Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year

Prologue

Growing up, I'd always idolized my cousin Kenneth. He was five years older than me, which, to a boy as young as I was, instantly made him crazy cool. It only added to my awe that he seemed to be good at absolutely everything. Sports, school, music, video games—you name it. He was perfect in my eyes. My idol.

    It started when I was five, the first time I met him that I was old enough to actually remember. He showed me all of his Pokémon cards—he had so many—and even gave me a few. That was when I decided that he was awesome.

    I never saw him too often. His visits were biannual, since his family lived all the way in Manhattan. That was another thing I loved about Kenny—as a kid growing up in Nowhere, Nebraska, his stories of the Big Apple amazed me. The busy streets, the museums and theaters, the subways and skyscrapers, the diverse people; I'd never experienced anything even close in my catholic, suburban town. Kenny always promised he would take me someday, and I believed him. Years later, my dreams still lived in the Big Apple.

I'd always wanted a brother growing up. The only sibling I had was my little sister, and she bored me with her Barbies and My Little Pony. So, despite our scarce interaction, I saw Kenny as a big brother figure. He was smart and athletic and charismatic, which meant a lot to a shy, scrawny kid who'd barely dodged being held back in the first grade.

It was no shock that my favorite parts of each year were when Aunty Lacy and Uncle Brock came to visit. For four weeks a year—three in the summer and one in the winter—I got to spend time with Kenny. I would hang onto him like a leech whenever he was around, but he never seemed to mind. Maybe that was weird, since most preteen boys wouldn't want to hang out with their clingy little cousin, but he seemed to enjoy spending time with me, playing video games or kicking around a soccer ball or doing whatever we were doing.

That all changed when I turned ten. Kenny was fifteen at the time, and his family had joined us for their yearly summer visit as usual. Our parents called my cousin and I to join them for dinner; we'd been playing soccer in our backyard. I didn't want to go inside yet—Kenny had just laughed and told me that I was getting better at soccer than him. After that, I wanted to keep playing, to show off and earn more praise. Our parents insisted, though, so we reluctantly went inside, not expecting the hell that was about to break loose.

Dinner started off fine. At one point or another, my mom started prying the way aunts do, asking Kenny how school was and what clubs he was in, how his friends were and if he had a girlfriend. Casually, as if it were nothing, Kenny said that he didn't want a girlfriend. That he didn't like girls that way, but he had a sort of, unconfirmed, boyfriend. I thought that was cool. Weird, yeah, but since it was Kenny, and everything Kenny did was awesome, I instantly approved. My parents didn't.

The rest happened so quickly, I couldn't keep up. All I could recall were shocked expressions, then my parents yelling, his parents yelling back, yelling, yelling, yelling. A few words stood out—disgusting, homophobic, small-minded, sinful, faggot. Some of them, I'd never heard.

Within thirty minutes, Aunt Lacy and Uncle Brock had stormed out, taking an overwhelmed, crying Kenny with them.

I was ten years old, I had no idea what was happening. When I asked my parents, they simply said that Kenny was sick and that they didn't want him to get me sick as well. That night, my dad suggested we pray as a family. I remember the way he asked God to "heal that family" and "cure Kenny" and "protect Nathaniel from their sinful ways". As he tucked me into bed, he kissed my forehead and told me to be wary of people like Kenny. That they would try to corrupt me. I argued that Kenny was nice. He said he had thought so, too.