I FIGURED, as I heard people say on television all the time, that I’d hit rock bottom.
It could only get better.
I’d stop drinking. I’d stop smoking so much pot.
It was time.
And I had an idea. One I’d been thinking about since writing my college application essay, but which now suddenly seemed clear.
If I wanted to make a difference, if I wanted to help others stand up for themselves, if I didn’t want there to be any other Phillip Mollers, why did I need to wait until after I got out of college?
Helping out at the center was a start, but I knew there had to be something I could do now. Something I could do for the kids at Eisenhower who were like me, who felt alone and wanted to know that they weren’t.
Who might not put down their gun.
On Monday, I made an appointment to speak with Principal Hernandez during lunch.
“How are you doing, Collin?” she asked. “Better?”
“I am,” I said. “It’s still tough, but I feel like I’m starting to get a better handle on things. More or less. Well, sometimes at least. You know?”
“Good, good,” she said. “Your grades have come back up, so I’m guessing you’re able to concentrate on school better. Are you still volunteering at the LGBT center?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I am. And that’s kind of what I’d like to talk to you about.”
“I’m all ears,” she said, leaning back in her chair.
I took a deep breath.
“Ever since I started high school here, I always felt like I was all alone, like I was the only gay person here. And I know Nate… I know Nate did as well. I mean, I knew I wasn’t, and he knew he wasn’t, but that’s what it felt like.
“And I’m sure that’s what it feels like now for lots of kids.”
Principal Hernandez nodded. “I’m sure you’re right,” she said. “What do you suggest?”
“I’d like to start a group where gay kids, lesbians, transsexuals, and bi kids can come and feel welcome.
“But I’d like to make it open to everyone, straights included.”
She smiled. “I’ve been thinking the school needs something like that.
“Would you be interested in getting things started? Do you think you could put it together, find members, organize and run the meetings… all of it?”
“Absolutely,” I said, adding, “and I think I know what we should call it.”
She raised an eyebrow.
“The Nate Jonson Gay/Straight Alliance.”
“Perfect,” she said. “I’ll find a space for you to hold your meetings in.”
“And, well, while I’m here, there’s one more thing,” I said.
She half grinned and shook her head. “That’s not enough? Okay… what?”
“Senior Prom will be coming up. I don’t think most people would be ready at this school for… so what if we had another event?”
Her eyebrows arched. “Hmm.”
“I don’t mean it as a gay prom, but one open to everyone. Like our club. Where everyone can dance, everyone can bring the date of their choice, and nobody has to feel uncomfortable.
“We can do it the weekend after, so no conflicts.
“What do you think?”
“I think we can make that happen. That is, again, if you’re willing to put in the work.”
“I am. So let’s do it. Please?”
I was so excited about it I was almost bouncing down the hall. And probably would have if I could have.
I ran to Laura, who promised to do everything she could to help. She’d even interview me again to help publicize the group.
I told everyone at the LGBT center, and let them know that I’d help anyone who wanted to start one in their own schools.
I told my parents when I got home. Mom hugged me, telling me how proud she was of me. Dad did the same.
It felt good.
I felt good.
Or better at least. I missed Josh, or at least the idea of Josh. Or maybe just the idea of Josh and me, something a part of me was not ready to give up on. I was still stalking him on social media, still wanting to text him to… what? To convince him he’d made a mistake? To see if we could try again?
No. I couldn’t go back.
Something had changed the night I almost… the night I almost blew my brains out.
And for what?
Because I’d been shot and survived? Because I’d been dumped by some guy I barely knew because he wouldn’t or couldn’t deal with who I really was?
Because I’d lashed out at my best friend’s mother in a way I knew wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me. And that I refused to accept was me.
I was seeing things in a different light now.
And I saw what I could do. And what I had to do.