Part 23 (1/2)

A vortex of emotions-anger, relief, fear-roil together, geyser from my mouth, ”I've been gay-can you even say the word gay?- since I was born, Dad.

This”-I wave the letter in front of his face-”is who I am. Who I've always been. I can't change that.”

I'd Give Anything Not to cry. To prove, no matter my s.e.xual lean, that I am every inch a man.

But tears overflow my eyes, stream down my face.

The only good thing is, Dad's crying too. And he's definitely straight.

But he says, No, no, no.

You can't be ... He can't say the word, after all.

Thank G.o.d your mother didn't find out about this before she ... It would have killed her. Sooner ...

”No, Dad! How can you say that? Mom would have been all right with it. She loved me. Just like I am. Even if I am gay.”

He goes silent. Shrinks somehow, like a corpse too long in the sun. She would not have accepted this.

And neither can I. Not ever.

”Please, Dad.” I reach out for him but he recoils, as if ”gay” was something you could catch. Time. It will take time. That's all. ”Please?”

He shakes his head. Hard.

h.o.m.os.e.xuality is a sin, an abomination in the eyes of G.o.d. Just the thought of you ...

His eyes go flat, drained of love for me. Temporary, right? I kept hoping you'd find the right girl, bring her home. Get married. Have kids.

But not some-some man!

Not in my house. Not in my face. Oh my G.o.d. What if you have AIDS? Or some other sick h.o.m.o disease?

He slows. Catches his breath.

Considers some moments before he says, You have to go. Pack your stuff and get the h.e.l.l out of here. He turns his back to me. And I know there is nothing I can say to make him change his mind. Still, I have to try.

I swallow the mounting hysteria. Keep my voice low. ”I'd say I was sorry, but I can't apologize for being who I am. I didn't ask to be gay. I was born this way, and if you think it's been easy, living a lie and knowing this day might come, you'd be wrong. I'm still the same person I was before you found out. Still your s-”

His head starts moving back and forth before I can finish the word. ”Okay, then. But where will I go? I have no job, no money. How will I live?”

Still facing away from me, he reaches for his wallet.

Extracts two twenties. Tosses them to the floor. Best I can do.

You'll figure something out.

Time It will take time for him to accept this. Right? I am still his son. No way he can quit being my father. Quit loving me. Not because of this. Right?

Loren's letter is still in my hand. I fold it carefully, slide it into my back pocket, along with the forty dollars I retrieve from the linoleum.

My room is still my room.

Isn't it? This has always been my haven. My sanctuary. How do I leave it, especially knowing it may no longer be mine to return to? Because I am who I am? I don't understand.

Nothing is different. Not one d.a.m.n thing, except there's no reason to hide anymore.

I am not an abomination.

In fact, I could easily argue that G.o.d wanted me this way. Dad will come around.

All it will take is time. Right?

Meanwhile, I've Been Banished d.a.m.n you, Loren. This is all your fault, and you're not even around to give me a place to stay. I put in a call to Carl. He's not home, but I leave a brief message, asking if I can spend a day or two at his place. Hopefully he'll say okay. Not sure what else to do.

On my way out of town, I stop by the cemetery.

Might be a while before I can get back for a visit.

”Hey, Mom. How're things Up There, anyway?” I kneel beside her grave, yank the weeds that have grown around her headstone. ”Guess you know what's going on here. I'd appreciate it if you could maybe send a message Dad's way. A little intercession?

You're not mad at me, are you?

I mean because of ...” A fresh storm of tears erupts.

”You still love me, right?”

A little breeze picks up suddenly, lifts my hair like fingers. I'll take that as a sign.

I sit in the cool gra.s.s, as close to Mom as I can get, at least for now. I take Loren's letter from my pocket, begin to read, dunking myself in loneliness.

Dearest Seth, he begins. No wonder Dad kept reading.

Sorry I haven't written sooner. You probably think I've forgotten you. Never!

Your touch, your taste, your scent, are etched in my brain forever. ...

Why did he write these things to me now? Every sentence brings the pain of missing him so alive.

I read until the letter ends: Our time together will always remain a treasured memory.

Ba-b.u.mp!