My father picked up the phone. “Well, son,” he said with just a touch of sidedness, “we’ll be away for the next several weeks—we’re going on a cruise. You know your mother and how she’s always wanted to go, so I said sure, why not. It’s the perfect time to go. The house will be all locked up and watched by the neighborhood watch, and I know you’ll have a safe place to stay there at the college with your little friends.” It sounded like he was performing an act, practicing for a role in an upcoming theatrical with no loudspeaker system.
In fact, he was so loud that Jerome, who was all the way across the room, heard every word. He came over, took the phone away from me, and said into it, “Fuck you,” and then hung up.
I didn’t know what to do, so I did nothing. Well, that’s not true—I kind of sat there and rocked back and forth for a little while. I know I was shocked—in more ways than one—but mostly I felt grateful to Jerome. It had been horrible, but he had made it stop. I know he was still standing there beside me when I reached for the wrapping paper and started to wrap up the book for Tory for the gift exchange. After that, I knew I had to study some more for my last test, but I had no idea how to get from Point A to Point B. My hands were shaking, and I was having trouble getting any air into my lungs.
After a few minutes, Jerome said, “You know I haven’t always been the nicest roommate in the world, and I’m sorry for that. But you’d do well to keep away from that Tory. He’s kinda poofy, don’t you think?” His voice was full of kindness, but with an edge to it that I didn’t quite understand.
Oh, my God, how do I handle this now? I thought.
I was still angry at my father and thinking rude thoughts of sneaking into my own house and sleeping in my own bedroom, alone. At the same time, I didn’t want anything to do with his house or even his home town. I managed to shift quickly to Jerome, who had just been nice to me, which was a shock. At least, I remembered he had taken good care of my knees. They were bandaged cleanly and healing nicely, so there’s that.
I managed, “Thank you, it was all just in fun, I’m sure. But what do you mean Tory is poofy?” And why were we talking about Tory when it had been my father who had just thrown the gauntlet down in my face?
“You know.” Jerome squirmed as he said that and flapped his wrist. “Light in the loafers? Twinkle tits? Big fan of quiche? Uranian?” Jerome was getting frustrated and very embarrassed. I let him run with it. Actually, it was better than talking about my father just then. I felt bad that I was thinking that, but that’s the truth of it.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I replied, trying to look both innocent and curious at the same time, although I knew all too precisely what those terms meant, even though I’d never heard them before.
“Bum chum? Uphill gardener? Back door bandit?”
I raised one eyebrow and let him dig himself in as deep as he could go. He may not have studied his Latin, but he sure knew idioms for gay. I was impressed. Curious, but impressed.
Jerome ran his hand through his hair. I could tell he cared about me, well, my reputation perhaps, but it was funny as hell, as well as annoying.
“You know, the counterpart to a chapstick lesbian!” he finally spluttered. “You know?”
Apparently, Jerome had forgotten accusing me of being gay before the term began. I couldn’t stand it any longer, and laughter started bubbling up and was impossible to contain any longer. I suppose it was better than crying, and believe me, it had sure taken my mind off my father. I thought Jerome was sweet, you know, for a straight guy.
“How do you know all these things?” I asked when I could speak. “Why do you know all these things? You’re not…you’re not…”
“No, I’m not!” Jerome shouted. “My uncle is, however. My Uncle Dan, who saved my life once when I was drowning and my parents didn’t even notice. My Uncle Dan, whom we never invite over or speak of! Without whom, I wouldn’t be alive today!”
Well, that was interesting. What a shame he was embarrassed by this family member, although it was more his parents than him. I was going to say something soft and soothing, but a voice from the other room stopped me and sent me back into laughter.
“What are you two doing in there? Knock it off! I have a lady in here!”
“He appears to be a Friend of Dorothy,” I said wickedly.
“Her name is Dorothy? I thought it was Angela. Oh. I see.” Jerome started laughing, too, although I’m pretty sure he thought I meant AA and not a gay thing. Never mind, it was funny, it broke the tension, and it didn’t have to make sense.
Suddenly, my feelings went haywire. I looked at this boy, this young man, who had been keeping a secret somewhat similar to my own all this time, trying to balance what he felt and knew in his heart, with what his parents and preachers had been telling him. How do you break away when you’re part of them? I had had to break away because I wasn’t like them, the others, the family.
As far as I knew, I was the first gay person ever in my family. I began to realize this probably wasn’t true, however, as I recalled my great aunt who had a live-in companion, and Dad’s uncle who had left his family and moved to San Francisco years ago, where he lived in a boarding house for men. And my mother’s cousin who had killed herself at nineteen—why? Nobody ever talked about them, and nobody ever knew anything.
“Thanks for telling me that,” I got out, looking Jerome straight in the face.
He looked away but not before I could see tears filling up his eyes. That’s all I could say—I wasn’t yet ready to tell him my own truth.
I just put my hand on his arm and said, “It’s going to be okay.”
Chapter 4
The last few days flew past. People were packing up, relaxing over having finished their exams, wrapping presents, and sharing stories about family holidays, skiing trips, and friends back home. I smiled when I had to and was pleasant when necessary, but I was torn up with fear and sadness inside. I had apparently lost my family, and there was no one and nothing—let alone, nowhere—to take its place. I should have checked the want ads or asked people for advice, but I was too miserable and ashamed. And then it was time for the party, just before families arrived to pick up their children and take them home. Except for me, of course.
I was angry that our teachers and the staff did not ask if everyone had plans, or if anyone needed a place to stay. In their perfect lives, I guess that sort of thing just never happened, so it never occurred to them. Well, when I saw Tory open his present, perhaps I’d know the truth about him, or at least, I’d have taken care of my own need to let him know who I was. Maybe he’d hate me after that, but that was, like other outcomes to things we do or hope for, out of my control. I had taken responsibility for myself in the best way I knew how. I could always die or freeze or just never come back, or I could come back and finish my degree, acknowledge, and move on.
I’d never replaced my only pair of good pants, so I could either wear what was now a pair of cutoffs or my jeans. I opted for the jeans. It was snowing out again, but not like that last time, just pretty white snowflakes falling lazily to pile up in groups, like little happy families, on the ground. We all hurried over to the cafeteria for the party. Pitiful and cheap that they wouldn’t host it in the big administration building. It had so many unused rooms from when it had been someone’s mansion home. Before I left, maybe I should try to find a way inside again, for they’d probably have to keep the heat on in there.
And then there was the blessing, and the food on cheap paper plates, and laughter and singing, and then the gift exchange. Luckily, there were too many of us to each open their gift one at a time with everyone watching. I watched Tory find his and walk to a corner. I walked nearby where I could see him. I wasn’t sure if he could see me or not. But I had to know—I had to see. I was almost unaware of the box I held in my hands, with a big glittery purple bow on top. It wasn’t a new family or a place to go for two weeks, that was for sure, so I didn’t really much care, except that I c
ould look surprised and happy for whoever gave it to me to make their day as happy as I could. I could do that—I guess I’d make a great actor, actually.
But Tory was ripping off the paper, tucking the ribbon in his pocket, and pulling the book out upside down. He turned it over—and read the title, I could see his lips move. And then he turned his head, found me quickly, and smiled directly at me with joy in his face. I almost cried. He started over toward me, and I couldn’t even move.
“Open yours,” he said. “I had to trade eight times to get your name.”
It was a box of condoms—a large box. I gaped, then looked up at him.
He was grinning like a monkey. “I hope you’ll use them—with me!” he said, then blushed. “Also, my parents are going away, and I hope you’ll come and stay with me. We’ll have the house all to ourselves, and there’s a fireplace, and I can cook and…and…are you crying?”
Yes, I was, and I leaned into him. His arms came out to surround, to encircle, to enfold me. I’d never felt so safe and happy in my life, and I knew the next two weeks were going to be even better.
“Let’s go out into the hall,” Tory said, brushing my hair away from my eyes. “I want to kiss you so much. I always have. But I was so afraid to tell you, until now.”
The party grew quiet, and all I could hear was our two hearts beating as one and the silent murmur that joy made as it filled my being.
We walked out into the hall together, and there in the empty hall, we kissed. He’d even brought mistletoe and held it up over our heads.
“In case anyone sees,” he murmured. “Not that I care anymore at all. It’s always been you, and only you, and I’m not ashamed to let the whole world know.”
“You are my whole world,” I said.
We stood there, holding each other, never wanting it to end.
THE END
ABOUT EMERY C. WALTERS
Emery C. Walters was born Carol Forde, a name he soon knew didn’t fit the boy he was inside. Transition was unknown back then, so he married and then bore and raised four children. When his youngest child, his gay son, left home, Emery told Carol that she had to step aside, and he fully transitioned from female to male in 2001.
Emery worked in county government and as a college writing tutor before retiring. He and his wife Robyn, herself raised mistakenly as a boy, live in Hawaii where they combine snorkeling, scuba diving, and volunteer work with activities to boost LGBT rights and awareness.
Interested in Ninjutsu, both land and underwater photography, and writing, Emery can usually be found writing, reading, or sailing on his imaginary pirate ship.
Emery’s 2010 first published novel, Last Year's Leaves, is an intense story of recovery from abuse and loss, finding love, and coming out whole. The book is laced with his trademark humor. His recent publications include four other coming of age novels involving coming out and overcoming obstacles as well as two books of short stories. All are humorous and filled with hope. Drystan the Dire, Emery’s Welsh pirate ancestor, shows up at times to help the heroes and annoy the villains. Emery currently has two more novels in the publishing pipeline.
Between them, the Walters have eight adult children, umpteen grandchildren, and one great grandchild, none of whom can do a thing about the genetic material handed down to them—their gift to the future. So there. More information can be found online at ftemery-theemeryboard.blogspot.com.
ABOUT JMS BOOKS LLC
JMS Books LLC is a small queer press with competitive royalty rates publishing LGBT romance, erotic romance, and young adult fiction. Visit jms-books.com for our latest releases and submission guidelines!
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