I closed my eyes and decided to get some rest. I woke up an hour later to the sound of a car horn. Eighties rock serenaded us, I looked around and everyone, but my father was asleep.
“Hey, Kyle,” Dad said.
“What’s up?”
“Mind getting me some change, so I don’t have to wake your mother?”
“Here you go.”
“Thanks.”
“Dad, I’m kind of nervous about this move,” I softly said.
A part of me hoped he didn’t hear me. I would have to explain myself and quite frankly I had no idea which part of it scared me the most.
“Good afternoon!” the toll attendant sang.
“Afternoon,” my father grumbled, paying the toll.
“Thank you. You have yourself a fantastic day.”
“Likewise.”
My father quickly rolled up the window and drove through our last toll in Maine and approached the bridge to New Hampshire.
“What’s got you so nervous?”
“The new environment. Whether I’ll find a summer job. Will I be accepted as being the new kid?”
If this will be the year I finally come out and really discover my sexuality, I added to myself.
“Well, you’ll have Stephen, and I’m sure you won’t be the only new kids.”
A ping sank in my heart as the car jumped when it drove onto the bridge. I turned around and read the sign which welcomed other drivers to our state. Welcome to Maine, the way life should be.
“Everything will fall into place once we settle in,” Dad said as I turned back around. “Don’t worry about a job,” he continued, “Jennifer said she may have a few leads for you and Stephen to check out.”
“Great.”
“Moving is hard for anyone at any age. You’ll adjust in your own time.”
Suddenly I wasn’t in the mood to talk, only to reminisce.
“Thanks. I’m going back to my music now,” I said.
Without a response, I put my earbuds back in and closed my eyes. I thought back to the empty halls I once called high school. Back to Ms. Carver’s creative writing class or lunch sitting in front of a student-painted mural of Martin Luther King Jr. and Malcolm X near the stairwell. Even the statue of Icarus and his eerily melted wings which resided in the middle of the courtyard. The statue always creeped me out. It was, after all, a deformed creature reaching for the sky yet coincidentally cemented to the ground.
I believe this is the year it will happen. I was convinced California had the answers. It was just a matter of time before the blemishes were polished clean and I could look in the mirror and see myself for who I was supposed to be. I laid my head against the window and was rocked into a deep sleep.
I look forward and see a chaise lounge which remains empty.
A shadow overtakes me from behind. I hear a muffled, almost Charlie Brown teacher voice speak. I turn and see a blurry figure walk toward me and crouch down. The closer the figure gets the fuzzier it becomes. I squint and try to focus, as the figure leans down and starts to kiss me. My entire body relaxes. A warm, bubbly sensation permeates throughout…
I woke up in a haze listening to my dad rant. Next, I heard his hand slam against the dashboard. My eyes fluttered open and I realized it had to be early evening.
“Stupid fucking GPS,” he muttered under his breath.
“Language! Now, what’s wrong?” Mom asked.
“I must have taken a wrong turn, we ended up in Roanoke, Virginia. I wasn’t paying attention. We’re supposed to be in Indianapolis.”
“Why don’t we stop for the night. It’s getting late and you’ve been driving since eight this morning. We aren’t in any rush.”
“I know Andrea, you know how I am when I travel.”
I heard Dad mumble something inaudible then flick the blinker on. We pulled off into some place called Sunnyside B&B. Dad got out and called Frank. I stepped out of the car and stretched.
“Okay ‘night Frank.” My dad sighed and walked back to the car. “Well Frank broke down in Boston, in all the chaos his phone died.”
“Oh, poor thing,” Mom said.
“He won’t be able to get the truck fixed until sometime tomorrow. He’s twelve fuckin hours behind us.”
“Language! Check it, please,” she snapped.
“She’s asleep, she won’t hear it.”
“I don’t care. The boys are standing right next to you.”
Dad scoffed and walked toward the lobby.
“Has Dad always been this grumpy on road trips?” Stephen asked.
“Yes, he’s gotten better over the years,” Mom said.
Before Mom could say more, Dad returned and handed me a key. 207 was written in gold on the leather oval key chain. Ironic, our former area code, I thought. I dropped my bag on one of the beds and headed for the bathroom for a shower. I heard the television blare from the bedroom; Stephen put on SportsCenter. After I showered, I immediately started brushing my teeth.
“I can shut it off if you want,” Stephen asked when I walked out.
“I don’t care. Who won? I know Sharapova was supposed to play Serena.”
“Serena of course!”
There was silence while I finished brushing my teeth. I wiped my mouth on a hand towel and walked back into the bedroom.
“Stephen, you love me no matter what right?”
“We’ve already established this. Does this have to do with Kip?” Stephen asked.
I hadn’t told him we almost kissed. I felt awkward enough talking to him about the idea in general. It bothered me that he was so cavalier about the whole thing.
“We almost kissed,” I confessed.
He sat up, turned the TV down and looked at me. “Get out, really?”
“Yeah.”
“I knew it. He’s the only person you’ve ever connected with so fast.”
“But I pushed him away.”
“Yikes, not a good closer,” he teased.
I flipped him off and he returned the sentiment.
“It didn’t feel like the right time.”
“So, what’s this all mean?”
“I don’t know. I’m still confused. I kind of wanted to kiss him.”
“Hey, spare me the details!” He laughed. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now, you know. Maybe things will change when we get to California.”
“I was thinking that earlier, the thing is I don’t think it will change until I experienced a kiss or something.”
“True.”
We sat in silence for a moment before he spoke up again.
“Mind if we chat more about this tomorrow. I’m tired,” Stephen said.
“Yeah, I think I’m going to go outside for a bit.”
“Don’t forget the key.”
“Okay. Thanks for the talk Stephen.”
“No problem bro.”
I stepped outside and leaned against the balcony railing, admiring the landscape. Lukewarm night air blew over me and I could still see the stars in the sky. Behind me I heard a door close. Followed by one of Dad’s famous inaudible mumbles. My father leaned on the railing next to me. We both stood watching the night-time activity. Moonlight casted a soft bluish white glow over everything it touched.
“Some road trip so far!” Dad said.
“Yeah.”
“So, you excited to finally start classes?”
“Yeah, a little. It’ll be different.”
“I hear this school has an excellent soccer team, have you thought of trying out?”
I moaned the typical teenage ‘my parents just don’t get me’ sound and looked back out over the balcony. Not this again!
“Do I have a choice?” I mumbled.
“What?”
“Nothing. I haven’t thought about trying out for soccer.”
“Well I think it would do you some good. You could use some toughening up. Being on a team builds some character.”
I stared at my father. Stephen was ri
ght; the only person I’d have to worry about if I was gay or bi is you. All you ever do is push me into sports or ask me all the time is there anyone you like? Though you say anyone, I know you mean is there a girl you like. And all the pushing! To do sports and ‘manly’ things. It has nothing to do with bonding. It’s about toughening me up. Making me a man. You’re worried I’ll turn into a pansy. Bothered that I caught ‘the gay’. Don’t worry dad, I’m not a pansy. If anything, I could use some fatherly advice with what I’ve been going through. To know you’re here for me. I wish you’d notice me for me and stop trying to change who I am.
I should have said that to him, instead I said, “I’m actually not sure if I even want to try out for a sport this year. I think I’m going to take a break.”
“A break? Why?”
“Because Dad, I’ve been on the tennis and track team for the last three years and it didn’t seem to be good enough for you. On top of that I’ve tried out for soccer, football, baseball, and nearly broke my wrist at basketball try-outs because it’s what you wanted me to do.”
“What do you mean it’s what I wanted you to do?”
“Don’t deny it. You make it apparent when you sign Stephen and I up for try-outs a month early without even asking if we wanted to try out in the first place. I get that Stephen is our athletic prodigy, and I have no issue with that, but that’s not me. Haven’t you seen everything I’ve done? Isn’t what I do ever good enough for you?”
He didn’t respond. We stood in silence for a few minutes.
“I want what is best for you,” he finally said.
“What’s best for me? If that were the case it wouldn’t matter what sport I did, or who I chose to date.”
“It doesn’t matter, I do care.”
“No, you don’t, at least you don’t show it,” I bite back
“Well, you never talk with me about the things you like.”
“What? I am always going on about my latest art projects or asking to go to Sugarloaf every winter to go snowboarding, but you’ve made it quite apparent only queers and women make art.”
“I’ve said no such thing,” Dad said, he stood straight and took a step back.
“That’s right, what you say after a few drinks doesn’t count,” I said, then quickly added, “Your tone and actions say it all,” I retorted, taking a step back myself.
We stared at each other.
My father pointed at me. “You listen, I do my best for you kids. I’m sorry I can’t be at every track meet you have or take interest in every single class you take—” I interrupted him.
“Ha, you just don’t get it! I’m sorry I didn’t turn out more like Stephen.”
“Now don’t be ridiculous.”
“Am I? I can’t be myself around you. It’s like if I don’t grow up to become some tough macho man who goes off to college on a football scholarship, I’ll be a disappointment. I’m not the only one who sees it, I’m just the only one willing to say anything about it. It’s sad Dad, when I feel like I can’t come to you for certain things because I’m afraid of your reaction.”
“What are you talking about? Is there something you want to tell me?”
I couldn’t bring myself to say it, tell my father I was attracted to men. Wasn’t sure if it meant I was gay, or bi, or just curious. I gripped the railing hard. I had to leave. Escape. Do what I always did and flee before I prematurely came out.
“No, Dad.”
“Kyle.”
“Night, Dad.”
I pushed hard off the railing and turned toward my door. I slammed the door shut. Luckily, Stephen was a sound sleeper, he didn’t even stir. I breathed in and out fast, trying to cool the anger building up inside me. I made my way through the dark and flicked the bathroom light on, bracing the bathroom counter. I stared at my other twin in the mirror, wondering if California would change my ways. I splashed some water on my face, patted it dry, and after a moment flicked the light off and went to bed.
The next day I was first up. I was dressed and ready to go when I heard my father’s alarm clock. I shouldered my backpack and left. Dad opened his door to wake us up. I walked by, ignoring him and kept walking for the lobby. I grabbed a few muffins and juice boxes and met my family outside.
“Kyle, do you mind sitting up front seat? I didn’t get much sleep last night. It’s easier for me to sleep in the back seat,” Mom asked.
I slouched into the front seat, buckled up, and turned away from the driver’s seat. Ten minutes later we were driving down the Virginia highway. After an hour, my brother was lost in his music and my sister and Mom were both asleep. I could tell Dad had stuff on his mind, but like his father, and his father’s father, he was terrible at sharing his feelings. This must have finally skipped a generation for the men in our family because Stephen and I had no issue sharing our thoughts and feelings with each other.
Sharing with our parents was another thing.
“I’m sorry,” Dad said.
By this point I had spaced out, yet I heard his apology. I turned and looked at him.
“I never meant to push you into things you didn’t want to do, I just want the best for you guys,” he said.
“I understand Dad, but sometimes I feel like no matter what I do, or who I become, it’ll never be good enough for you.”
“That’s not true,” he almost whined.
“That’s how it comes across. I just want my father to be there for me no matter what. Even if I don’t live up to your expectations. I have a lot on my mind and could use some fatherly advice.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” he asked.
“I’m not ready yet. I just want to know that when I am, you’ll accept me no matter what.”
“Kyle you know you can come to me about anything. We may not always see eye to eye on some things but I’m your father. Believe it or not, fathers like to be there to give advice. It’s in our blood.”
It was supposed to be his way to soften the mood with some dad humor. This wasn’t a laughing matter.
“No matter what?” I questioned.
“No matter what,” he repeated.
There was a pause before I spoke again. “It would mean a lot if you started accepting the stuff I do, such as art and skateboarding, as things I love and aren’t just mindless hobbies I do to waste my time. That not being the star athlete is okay.”
There was a pause, and if we were home in the backyard, we would hear crickets chirping. Instead we heard rap music coming from Stephen’s earbuds and the continuous hum of the car coasting over the asphalt. I peered into the rear-view mirror and saw Stephen offer a subtle nod before turning back to his music.
“You’re a great artist,” my father said.
“You think? I don’t know, I could be better.”
I was fishing for a more personalized compliment, but my father wasn’t the kind of man to oblige.
“Can I ask you something. You met Mom in college, right?” I asked.
“No, we met a year after I graduated. I had just moved to Maine and was supposed to go on a blind date with her sister, but she bailed and made your mom go in her place.”
“Who was your first girlfriend?”
Dad peered over at me, his eyes said he was surveying his son while he devised his answer. A single eyebrow raised. These were questions I’d never ask my father before. It felt as though I were walking on eggshells, trying not to let on that I was hiding behind them, and one wrong step meant they’d break, and Dad would figure out I was talking about my sexuality. If a confession wasn’t an option, taking a different angle was. I had to see it through.
He laughed. “I dated a few girls for brief periods, but my first official girlfriend was Rebecca Watson. I met her in tenth grade when her family moved in next door.”
“Was she the first girl you kissed?”
“No, the award for first kiss went to Tonya Norton a year earlier during a game of spin the bottle. What about you, who was the lucky lady to steal y
our first kiss?”
“No one.”
I waited for the brakes to be slammed but he kept his speed.
“No one?” he questioned.
“Well I mean there was Mary Duncan, but since then I’ve been wanting to…” I was about to tell him I’ve been wanting to kiss a guy. How I thought a kiss would determine if I was gay, and get it all out there, but before I could, Stephen started singing the chorus of Eminem’s “Slim Shady”, saving me. I went back to watching life pass us by.
§ § § §
“We’re almost to California.” Dad said.
I reached over Amy and nudged Stephen. He yanked his earbuds out, glaring at me.
“What?”
“We’re almost to California.”
Stephen sat up and looked around. I turned and leaned against the window, looking out. I watched as we passed the Arizona desert. I began to get anxious and excited; we were almost home.
“We’ve still got nearly four hours ahead of us until we get to the house, so don’t get too antsy,” Dad said.
We ascended a gradual hill. Once to the top the road curved to the left and we coasted down and around the corner. Up ahead I saw a giant turquoise sign with three California poppies on it. I tried to make out what the sign said. The closer we approached the clearer the words came into view. We pulled off to the side of the road and took a family photo in front of the state sign. We piled back into the car and I read the sign as we drove by, Welcome to California.
CHAPTER FIVE: OH DEAR
As we drove through the inner streets of Los Angeles, I realized it was nothing like the movies. The streets were-in fact-kind of dirty. There were certain parts we passed, where I felt unsafe. LA seemed to have its diamonds, but the contrast showed more coal. I looked over at Stephen and smiled.
“We’re West Coasters now!” I cheered.
“Yeah, I guess,” he grumbled.
Playing It Out Straight Page 5