, his great-grandmother padlocked them.
The counselor sighed and turned to the other adult.
“Ms. Keeny, I understand your dilemma. I've seen hundreds of cases where students have to give up their dream of college to help their families. But listen... Most college majors are four years long. And those four years pass fast and can make a big difference in helping him on the farm. Plus, Jonathan has excellent grades. He excels in Chemistry and Literature. I have seen his essays, and they are outstanding. Jonathan, do you know what you'd like to study?”
Jonathan blinked and was silent for a few seconds.
“I'm... I'm interested in psychopharmacology,” he replied without making eye contact until later when he saw his great-grandmother from the corner of his eye. She was looking at him carefully with a serious look on her face.
“That sounds great. That's a lot of chemistry and reading. I knew you'd pick something like that.”
“It's a pity we can't afford studies like that anyway,” Mary interjected.
“Oh, Ms. Keeny, you shouldn't worry about that. Jonathan is so smart that those universities are offering him good scholarships. Besides, there is a lot of financial support from the government nowadays. There's even a scholarship for being the first person in the family to go to college,” the counselor explained. She then pulled out a couple of brochures and sheets with more information and slid them across her desk.
Mary grabbed a brochure and studied it for a few seconds.
" First Generation College Student "
───
Mary Keeny had no education beyond the Bible, yet she was a very smart woman.
“Psychopharmacology? What the hell are you going to do with a degree in that?” Mary asked, continuing to drive the pickup home.
“It's a discipline of medicine and psychology. I'd be a doctor, granny,” Jonathan explained as he sat in the passenger seat, looking at all the brochures in his hands.
“I mean, what are you going to do with that diploma at the farm-- hang it on the wall and nothing else?”
“Granny, having a degree gives you a lot of prestige and respect. Isn't that what you wanted for the family?”
Mary laughed dryly.
“Respect? Boy, a damn piece of paper won't give you the respect you haven't given yourself in seventeen years. Look at that black eye of yours.”
Jonathan fell silent and lowered his head. His great-grandmother continued speaking.
“When you were born and I saw you were a boy, I thought it was a miracle,” she said, then laughed at her stupidity. “Finally, a man in this family, that's what we needed. I always wanted boys. I named you Jonathan after the boy I never had; it means ‘God has given.’ I thought... I thought you would bring honor back to this family-- that you would clean up everything that has dirtied us for generations.”
Jonathan knew the meaning of his name. It was hard to carry when he wasn't meant to represent it. His great-grandmother had a clear image of what she wanted him to be: a macho man. Strong, independent, hardworking, the man of the house. Jonathan's future should have looked like that of a prosperous farmer with a wife and children to help him in the family business. Instead, Mary got a boy who was skinny and weak, afraid even to talk to girls, but who thought he was brave enough to play doctor.
“What a waste of a name,” Mary murmured. “You've got us all in more filth…”
A stabbing pain hit Jonathan in his throat. His great-grandmother said that without even turning to look at him, his eyes looked at her with disconsolation.
Jonathan wanted to tear off every letter of his name and go on with life without one, just wander the world without anyone being able to mention or address him.
“Sh-Sherry Squires asked me to the prom,” Jonathan mentioned, returning his gaze to the front, hoping he could give his great-grandmother something to be proud of.
However, Mary scoffed at that.
“Squires… that dirty girl,” she expressed in bitterness as she remembered that family's last name. “Besides, you say she invited you ?”
“Ye-Yes.”
“Did she wear the pants between the two of you?”
“N-No. It's not that. It actually took me by surprise. She and I don't really--”
“Do not ask God for a woman until you prove you are a man.”
Jonathan fought the urge to bang his head on the window the rest of the way. They arrived home, and both went inside. Jonathan ran to the dining room with his stomach growling. He was going to grab that same apple from the fruit bowl he saw last time, but his great-grandmother stopped him by grabbing his shoulder and turning him toward her.
“Are you gonna take that girl to the prom?” she asked, folding her arms.
“I-- Yes, ma'am,” Jonathan replied. “Why?”
Mary was aware of the things people called her great-grandson. The women at church whispered accusations that he had homosexual tendencies because he was a sensitive boy. Jonathan taking a girl on a date wasn't such a bad idea. It didn't matter if she was a whore like Sherry Squires. It was enough that she was a pretty woman to shut the mouths of others. Also, as impure as it was, maybe the girl could show Jonathan her breasts and finally awaken the man inside him. It was much better than having an effeminate, queer great-grandson.
“I'll get you a corsage then. Ask her what color her dress will be,” Mary said and turned away. “Come, help me with the cooking here in the kitchen.”