I love you too, Scotty mouthed back, then he was gone.
It hurt too much to say goodbye like this, let alone not walking him all the way to his car and seeing him off. I sighed and walked out to my balcony, leaning over the edge and heard his car drive away. I walked back inside and saw my dad standing in the entrance of my room, his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes were narrowed in one me and his nostrils were slightly flared.
“You’ve changed. I don’t know what it is but something about you has changed since we moved here, and I don’t like it,” he said.
“That’s part of life, Dad. You grow up and change. Maybe you need to learn to accept the change I’ve made.” I replied.
“Maybe I don’t want to.”
Ouch. My heart dropped slightly at the harsh words. We were, in a sense having the talk. Denial was hard to hide, and Dad’s tells were obvious. The clenched jaw, agitated voice, even his childish behaviour. Dad was skirting around the issue. Terrified to hear I was gay, but I had a feeling he knew. Instead using the word change, making it sound like a teen issue I’d eventually outgrow. Sooner or later he’d come to terms with it. I was comfortable in my own skin for the first time in my life, my father wasn’t going to take that pride from me.
“I am your son. If you really love me, it shouldn’t matter what kind of change I’m going through.”
“Maybe I don’t love you,” my father said coldly.
I looked at him in shock. There’s no way he meant it. He must have said it out of anger. Nevertheless, it was said, heard, and uncalled for. Thought left my brain, and my body felt as though I were wrapped in a heating blanket that shocked me with static electricity. He shrugged it off as though it was nothing, and then took a step into my room.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean it like that,” the man I called my father said.
“Then how did you mean it?” I asked, when he didn’t answer I said, “That’s what I thought.”
There was a long pause. I didn’t want to say anything else to him or see his face. I looked down at the floor and ignored him. He sighed as the seconds passed.
“Kyle,” he said in a rather pained voice.
“Don’t talk to me,” I said walking past him.
He tried to stop me, but I brushed him off. I walked across the hall to Stephen’s room and opened the door without knocking. He was leaning against his bed frame, playing my guitar. He looked up the second the door closed.
“Sorry I would have—” he started before I cut him off.
“I don’t care,” I said locking his door.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
I leaned against his door and tried to catch my breath. I could feel the muscles around my heart and throat constrict. It felt like a knife was being driven into my heart, and my esophagus was closing. I knew I was having an anxiety attack. Muscles in my knees went weak. I slid down the door and crumbled to the floor. I couldn’t stand it. Even though he basically knew, I needed to tell him I was gay.
I needed to talk to someone else about my secret life. I had no one aside from Emilie, Jen, and Scotty. My father knocked on the door and ask for me. I think I yelled at him to leave me alone, he tried once more before walking away. I saw Stephen’s shadow cover me and looked up. The constricting became tighter when we locked eyes; it became harder to breathe again.
“Kyle, what’s wrong?” Stephen asked, sitting next to me.
“I need to talk to you.”
“Okay,” he said behind a subtle smile.
“It’s about Scotty.”
“I know,” Stephen said calmly.
“What do you mean you know?”
“I know you two are going out, I’ve known since the day I saw him in your room,” he paused. “I see the way you two look at one another. Like it’s the last time you’re ever going to see each other.”
“I’ve been debating this for some time. Thinking I was bi, other times gay and out of desperation and for Dad’s sake straight. Even tried something with Emilie. I’m gay, Stephen.”
“I know and that doesn’t change anything.”
The tightness loosened slightly. Though I still felt like I was going to throw up at any moment, the weight on my shoulders was a little lighter, and five measly pounds were gone. Now it was time to come out to my parents and little sister. I started to take deep breaths and soon the pain in my chest subsided. I felt Stephen’s hand on my shoulder; he hesitated on pulling me in for a hug. I turned and hugged him.
“Why didn’t you tell me you knew?” I stupidly asked.
“I did, like five times. I gave you two books where the main characters are gay, and basically pushed you and Kip together. It’s your story not mine. Although you never officially came out to me till now, I still knew. Ya know twintuition. You’re still my brother no matter what, Kyle. And you being gay, that doesn’t change anything,” he said patting me on the back.
“Thanks, I love you,” I said.
“I love you too bro.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN: TOUCHING THE GROUND
A week and a half later my family was at the airport boarding our flight back to Maine. Our parents surprised us with a trip home for Christmas. I was absolutely thrilled to be going. However, it meant I wouldn’t be able to sneak off and see Scotty until New Year’s.
Our flight got us to our destination four hours late, but that’s to be expected when the second of three blizzards was barrelling down on Portland. We spent our time at Grammie’s place. She lived in the most ‘to grandmother’s house we go’ homes you would ever see. She resided in the same, quaint two-story home she’d lived in since moving to Seal Harbor, Maine fifty years ago. It was built by our grandfather and was where they raised my mother and her sisters.
Now a widow, she lived alone with her orange tabby, Oliver.
§ § § §
Christmas morning was amazing. Thanks to the tail end of a blizzard, the island was blanketed in fresh snow making it a picturesque Christmas morning. I stood in front of the grand living room window and watched snow lazily fall to the ground.
Melancholy, or perhaps it was nostalgia for the moment I was robbed of, but while I stood there watching it snow, I wished Scotty could be here. My arms wrapped around his waist. His head resting against me. The sounds of Nat King Cole or Frank Sinatra singing some Christmas song. Then later that day we’d build a snowman, maybe have a snowball fight, and come in from the cold. Warm up with hot cocoa. When that didn’t work, we’d cuddle up under a blanket and tune into twenty-four hours of A Christmas Story.
We didn’t get to do any of that.
In my hands I held Scotty’s gift. He’d given me a small container of surfboard wax. Aside from my mishap the first time I attempted to surf; I had since learned. I started to become accustomed to our early morning trips to the beach to catch a few waves every other weekend. Attached to the bottom of the wax was a photo of a surfboard waiting for me at his place. I checked my messages icon for the third time that morning. I was sure he had messaged me a Merry Christmas but with the minimal service on the island I still hadn’t received anything. I put my phone away and stared out the window.
For a moment it felt like Scotty was standing behind me, his arms around my waist, watching the same snow fall. However, life didn’t allow for this fantasy to play out. I had to pretend to be someone else, play along with the charade, even if it pained me on the inside. I watched snow fall and listened to the excited voices of my family as we got ready to open our stockings. Some Frank Sinatra Christmas song played in the other room.
“Kyle?” I thought I heard my name, but rather than responding, I focused on the snow.
Snow wears several masks. During the night, when powers out, and the wind is howling outside your bedroom window snow is scary. Pre-dawn snow can look sickly in the grey-white light. Seven thirty on Christmas morning it was nostalgically romantic.
“Kyle,” my mom repeated.
I shook away my thoughts and looked at my mother.
“It’s your turn to open your stocking.”
“Oh,” I said sitting on the floor next to Amy.
I felt my mother’s eyes still on me as I picked up my stocking. I pulled out a small wrapped present. My hands opened the gift, but my focus was on my mother. Her eyes did that subtle narrowing they do when she’s picked up on something that wasn’t being addressed and was posing a question. Usually this look was directed toward her patients. It was a look I’d seen one other time since moving to California, the day she met Scotty for the first time. With everything going on lately, I could only imagine what was on her mind.
After presents were opened, we sat around the large dining room table and gorged on eggs, bacon, pancakes, and pretty much everything else you’d want from a breakfast spread. It was somewhere between talks about New Year’s plans and thoughts on going out to snowshoe on the carriage roads, my mom looked at me and said.
“Kyle, guess what I did yesterday while you guys were off spending time with your father?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know, what?”
She dabbed her mouth with her napkin and left the table. I peered over my brother across the table and tried to see what she went to get. Mom walked back with a large, towel covered nine by thirteen pan. For a moment I thought she made those chocolate peanut butter squares I loved so much. I smiled as she lowered it to the table and revealed her surprise. I looked at the gingerbread pieces to make a house.
“No way!” I cheered. “We haven’t made a gingerbread house since I was eight.”
“That’s what I thought,” Mom said.
“Sorry guys, but I’m staying in.”
I tried to imagine how we could decorate our house while I finished breakfast. For the first time since leaving for winter break, my mind wasn’t consumed with thoughts about Scotty. After we ate, Mom and I cleared the dishes and got the table ready for our project. She kissed my father bye, and the rest of the family left for the carriage roads. Mom dumped all the candy she bought to decorate. She had some staples like sugar cones for tress, gumdrops, starlight mints, Andes Mints, and some more unique ones like mini and large pretzel sticks, colored sugar, jellybeans, and more. I wondered how much of this was for decorating verses snacking.
Mom whipped up some frosting in Grammie’s Kitchen-Aid and we got to work building the house. Before long all four walls were up. Once the roof was added I stepped back and examined the blank canvas we had to work with.
“Thoughts on how you want to decorate?” I asked.
“You know I’ll go with whatever you want. Let’s do this, I’ll start on the roof and you can make a few trees.”
“Good plan.”
I tore open the sugar cones.
“How are you liking California?” my mom asked.
I picked up the piping bag filled with green icing and a star tip and got to work on a tree.
“I love it.”
“I noticed you’ve opened up more, made some friends and seem to fit in nicely at school.”
“Yeah for the most part.”
“Most part?”
“Yeah, I mean going to a new school is never easy at any age. You leave what you’re familiar with and take a chance that everything will be okay on the other side.”
“You’ve got a point there.”
“California and Maine are polar opposite. Here I felt sheltered and closed off. There I don’t know; I feel like I can be the real me if that makes since.”
“Do you miss it here?”
I looked up from the tree to my mom. She was focused on icing the edges of the roof with thick frosting snow.
“Of course, I do. I also can’t wait to get back to my life in California.”
I finished one tree and picked up a busted sugar cone. I ate the base and decided to make a shorter tree out of the cone part. This time rather than making starburst dots around and up, I staggered them and added a twist. Vibrant green frosting swirled around and made it look bushy.
“For the most part the kids at school are alright. One gives me shit, but teenagers are nasty toward each other.”
“You aren’t being bullied, are you?”
Shit Kyle, lie your ass off.
“No. It’s nothing like that.”
Out of the corner of my eye I saw my mom’s eyes narrow again. A quiet “hmm” whispered out of her.
“You’ve really grown up a lot since moving. I don’t know if you see it but you’re turning into a wonderful young man.”
“If only it were good enough for Dad to give a shit,” I accidentally blurted out.
I waited for the disapproving tone in the way she said my name. My eyes were glued to the third tree I iced since this conversation started.
“I almost feel like giving up. Not on life, but trying to get Dad to love me for who I am.”
“Kyle, look at me.” I looked at her. “Your father loves you.”
I scoffed. “He’s got a poor way of showing it. I don’t think this comes as any shock, but I’m tired of pretending Mom,” I confessed.
In that millisecond pause, a part of me wanted to come out. I looked at the sugar cone tree. Memories since moving to California came to me tenfold. My first kiss with Scotty. My first boyfriend. Saying I love you to Scotty. Dad and I fighting. Shane. All of it, culminating into something more. Life would never be the same after I came out to my parents. I was tired of living with a lie. Exhausted from acting out the charade.
“Never feel like you need to hide or pretend. I have noticed since moving you’ve become more private. You used to come to me and talk about everything bothering you.”
Not everything.
“You’re welcomed to a private life,” she continued. “You aren’t yourself around us. I still see the upbeat son I love so much, but I can see it in your eyes. Something else is weighing you down.”
I willed myself not to look away from the tree I held. Looking at my mother would surely result in me coming out.
“Kyle?”
“Mom, please. I have a lot going on. The melodramatic life of a teenager, am I right?”
“Kyle,” she said, her voice sounding pained.
“I know Dad loves me. Right now, it’s hard to see. One day I’ll think I’ve lost it entirely until I find it again.” I finally looked up.
I’m gay, Mom.
“It’s uncalled for how he’s been lately. Know that you can talk to me about anything, like you did in the old days when we made gingerbread houses and talked about the melodramatic life of a second grader. These should be the best years of your life, but society’s placed criteria for what it means to fit in at such a young age. Puberty doesn’t help.”
“Mom.”
She chuckled. “That’s a subject for a different conversation. The point is you’ve already paved the way to the life you want regardless of what anyone, including me and your father think. That’s huge, Kyle. You don’t need our approval to live your life. I trust whatever is going on, you’re being safe.”
“I am.”
“I’m so proud of you. Watching you grow into a respectful young man has been a sight to behold. I hope one day you’ll trust me enough to tell me what’s on your mind.”
I breathed in and out a few times before looking back at my mom. This felt like the right time to come out.
“Mom, I’m—” I was just about to say gay when the front door swung open and I swallowed the word.
“Andrea, can you please get me an ice pack?” Dad asked.
He limped in and sat down near to me, putting his foot up on the chair between us.
“Everything alright?” I asked.
“I think I sprained my ankle. I was trying to get a photo of everyone down by the bridge and stepped on a something under the snow and twisted my ankle.”
Mom returned from the freezer with an ice pack. Gingerly, she placed it on his ankle.
“Sorry to just burst in and disrupt your process.”
Mom looked at me and offered a smile.
I went back to working on decorations for the gingerbread house.
“It’s cool we were just talking about how I like California.”
And trying not to come out right now, although my sub-conscious screamed at me to confess.
§ § § §
A few days later, I went into Bar Harbor and revisited some old memories.
I got a coffee and a homemade cheddar bagel with cream cheese at Morning Glory. I then made my way to the shore path. It was supposed to be closed during the winter months, but I never paid much attention to the sign. Halfway along the path I arrived at Albert’s Meadow. I used to spend sleepless summer nights star gazing on the large lot of grass. Surprisingly, the benches were still peeking out through the snow. I brushed one off and sat down overlooking the slate grey ocean.
I unwrapped my bagel, eager to savour every bite. I was shocked it was still hot after the walk here. Steam rose from my coffee, but I could tell it was starting to cool because the urgency of steam had died down. I gazed out over the water as it kissed the shoreline and splashed up over the rock wall separating the Shore Path and Albert’s Meadow from the ocean. With water fast approaching my feet, I sat up and crossed my legs. Water made it three feet away before receding toward the ocean, this happened a handful of times before the seas calmed down.
I missed it here. Missed sneaking out at eleven o’clock on a late spring school night to go down to Seal Harbor beach and watch the Bioluminescence. Or summers when I would escape to here, or countless other spots and wished I were somewhere else. I missed the smell of the clam flats and seeing the stars at night. One thing I noticed had changed since moving was me. I was growing up faster than I could keep up with.
Was this normal for a boy my age? I assumed so. Life wasn’t easy at any age, except maybe as a toddler where your only concerns were looking cute and enjoying the wonderment of trying something new. My phone buzzed in my pocket and I saw I was getting a call from Kip.
“Hey man what’s up?” I asked.
“Not a whole lot. Trying to survive Christmas vacation with my family.”
I laughed. “Want to meet up? We can go to Epi’s for a slice.”
Playing It Out Straight Page 25