Part 22 (2/2)

He smiles. But it is a cheetah's smile.

Do you really believe I'm so foolish?

I find no hint of contrition in you.

What I see before me is a liar. Still, you're not stupid. So you must understand that your behavior reflects on your parents.

They don't want you to come home, do not want your tarnish on their sterling community standing, or for you to influence your sister to repeat your mistakes.

You will be here for the foreseeable future.

Shall we decide to make the best of it?

Of course. I should have known. ”Thank you,”

I say, meaning it. Because he just gave me permission to do what it is I need to do. I am completely resolute to leave this place. Soon.

A Poem by Seth Parnell What I Need Is something intangible, and so, unattainable because it is ever changing.

Neither can what I want be defined. To someone standing on the outside perimeters of my life, I might look one hundred percent the same.

But if they had the ability to split me open, look deep inside, they would know the mask that appears to be my face is painted over the real me, smoke and mirrors, an illusion.

Seth

Graduation Came and Went

Whoopee. Finally free of educational necessity.

No more pencils, no more books. No more Janet Winkler's dirty looks.

I've got to stop drinking.

But not right now. What else is there to do around here? Funny, but not so long ago, I swore I'd be off to college.

Now I really don't care about moving on. What was I thinking? I'll never go on to school. What for?

My destiny was decided for me by the circ.u.mstances of my birth. Hick boy from Indiana. What am I going to do? Turn into a rock star?

Or maybe run for president?

Yeah, I Know The state of Indiana has produced one of each. But neither was gay. So hurray.

It's farming for me. Oh well.

At least this little piece of enlightenment has brought me closer to Dad. No more long afternoons in Kentucky, though I do sneak off and meet Carl every now and again.

Not for love, but for l.u.s.t.

As older guys go, he's not so bad in the sack. And besides, he's incredibly generous with the same sort of perks I got from Loren. Gourmet dinners.

Theater and concerts.

Art house movies. Only with Carl, the maitre d's know him by name, and sit us at view tables. He's got off-Broadway season tickets, not to mention box seats at Churchill Downs. I'm not a big gambler, and know squat about horse racing.

But Carl knows enough for both of us. And it is his money we wager.

Beyond any rush at the rare win, I love the atmosphere.

Rich people, outfitted in elegance, sipping mint juleps and inhaling the extravagant potpourri of leather, gra.s.s hay, and Thoroughbred manure. It's a sensual experience, highlighted by Carl's commanding presence.

He hasn't made me forget Loren, or soothed the sting of desertion, but he has made me realize that I don't have to live my life in isolation.

Thinking of Loren Makes me want liquor.

Dad isn't much of a drinker, but there's usually beer in the fridge, and the afternoon is hot for June. A cold brew sounds pretty d.a.m.n fine.

I'm done tending garden for the day. Carrying gray water by the bucketful.

Looking up into the sharp blue sky, no sign of rain.

We can grow vegetables this way, but the corn looks mighty thirsty. We could lose the whole crop, if G.o.d doesn't cooperate. Weird, but not a hundred miles from here in Illinois, they're drowning under monstrous thundershowers. Just goes to show the randomness of the Almighty's hand.

Hey, Ma, if you're up there, could you put in a good word for the farm you left behind?

I Go into the Cool Of the house. ”Dad?” He has drawn the shades, flipped the small window air con on.

The faux breeze it has raised blows gently over the sweat on my face. Aaaaah! Soap and water attack the grime on my hands, and now it's Miller time! I reach into the fridge, find a frosty can, pop the top, take a long swallow. A voice falls over my shoulder like a shadow. Who the h.e.l.l are you? Iron hands- Dad's hands-grab hold of my shoulders, spin me around to face him.

The look in his eyes is a blend of disbelief and revulsion. He knows.

But, ”How?” He points to the kitchen table, to the envelope and pages lying spread across it.

I gather Loren's letter, glance at the words, talking about his church, his new home, his congregation.

Talking about missing me, wis.h.i.+ng there was a way we could be together. It's not p.o.r.nographic, but there is enough detail so Dad can have no doubt what it means.

I saw a New York postmark.

Thought maybe it was from a college or something.

My G.o.d, Seth. How could you? How long have you ... ?

<script>