your heart on a shelf

This has been a long time coming and this is just the first of three parts, though it does stand on its own. I think.
Thanks to Isilya for poking and prodding and proofreading, not to mention ideas, suggestions and title. Also thank you to Erica and Jenn for letting me run bits and pieces by them so long ago.
Comments of all kinds appreciated.


Standing on Tiptoe
You come out to your mom when you're twelve, though you don't realize it until almost a year later.
(pg, Justin/JC-ish, 11k)



You come out to your mom when you're twelve, though you don't realize it until almost a year later. It's the first day of MMC rehearsals, the first day you meet JC, and you literally run to the car where your mom is waiting, words that have been building in you all day suddenly spilling over. You talk a mile a minute the whole way home and are still talking when your mom pushes you into a chair at the kitchen table. She baked cookies for the big day and there's a tall glass of milk that you drink between snippets and stories. Your mom laughs, slow down, baby, slow down, as she plucks the glass from your hands.

She pours another glass and still you're talking and JC let me eat lunch with him and his friend Tony and he swapped me Girl Scout cookies for my apple and then you blush, reaching out and trying to grab the words back because you know your momma thinks fruit is important for you. She doesn't look upset, though, so you think it really must be a special day and make a silent promise not to do it again. She smiles when you say JC is a little funny looking, like that kid down the street whose ears are too big for his head except it's not JC's ears, it's his nose. But it doesn't matter, you tell her, because he's so nice that it doesn't even matter at all. She smiles and nods and asks about the other kids, what about the girls, baby? and all you can come up with is that they're nice too. Which is the truth, everyone's nice and you're so full with it you think you might burst.

She looks at you seriously, pinching your chin between her fingers and says you should invite JC over for milk and cookies one day. You roll your eyes and say Momma in what she calls your best exasperated voice because you're very sure that JC is way too cool for milk and cookies. She smiles again and pulls you into her lap invite him for dinner then, I'll make something special and you nod because she's a good cook and you think JC might like that.

She wraps her arms around your waist, tell me more about this boy, so you let your head fall back against her shoulder and spread your arms wide because you don't yet know words big enough to describe JC when he sings.

Almost a year passes before you realize it, caught up in rehearsals and school and playing at being so much older than you feel sometimes, but after today you have four weeks off and you think you might be glad to stop for a while. Your momma always says that you'd forget your head if it wasn't attached so Britney and her mom just giggle at you when you have to run back to the dressing room for your bag. Everyone's gone so you don't bother to knock and that's how you walk in on JC and Tony kissing. You back out of the dressing room as quietly as you can but the door slips from your fingers and slams hard. You can hear the startled voices inside but you're running as fast as you can until you're alone out in the lot and the summer air feels thick in your lungs. You hold your ribs with both hands against the great ache in your chest and try to imagine the pain is from running. But you can still see Tony's mouth on JC's when you close your eyes and you realize your heart is twisting because that's the way you want JC, too.

Britney's mom drops you off at home still a little dazed. Your mom is waiting in the kitchen, dinner still warm in the oven, but she takes one look at you and flicks the dial off, grabbing her coat as she pulls you to the car. She takes you to Dairy Queen and you can have anything on the menu, baby, anything you want. You step up to the counter and order and when you watch her counting out the change it hits you that she knows. She knows and it must be okay, this feeling, because she's buying a big banana split with two spoons and she wouldn't do that if everything wasn't okay. And you can feel the ache ease a little because your momma is never, ever wrong.

Later, when she tucks you in, she pinches your chin so you can't look away just be careful, baby, who you give your heart to. And you nod because she's your momma and it's the only thing you can do with her looking so serious.

Two days into the break you wake up hard and sticky for the first time and you're so embarrassed that tears sting at your eyes. It's still early and you lay quietly, listening for sounds in the house. When you finally decide it's safe, you strip your bed and run downstairs, closing and locking the laundry room door behind you. It's hard to get all the sheets in with as high as the machine is but you finally do. The detergent is up on the top shelf and you think you might be able to reach it if you climb up onto the washer but you don't want to knock anything over or make any noise so you set the dial as far as it will go and pray that the hot water will be enough. You slide down against the machine, your knees curled up under you and the low vibrations on your back are almost enough to erase the dream feel of JC's hands.

Your mom is in the kitchen when you're done and just smiles a little to herself as you pass, trying to sneak back upstairs. She never says anything but the next time you're pulled from sleep by the wet stickiness on your belly there's a footstool by the washer and a new, lower shelf for the detergent.

It's only a month break and by the end you're a master launderer and your sheets are so threadbare from the almost daily washings that your mom had to go out and buy you two more sets. Mostly you're glad to be back, the sounds of the set washing over you and this is so much better, you think, than playing ball even. It would be even better if you didn't spend half your days trying to avoid JC but you're not sure how to look at him yet without your face going hot. You manage for almost a week until he corners you in the dressing room. You politely ask about his time off and his family but you just stare over his shoulder as he answers. You try not to think about the dreams, about how you think JC's skin would feel underneath his shirt

You don't know how long he's been saying your name but when you finally look at him you realize he knows it was you that night did you see? You nod and JC pales a little, shuffling his feet as he drops his hand from your arm and then he wants to know if that's why you're mad, if you won't talk to him anymore because he's gay. You can feel your eyes go wide and you shake your head so hard it hurts your neck because that's not it, not it at all.

You stumble and stammer over words and JC's forehead furrows and you know you're not making any sense so you grab his hand and try again and all that will come out is me too. Your eyes sting and between that and the blush working its way up your neck you're so mortified you want to run home just to curl up in your momma's lap and disappear.

But then JC's fingers are soft on your forehead as he pushes your hair back a little your mom knows? You nod and swipe at your eyes but JC is pulling on your arm again until he's wrapped around you, warm and solid. That's good, Justin, really good, and JC sounds like he means it, like he does when he's talking about your last performance, almost like he's proud.

Your eyes are still leaking and you're sure that you've smeared your makeup but JC doesn't seem to mind. He drags his thumbs across the skin right under your eyes, catching teardrops and mascara as he does. You sniffle again when he wipes great black smudges on his jeans but then he's cupping your face in both hands, tilting it up a little as he smiles down so big that his whole face is crinkled and you can barely see his eyes. He leans in and kisses you right on the corner of your mouth, like your momma does sometimes when she tucks you in. And maybe it's not the kind of kiss you wanted but the ache in your chest finally breaks loose and flutters away and for the first time in five weeks you remember what it feels like to breathe.

You never tell anyone about the kiss, not even your momma, and even though you kiss Britney full on the lips a couple months later you always count JC as your first.

And then it's over. Just like that. When they pull all the kids and all the parents in and make the announcement you think they must have told the older kids earlier because suddenly JC's sullen looks over the past day and a half make sense. You wrap your arms around his waist from behind, fitting yourself against his back. He turns in your arms and wraps you up in his own and you both stand there, not crying. He doesn't know what he's going to do.

It hurts more than you think it should, saying goodbye to JC, and maybe this is what your momma meant when she said be careful. He runs his hand through your hair again and pulls away. You let your momma draw you into her lap and only after JC's out the door do you cry into her shoulder. You ask if it always hurts this much, loving, and when she doesn't answer you tell her that maybe you'll lock your heart in a box, put it on the shelf and keep it clean and safe like you do with all your best basketball cards. Her arm tightens around you until it's almost hard to breathe and she wipes a hand across your cheek oh, baby, that's not what hearts are for and you don't understand but nod anyway because your momma is never, ever wrong.

end