by Harry Cook
“A SON,” Dad yells, making both me and Elliot jump.
“Dad, this has got to stop,” Elliot says, squaring off. His chest is puffed out and he actually looks ready to fight. It terrifies me that he feels he needs to. “You’re being –”
“You don’t know what it’s like,” Dad says, rounding on Elliot. “You don’t know what it’s like having to deal with the life Fin’s chosen. To explain to people that . . . that your son –”
“Chosen?” I say, my voice louder than I expected.
Dad turns and stares at me.
“When did you choose to be straight exactly, Dad?” So, I seem to have decided to fight now too. I feel like I’m going to scream. I want him to listen to himself and realise how absolutely absurd he’s being.
“I beg your pardon?” he says as the clogs turn in his mind. “That’s not . . . That’s not the issue here. I don’t –”
“You don’t what, Dad? Don’t know? Or don’t have an answer? Perhaps that’s because you just knew. Deep in your heart and in your body who you were?”
I look behind Dad to Elliot because he’s the only possible pillar of strength I have right now and if I lose sight of him I’m worried I’ll collapse in a heap on the floor.
Dad’s face shifts from what I think is a glimmer of understanding to something darker. Like he refuses to grasp this. Not right now.
“You’ve got a nerve,” he growls and I recoil at the anger in his tone. “Trying to throw your behaviour back in my face.” He puts his hand to his head as if a headache just came on. “Why can’t you just be normal? I can deal with you not being into the same things as me and Elliot. And I’ve accepted your – your sensitivity – but this is taking it too far.”
What?
I want to say that football and feelings have nothing to do with being gay – that they’re just more things on the list of what makes me different from him – but Dad storms out of the room before I can find my words.
I look helplessly at Elliot whose mouth is opening and closing like a clown fish, but Dad returns before either of us can speak.
“Next steps,” he says, holding out a stapled booklet. “That’s what we need to discuss.”
I feel my stomach lurch and sink. “What is this?”
Dad’s eyes are scanning mine. “I want what’s best,” he says. “For you. For us. As a family.”
“So? What are these next steps?”
He motions to the booklet. “This is a different kind of workshop. I did some research online and –”
I feel like the air has been sucked from the room.
“Dad, that’s not a workshop. You know it isn’t.” Elliot takes the booklet from Dad’s hands, flicks through the pages. “What exactly is this bull–?”
“It’s a simple programme. A very simple programme. It’s to help young people who’ve lost their way. Re-align themselves, if you will.” He has this desperate, wild look in his eyes and I can’t help but feel sorry for him. All this effort for what? Because he’s scared by the fact that I like guys instead of girls? What a monumental waste of time.
“Dad, this . . . This thing really isn’t a workshop,” Elliot says, handing the booklet to me.
I only have to glance at the cover and I want to vomit. All the sympathy I feel for Dad goes out the window. Re-Souled. I know where I’ve heard the name before. June mentioned it at the first QSA meeting. It’s a residential religious camp that practises conversion therapy.
“No,” I say, more to myself than anyone else. “Just no.”
“Excuse me?” Dad snaps.
“I said no.” I want to scream it at him. “You want to send me to conversion therapy? Have you lost your mind?”
Dad shakes his head. “Fin, you’re being over-dramatic, as usual. This isn’t a ‘conversion’ programme, or whatever it is you’re saying. After all, as you keep telling me, there’s nothing to ‘convert’, right?”
Elliot shakes his head. “Dad, you honestly sound insane.”
At that Dad loses any semblance of rationality. “Enough!” he bellows at Elliot, practically purple. “Fin, you will not let your mother and me down like this.”
Elliot and I stare at one another. This is a new level of crazy. Even for Dad.
We stand silently.
“Is it really too much to ask to want a normal family?” he demands. Each word is deathly cold.
“You have one,” Elliot says, more focused than I’ve ever heard him. “You’re just too deluded to see it.”
And with that he sweeps the booklet to the floor, then turns and leads me out the front door.
By the time we’re on the front lawn I can feel my eyes burning and Elliot is already unlocking his car.
“I’m sorry. I can’t take that shit any more. Do you need a lift anywhere?” he asks, looking over at me.
“No. I . . .” I say. “No, I’m just going to walk.”
“Hey,” he says, taking me by the shoulders and forcing me to look at him. “You do not need to change.”
His voice breaks and I realise how emotional he is.
“But he does.” He scowls, motioning back to the house.
And then my brother jumps in his car and drives off down the street.
I think about texting Poppy or June, but instead just walk. The cool air on my face feels good and the smell of salt air from the wharf makes me briefly forget the shit storm that I was just caught up in.
I take my phone out and type a message to Rye, but I decide against sending it. Instead I just walk.
And walk.
And walk some more.
28
Rye
I can’t stop thinking about Fin.
When he left, I went home, fed Thelma, then watched her go crazy with excitement while I looked for her harness and we headed straight back out for a walk. I know it’s lame and cheesy and whatever, but Fin’s kisses are the kind where my whole body melts into his.
When Eric kissed me it felt like he was trying to eat my face off like a zombie from The Walking Dead. Kisses with Fin are different. They’re simple and perfect and I can’t get enough of them.
Thelma and I are practically skipping as we make for my spot by the lake. Life seems promising for the first time in ages and I can’t wipe the goofy smile off of my face.
I open up Instagram and see Poppy’s story. Her and June are watching Love, Simon and snuggling on the couch.
“Aww,” I type into the message box.
She sends back the love heart emoji. Then: “How’s your night with Fin? ;)”
“Perfect,” I reply. Then send the kissing emoji.
“NO,” I get back in less than three seconds.
I send back the thumbs-up and a wink emoji.
I’m about to put my phone away when it starts ringing, Poppy’s face illuminating my screen.
“Tell. Me. Everything,” she says. Then: “June, hit pause. I refuse to miss the carousel kiss.”
In the background I hear June click the remote and the room go quiet.
“You’re now on speaker. We wish to know every single detail. Go.”
“Hey, June,” I say. “Sorry for ruining the best bit of the movie.”
“Are you kidding? Shut up. Wait, no don’t shut up. Speak.”
“Nope,” I say, hearing the grin on my face.
“You cannot be serious,” Poppy says.
“There’s nothing to tell.”
“LIES,” she shouts into the phone. I let out a giggle and give them a brief lowdown on the situation.
June is practically planning the wedding, honeymoon and golden anniversary celebrations and Poppy just keeps saying, “Um.” On repeat. Eventually she manages to string a sentence together: “I love this entire thing.”
I’m beaming by the time I turn off towards Kettle Lake and my phone starts dropping out.
“I’ll speak to you tomorrow, okay?” I say.
“L—ve you, Rye. Keep — posted or —— have to — kill you,” is
how Poppy’s broken voice comes through the crackly line.
I hang up and keep walking, Thelma snuffling around in the trees like she loves to do.
When we get to my spot I take a deep breath in and settle myself down. I want to jump around I’m so happy. I check my phone on repeat, just to see if Fin’s online but the signal is so bad here I can’t figure out a thing.
Thelma and I snuggle up on a blanket under the string lights and just breathe. I can’t get over how funny life is. When I was with Eric, I thought that was the best I could hope for. The fact that I had someone who was somewhat into me was enough. I guess I don’t have the highest self-esteem, especially considering I thought Eric was as good as I could get – a guy who would rather chug beers with his rich-kid party friends than hang out with me – but I always tried to make the most of our situation. I never realised how it could feel to be with someone who actually likes me, someone who I wouldn’t even think to doubt or mistrust.
I take out some almonds I brought along from the inside pocket of my denim jacket and have myself a snack. Thelma’s snoring like a little tank. The lake is completely still; there’s not a hint of a breeze in the air.
I take in the surroundings and listen to the crickets and bullfrogs. Nothing beats this. Other than kissing Fin, of course.
*
After an hour or so I stand and brush the dried leaves and dirt from the back of my jeans. I’m about to wake Thelma and make tracks when I hear the snap of a branch somewhere to the left of where I am and my heart sinks.
I hold my breath and stand rooted to the spot. Nobody comes here. Nobody knows about this place, which means this entire situation is now feeling like the beginning of a B-grade horror movie.
“Is . . . Is anyone there?” I say into the overgrown shrubbery, then hate myself for using the most basic line that always gets the character killed off immediately. Rookie mistake.
Another rustling noise makes my knees lock and I realise I can’t move. This is extremely inconvenient considering I should be burning a trail through the bush towards home, but nope. Pesky legs are stuck and I am frozen with fear.
Some more rustling and then footsteps have me all about ready to drop dead on the spot, but then out pops something equally as terrifying as a mass murderer.
“Hey,” Eric says, looking down at the floor and back up at me like a kid who’s been given detention.
“What do you want?” I ask, my gut doing all kinds of unpleasant things as I stare at him.
“I want to talk,” he says, giving me the puppy eyes that I once thought were adorable, but which now just really annoy me.
“I’m done talking with you,” I say, feeling myself coming apart.
“Rye, you don’t mean that.” He smiles. “I miss you.”
“Really?” I ask, tears rising in my eyes, despite myself. “Chad not such a hotcock as his Grindr profile claimed?”
I’m so not here for a conversation. I’m exhausted by his head-games.
“Rye, c’mon, I was an idiot. A complete idiot. I see that now. I don’t –”
“I don’t want to speak to you,” I say, finally letting my breath out.
“Rye – just . . .” Eric starts.
“No, don’t ‘just’ me, anything. What are you doing here?” I can’t believe he’s invaded my haven. The sight of him makes me want to bang my head against a tree trunk in frustration.
“I came to see you,” he says, looking down at the ground again.
“Yeah, I figured as much what with you wandering around the bush in total darkness,” I say.
“I’m here to apologise,” Eric says, looking up and meeting my eyes. “For everything.”
I try to hold my anger tight, but for some reason I still feel some form of empathy.
Maybe that’s because he sounds the most sincere he has ever sounded and for a brief moment I remember why I fell for him in the first place.
“Great. Thanks,” I say, holding my own. “I’m going now,” I add, but my feet don’t move. Who knows why, but I want to hear what he has to say.
“Rye, I was such a dick to you. A total jerk. I didn’t mean to upset you –”
“So why all this now, Eric? What’s the go? Did you have an actual epiphany or are you simply bored?” I say, breathing in the air of the lake and staring at him without blinking.
“I’m not . . . It’s . . . I’m not like you, Rye. I’m not good at expressing –”
“Don’t turn this around, Eric,” I say, my thoughts crystal clear. “This has nothing to do with how I behave. You chose to chase some guy because I wasn’t ready to go all the way. That’s just point blank, textbook douche-baggery and you know it.”
Eric looks down at his sneakers. “I know,” he says, and for a second I think he’s crying, but when he looks back up at me there’s no tears.
I’m not enjoying this. This isn’t what I had in mind. I don’t like making anyone feel like garbage, but I’m not about to tell him it’s all okay when it’s not.
“Look, Eric. Just . . . I’m fine. Okay? If that’s what you want to know?” I look up at the branches overhead and the sprinkle of stars that shine through them and I feel completely at ease. “Honestly, I’m completely fine,” I repeat.
Eric gives me an awkward half-smile. “Good. Okay. Good,” he says.
We pause for a second that feels like a hundred years and I turn to leave, Thelma shuffling sleepily along next to me. I’m three steps towards the path home when I feel an overwhelming loneliness. Not for Eric, but for the situation. For the fact that you can one day think everything will work out, only to be floored the next when it all goes to shit.
I’m so in my head that I don’t realise he’s grabbed my arm, turned me around and is now kissing me hard on the lips. For the briefest moment I kiss him back before being knocked out of my trance-like state and unlocking my lips from his faster than humanly possible.
“No,” I say, staring up at him, shaking my head. “No way.”
“Rye –” He’s still holding onto my arm.
I wrench it out fiercely of his grip and pull Thelma on her lead towards me.
That’s when I see him.
Standing among the branches that guard my haven, his face contorted with hurt.
“Fin,” I say.
But he turns his back on me and is gone.
29
Fin
I knew Rye was too good to be true. It was such a mistake to head for his special place, as if it could be a haven for me too.
And why wouldn’t he say no to another chance with Eric?
But I honestly didn’t think I’d be so stupid again.
I’ve barely slept – waking up this morning was a challenge – and I’ve swallowed more snot from crying overnight than I did when I got pneumonia in fourth grade.
This is really not what I had in mind for today. I switched my phone off after Rye’s eighth attempt at calling me last night and I haven’t bothered to turn it back on. I wander through the halls to find my locker – where Poppy is waiting for me.
“Dude, you look like you’ve been attacked,” she says.
I swirl the combination on my locker and throw my backpack in, shutting it again and leaning my forehead against the cold tin.
“Are . . . you good?” Poppy says.
I shake my head: no.
June appears as if out of thin air. “What happened?” she asks, holding my hand in hers.
I’m about to tell them both everything, but my throat has clenched around my Adam’s apple, and then Rye shows up. He’s out of breath and his eyes are horribly bloodshot and swollen. Has he been crying too?
“Fin. Please, can we –”
June and Poppy exchange looks, but I’m already striding away towards D-block.
“Fin,” I hear him call after me but I keep walking. I can’t deal with this. Not now.
*
When I get to geography I sit at the back next to Candace “Year Captain” Dalton an
d immediately regret my decision.
“Hey, Candace,” I say, opening my book and brushing a stray hair from my face.
“Hi, Tim,” She is far too jolly for first period. But then again she is a full-blown wannabe Disney princess.
“Fin,” I correct.
“Hmm?” she asks, beaming while digging an assortment of pens from her bag and arranging them in size order at the top of her desk.
“My name . . . it’s F–” I start, but before I can finish, she’s grabbing my arm and staring at me with shark eyes.
“Oh my gosh,” she says, freezing.
“I . . . what?” I say, suddenly afraid to move.
“I forgot my eraser,” she says, cupping her face in her hands.
“Oh. I – Here. I’ve got one,” I say, fishing one from my backpack and handing it to her.
“No, it’s – Ugh. It’s not the right size. It throws the whole order into chaos,” she says, motioning to the pencils placed carefully along the top of her desk.
I see her OCD has gone rogue, so I tread carefully. I know how debilitating this can be. I used to suffer from a mild version of OCD. It’s no picnic. I used to not be able to leave a room my parents were in unless I’d turned the light on and off forty-four times. My parents, worried the disco-style situation I’d created in our living room would blow the fuses in the whole street, one day decided to get me to counselling and thankfully I haven’t been blowing up any electrical boxes since. But still. I know what it’s like. Even for someone as peppy and upbeat as Snow White herself. By which I mean, Candace Dalton.
“What size do you need?” I ask.
Candace shakes her head. “Just . . . Ugh. Forget it,” she says, her breathing shallow.
I nod.
“I just . . .”
“You okay?” I ask.
“No,” she says, biting the skin around her pinky. “I hate how nothing is ever in my control.”
Wow, this is a deep conversation that I didn’t anticipate having when walking into geography. I guess the universe has other plans, as usual.
“That’s how it is for all of us though,” I say, more to myself than her.