Common Sons

by Ronald Donaghe

  “It’s not cancer, Mom,” Joel said softly. She looked at him sadly. Her eyes didn’t settle on his face. She didn’t smile, and when she turned in the seat and began gazing out at the passing fields, Joel settled back and crossed his arms. Maybe we will just take off, he thought. His parents were oddly quiet, now that his mother had spoken her mind. It was rare for her to disagree with her husband, rarer still that she would call him down. It bothered her badly, Joel realized, and again he felt sorry for her, sorry that they would probably fight about it later. But there wasn’t much he could do about that. I’m not going to lose him, he thought stubbornly. He spoke to his parents’ backs. “I’m sorry it hurts, but we’re gonna be together no matter what.”

  “And you’ll suffer for it, Joel, for the rest of your life,” his father said. “In just a year, you’ll be out of school, and you’ll be your own man. What you do then will be your business. But right now, it’s also mine and your mother’s. Tom belongs to his father.”

  “You make it sound like we’re property or something.”

  “In a way you are,” his mother said. “If we wanted, Joel, we could have you committed to a mental hospital…just on the basis of what you’ve told us.”

  “Jeez! That’s not right!”

  Douglas chuckled. “I’m sorry. It’s not funny. But Eva’s right. We could. Those are the facts, like it or not.”

  Joel’s breath felt squeezed, as if he were being choked.

  They were nearing the turn-off to their road. His father slowed the car and turned onto it. “I understand how you feel. But think! If it’s like you say, a year from now, if you still feel the same way, I’ll be more inclined to believe you. Give us a chance. Right now, I think you should just calm down.”

  Joel felt a little relief seeing that his parents, shook as they were, weren’t freaking out as he had imagined. But from what he’d seen and heard in that church, and considering how even Tom had gone weird at first, he doubted that Tom would have an easy time of it.

  “I just want you to see what you’re up against,” Douglas added. “What I’ve been tryin’ to say. I want you to know what you face. Whether I agree with what you say you feel is my choice. But you’ve got a long life ahead of you. I can only go so far. Then you’re on your own.”

  Joel wanted to cry, but he wouldn’t, not now, not in front of them.

  When they got home, the telephone was ringing. Joel raced to it, picked it up. “Tom?”

  * * *

  There was work to do, and quickly. There was no decision, however, which in itself saved Tom valuable time. After saying good-bye to Joel at the church, Tom walked quickly home. His parents would still be at the church and would very likely be there for another half hour. Later, in the afternoon, the disciples, officially known as the Gospel Fellowship, were scheduled to have their monthly dinner at the Sundowner Motel over on Main Street. By the time it started, Tom planned to be ready to do what Joel still seemed to think he would be incapable of, and that was to stand up to his father. Joel was wrong.

  He couldn’t explain it to Joel. Why he felt confident now. But he understood why Joel was nervous. I did freak out the first time we had sex, he thought. But this dinner, where the disciples—Mike, Kevin, Paul, and others—were going to meet was the last responsibility Tom planned to fulfill at his church. More than anything else, he knew Joel was scared by his idea to beat Paul at his own snide little game. As he made his way home, he realized that the affairs of the church, the goings on, the fellowship, the retreats, the banquets were no longer of concern to him—at least not now. He felt confident that he could survive his father’s reaction when the truth was finally told. He was determined, as he’d never been, to prove to Joel that he wasn’t going to cave in, or as Joel said, “knuckle under again,” to his father. He passed through the house, taking no notice of it. He hadn’t set foot inside for six days, and its familiarity was gone, an ephemeral coziness that had dissipated in comparison to the warm home that Joel and his parents shared; it was one that Tom ached to be part of. There, he could be human; there, he was respected for himself and not reprimanded because he was only human and failed to attain some unattainable perfection; and there, was Joel. In just six days, Tom felt as though he had been recreated, with a mind of his own, with the chance to succeed or fail on his own merits. And he was determined not to fail.

  He went directly to his room and started at the closet. No time for sentimental browsing. He cleared the shelf above the clothes. To one side, he tossed only the most valuable of his possessions—jewelry (easily hocked for cash), his high school diploma, a savings account passbook (which had been built up over many years and never touched, the principal having been gifts from his grandparents), papers that proved who he was, and other useful documents. He even had a copy of the birth certificate he’d used for entrance requirements at the various colleges he had applied to. In another pile, he discarded everything he could see no survival value in. These, he put back on the shelf.

  He emptied a sturdy box into which he placed the items he intended to keep. Next, he rummaged through his clothes, pulling out Levi’s, work shirts, socks, and underwear. He grabbed a Levi-jacket Joel had given him, an overcoat, and a corduroy coat with a fur collar. He stuffed the clothes into a suitcase. He considered books from his large collection, but couldn’t think of anything to take, amazed that no book, however wonderful or moving, seemed important when beginning a whole new existence. He took his picture of Joel, then scoured the room for what little money he had lying around and stuffed it into his pockets.

  He left his room and retrieved his extra toothbrush; everything else he needed he’d forgot to bring home from Joel’s house.

  When he was finished, he could scarcely tell that anything from his room had been taken. He carried the box and suitcase out the back door. He looked around to avoid being seen, then went through the gate to the alley. He left his belongings behind the garbage cans and covered them with trash.

  He didn’t know how many precious minutes had gone by, so he hurried back into the house to use the telephone. He hoped the Reeces would be back from church by now. On the first ring, he heard Joel’s voice.

  He told him about the clothes and things in the alley and arranged to call him later in the evening. “But if I don’t call you by eight o’clock tonight, you’ll know that I’ve run into trouble. I’ll be walking out to your house by that time. I’ll walk by the high school and cut across the park heading south, then down 8th Street all the way to Highway 490, Okay? If I call you before eight.well, you’ll know everything is fine. Wish me luck at the dinner, Joel—

  “No. I’m doing it, Joel, because Paul and the other disciples will be there. It’s a good chance to get them alone. I have to go now. I love you. Bye.”

  Tom dropped the receiver into the cradle. He had finished everything, and it didn’t matter now if his parents came back. The house was silent. Only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room sounded. He stepped lightly on the plush gray carpet of the hallway and returned to his room. There was plenty of time now before the dinner, and while he waited for Pete and Kevin, he wanted to write a letter. He owed his mother that. But it was difficult; she was so brittle somehow, how could he chance breaking such a fragile being? He heard her quiet voice, her prim manner, acquired over a lifetime; outwardly, at least, she made his father a perfect wife. His mother’s inner person rarely had been exposed, but Tom was aware of it at least, even if his father never seemed to wonder. He could only estimate the loss she would feel as she read his letter by the loss he felt in having to write it. And no matter what happiness she found later, he doubted it would be as complete as it could have been had he somehow found a way to stay here. But he would not. He shrugged off his guilt. Joel had told his parents, and the world had not ended. So let Paul do his worst. And when his father found out everything? Never had he disputed a single argument, and because he would not give in on this, he knew that his father’s rage wo
uld be boundless, just as his capacity to beat an argument to death was boundless. He was incapable of allowing anyone to get the last word.

  Finally, he wrote the letter that would change everything for his mother:

  Dear Mother,

  I love you. I am sorry that things are like they are. By the time you read this, you’ll know what I mean. Just please understand, I couldn’t give in to him on this.

  As for my going away, I hope you will remember that in the fall, I would have been in college anyway. And even Baylor University would have been Father’s choice, not mine. I never had a choice in anything. Father has dictated to me (and you) in everything. If I had stayed, and if it hadn’t changed my mind about myself, Father would have kicked me out anyway. I’m sure of this. So if you feel a loss, just think that I have moved out only a few months sooner. So please don’t feel bad.

  I hope that in your heart, you still consider me your son. You don’t have to let Father make that decision for you, do you? I will always hold you dear. You won’t be far from me in my thoughts. And, of course, neither will Father, because even though he may not realize it or care, I love him. I just can’t be what he wants me to be.

  I know I have hurt you. But I should tell you that this is not a new thing for me. Since I was 15 years old, I knew I was a homosexual. I’ve fought against it and prayed for help ever since then. But it hasn’t done any good. Father will say I have chosen this. But I haven’t. Nobody with any sense would choose to be despised. Please understand that. Please find a little room in your heart to continue to love me, as I do you.

  I will call you in a few days to see how you are doing. I will be fine. I’m glad you still have the church. I guess I don’t. Maybe one of these days I’ll find a way, a church.

  Please don’t show Father this letter. I love you.

  Tom

  He folded the letter and placed it in his pocket, wondering when he would have to give it to his mother. He looked around. Everything in his room and everything he stopped to touch whispered the finality of his leaving. The silk brocade couch, where he had sat many evenings during family study of the Bible, was the only thing his mother had been allowed to pick out especially for herself. In the furnishings, as in everything, his father did the buying. The mahogany desk behind it, the shelf above it stuffed with religious tracts, the matching credenza, the choice of pictures, even the pale blue color of the walls, were his father’s choice. So Tom sat on the couch, already feeling like a stranger in this immaculate setting.

  He thought of Joel’s messy room, the simple furnishing of the Reeces’ home, compared to this overdressed house. Having no choice now but to leave, he was ready. Then he saw the picture of his parents on the mantle above the fireplace. He got up and walked over to it. His mother was wearing her usual blue colors that his father preferred. His father was wearing a black suit. He studied their faces. His mother’s smile was timid and her eyes betrayed unease. His father’s face was stern. His father had never liked the picture, the photographer having caught too much of their inner tension. But Tom took it off the shelf lovingly. He laid the frame on the mantle and slid the picture out. He slipped it under his shirt.

  He went outside, preferring to wait for Pete and Kevin in the bright sunlight.

  CHAPTER 14

  Eva washed the dishes that she had left before church. At this hour, the sun was already above the kitchen window and quickly turning into noon. The warmth felt good on her face, but could not quite penetrate into her central feeling of cold. She felt numb. Since the night before, an arctic numbing had chilled her, hearing the strange words that had come out of Joel’s young mouth, seeing his beautiful youthful face, so strong and healthy, so clean and innocent, admit such awful things. He is so confused, she thought. If the boys would just forget everything, wouldn’t that be better? Couldn’t they just start over? Surely there was a way for Tom’s troubles with his father to be avoided—or even if there wasn’t, couldn’t they be solved?

  Joel wouldn’t forget it, though. Hadn’t he said he loved his little friend? Loved him? Him? Another boy? The kind of love he meant is what frightened her, left her cold. He had run out not more than ten minutes after getting home. Said he was going for a drive. Well, who could blame him?

  Douglas had gone out to inspect the place and had come back beaming. “They did real well, Eva. I couldn’t have done it better myself. Tools where they belong. All the dirt and mud cleaned off the tractor. Cotton cultivated real nice. Irrigation finished clear across the field. And your garden’s just fine.”

  “I knew it would be,” she’d said.

  Douglas was at the kitchen table now drinking coffee. She felt him behind her, but she couldn’t think of much to say to him. His reaction to Tom and Joel’s confession was one she should have pre-dicted—not that he condoned it—but his damned reasonable approach to this problem somehow cheated her of even trying to get Joel to change. She sighed, looking out the window, then she heard knocking at the front door. She wiped her hands on a dish towel and went to answer it.

  Edna Stroud stood there, smoothing her hair. Her face was black and blue, her lips swollen, her eyes red. Eva forgot everything and hugged her instantly. “Edna! What is it, honey? You look awful!”

  “Eva, I’m sorry to bother you, but I don’t have a soul to turn to.”

  She showed Edna to the kitchen and poured her a cup of coffee. Douglas said hello to her but, after pulling out a chair for her, just nodded, allowing Eva to continue talking to her.

  Poor rundown woman, Eva thought. Her long, skinny arms reached for the cup; she took it with her cracked and bleeding fingers, more clawlike than Eva had ever seen. She had to look away from the sight. “Joel told us everything. You don’t need to worry about the window, you know.”

  Edna sipped on the coffee and sat the cup down gently with both hands. “I want you and Douglas,” she nodded toward him, “ta press charges. Henry, he’s crazy over this. He and Kenny’ve been fightin’ bad. They’ll kill each other if they don’t stop. Seems like me and the younguns don’t matter. If Kenny goes to jail, least he won’t be able to do nothin’ worse, ‘n I kin bring Henry round to some sense.”

  Eva patted her hands. “Douglas?”

  He couldn’t stomach the idea of putting a kid in jail if there was any way to turn the situation around. “Tell you what. You send your twins over. I’ll pay ‘em each a dollar an hour to help me out with the farm work. And I’ll deal with Henry about making Kenneth work to pay back the money for the window.”

  “But Henry won’t allow that,” Edna protested. She looked stricken. “He don’t want nothin’ to do with y’all. Pardon me for sayin’ it out like that. He’d as soon take it out of Ken’s hide.”

  “He’ll stand for it, Edna, because he won’t have no choice. I’ll see to that.”

  “I don’t know. Henry’s proud, in his way. Thinks he kin handle Kenny. Then there’s the other children. I gotta think about them. We got no food in the house ta speak of. He drinks up his disability pension—now the truck…”

  Douglas got up and patted her bony shoulders. “Don’t you worry, Edna. We’ll settle everything. Eva, what say we take Edna home? I’ll have a talk with Henry.” He looked at his wife over Edna’s head. Their eyes met. And for all their differences concerning Joel, neither of them registered that problem in the look that passed between them. Here was a problem that both of them were committed to working out together. In this, they were in full agreement.

  * * *

  The monthly dinner was paid for by the church and, at first, was well attended; now, as in some other activities, only the small core of those guys who called themselves the disciples were regulars. Other activities better served the real Fellowship group, like the cookouts, the retreats, and bus trips to churches in other small towns. And maybe, after attending church services all morning, most of the other members of the Fellowship had little stomach for the dinner because, from the beginning, it was restricted solely t
o conversation revolving around religious thought. Its formalities were as set as church services, with an opening and closing prayer, with discussion laced with biblical paraphrasing. The teens who attended did so with the understanding that it was the one time of the month that they would conduct themselves “.as though breaking bread with the church elders,” as the dinner was presented to the people of the congregation who were asked to pay for it. In some cases, these dinners had been attended by the elders.

  For this reason, the core group in the Fellowship, the disciples, considered themselves elite, the most devout of the devout. Tom had never thought much about the exclusivity. But it was the formality, the attitude of its serious purpose, that had quickly thinned their number to thirteen at these dinners. Pete Thompson, Tom realized, now, was not devout, now that he had gotten to know the kid, but was brazenly trying to keep up his relationship with Kevin, and was apparently willing to suffer through such a dinner to spend another hour with him. Tom had told him privately, this afternoon, that he had always secretly hated them. “But watch out today, Pete. I’m gonna do it!”

  Pete had merely smiled stiffly, ducking his head. “Boy, you are serious aren’t you?”

  Tom was. In fact, he discovered that he now looked forward to it.

  They gathered quietly about two o’clock at the Sundowner Motel in a small but well furnished room isolated from the rest of the motel by a breezeway. By now, the seating arrangement was set. Tom always occupied the head of the table as the preacher’s son. Paul occupied the other end. Between them on both sides sat the others. Pete and Kevin were to Tom’s right at his end of the table; the rest sat along the sides, based more on their personalities and which conversation they were likely to join most often. Today, Tom noticed definite strains in the seating arrangement, which he imagined had something to do with the way each guy felt about him, or about Paul.