Chapter Four
“Why is everyone staring at me?” I ask her as I sit down to breakfast.
“Well maybe if you had texted me back last night,” she starts, “you would know that the entire school knows about the kiss between you and Gregor,” she finishes.
I stare at her in horror as I gaze around the room and see all the students looking at me and whispering. I quickly duck my head and look at my plate of food, which suddenly looks unappetizing and like a mass of gelatinous goo that if I were to put in my mouth, would make me instantly sick to my stomach.
“What happened?” she pries, and I shake my head. I really don’t want to think about it, and now I really don’t want to talk about it. “Colin,” she says gently. I swallow hard and try to focus on taking a spoonful of oatmeal and shoving it in my mouth. It’s a difficult feat, as my hand is shaking so much.
Which one was it? I wonder to myself. It could have been either Eric or Gregor. It is obvious why Eric would spread the news about the kiss around school. It’s no secret we barely tolerate each other. But if it was Gregor? He could have told his drama friends and I don’t know them very well. Any one of them could have started the rumor chain. If it was Gregor who told people, then maybe I was right after all, and he was using it as a way to distract me. I feel my face burn with embarrassment.
“He wouldn’t do that to you,” Katarina says quietly. I look up, startled by her words.
“What?” I croak. I’m trying so hard to suppress the tears I can feel burning in my eyes, it’s making my throat hurt.
“I’ve hung out with Gregor a few times. I told you that. Last year, I went to a party with the drama kids and he was still dating that guy he was sitting next to yesterday, Seth, I think is his name. Anyway, they were there, and I watched him interact with him. He’s really protective of the guy he’s with,” she says.
“If they are exes, why were they sitting next to each other yesterday?” I blurt out before I can stop myself. Even I can’t keep the jealousy from my voice and she raises an eyebrow as I hang my head again, and force another spoonful of oatmeal into my mouth.
“Haven’t you ever heard the expression, ‘we can still be friends’? Wait, never mind, I forgot I was talking to Mr.-I-Don’t-Date-Because-It-Takes-Away-From-My-Dancing-And-All-The-Time-I-Spend-Watching-Myself-In-The-Studio-Mirror.”
“Ouch, damn Katarina, that was mean,” I mumble into my oatmeal.
“Well, it’s true. I guess Seth is having a hard time letting go and is still pushing Gregor to remain friends and all that, hoping he can convince him to get back together with him or something. Not that Gregor ever will, I guess there was a question about Seth and Eric hooking up and Gregor just doesn’t go for that sort of thing. Too much drama for the drama guy. He likes his men faithful. But you would know that if you had a social life. Instead you spend all your time just practicing, practicing, practicing,” she chides.
Her words are true, but it doesn’t make them sting any less. I jump up from the table, unable to stomach the food any longer and I snap, “Well, excuse me if some of us take our career seriously. Just because you can’t decide which side of the fence you’re on, ours or theirs, don’t give me crap about taking my decision seriously!”
I push wildly through the crowd, trying to escape so I can feel like I am alone with my thoughts. I stop when I see Eric’s sneering face come into view. He’s blocking the exit and I demand, “get out of the way, Eric.”
“That was some kiss, O’Shea,” he starts. I step to the right to go around him and he pairs the movement. “Where you going in such a hurry? You and Gregor meeting backstage for some more one-on-one time? I think we should just tell Madame and Mr. Schlewp there is no need to perform a romantic drama, the two of you would do just fine on your own,” he taunts.
“What are you, in second grade?” I hear Katarina behind me. “Who cares if they kissed, Eric? Just get out of the way, you’re holding up the exit.”
I see it then. The answer to her question is all over Eric’s face. He’s jealous. I begin to say something nasty, about finally having something he doesn’t. It makes sense, if he really was the cause of Seth and Gregor breaking up. He would have done it intentionally to get Seth out of the way to get to what he wanted, Gregor. I am spared having to say anything because a cold chill runs down my spine when I hear Gregor say, “get out of his way, Eric.”
I absolutely refuse to turn around and look at him. Eric snarls, “see you in class,” and then steps aside, and I bolt for the door. I feel Katarina behind me as I turn to go outside for some air, instead of back to the confines of my dorm room. There is still half an hour before class begins and I take great gulps of air as I rush down the sidewalk. The busy city surrounds us, and the cadence of sounds that hit my ears somehow soothes me as I let myself become lost in the din.
I snort with laughter, which causes Katarina to look at me with a worried expression.
“Are you ok?” she asks.
“Yeah, it’s just, have you ever noticed that the one thing I have tried to do is stand out. Be noticed by people for my abilities and differences, but at the same time have them not notice my differences like red hair instead of dark or short stature instead of tall and lean? I mean, that my whole existence is proving that I’m different, but in the right way. The irony of it is, it was what I was trying to accomplish with my dance last night. Portraying that internal conflict, you know? And here’s the second punch-line. The one place I go to calm down when I can’t deal with it, is to get lost in and become just another face in the crowd. It makes me feel better to blend in and not stand out when it comes to the fact that I’m gay. Double irony, don’t you think?”
Katarina nods her head and then says, “I get it, I think. I’m not gay, but I get that you’ve hid that from people like your family for so long, and then to suddenly have it all over school must be hard, even though people know already. There are so many students here who are. It isn’t really something that is talked about a lot because it’s well, normal. But to have it so blatantly pointed out was a bit harsh. So yeah, I think I get it. But look, it’s over. Old news by tomorrow. You just need to put your dancing shoes back on and get back in there and do what you do best, Colin,” she urges.
I stop walking and give her a hug. “Thanks, Katarina. I don’t know what I would do without you.”
“Dance yourself until you were dead probably. You need to be grounded in reality by someone. And I’m just the person to tell you dancing isn’t everything. You have other stuff, Gregor stuff, to think about now.”
I deadpan her with my stare. “He’s the last thing I need to focus on. Don’t think it hasn’t occurred to me that he did it just to throw me off my game or get the stage to himself.”
“I told you, he isn’t like that. You should give him a chance,” she insists. I shrug and turn back around, having walked several blocks down from the school just to get out of sight of it for a while.
“I don’t know about investing time; it was just a kiss. But hey, I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier. It was a shitty thing to do and you’re my best friend, I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s all good. I just want you to think about one thing though.”
“Yeah what’s that?” I ask.
“If it was only a kiss, then why was it so influential to have you this worked up that you run away from school and snap at your best friend?”
I stop walking but she doesn’t. I glare at her back a moment before I jog to catch up with her and head to class. I look out of the corner of my eye and see she is smiling, but I change the subject.
“What do you think it will be today? Lifts again?”
“Nah, I think we’re long overdue for some calisthenics or a stretching session.” Thankfully, she shows me mercy by not pressing her last insight. But the annoyance burns because she does have me wondering all day about her question.
Madame Roussou is all over me in class for being unfocused. Eri
c doesn’t say anything further but has pointed, whispered conversations with Angela who laughs every time I walk by. The day drags on and by the time we are dismissed from the afternoon session, my calves are burning from the constant tapping of Madame’s cane on the back of them to snap me back to attention.
I decide to skip dinner and the evening session of finding an empty studio and I purposefully steer clear of the auditorium. My earlier conversation has me at the train station, purchasing a ticket to head up to Boston, to visit my family. There are sometimes when it is just a good idea to head home for a spell and see family, and I know my Mum will be putting on dinner about the time I arrive. I don’t call or text to say I’m coming. She never turns me away when I show up, the question is whether once I get there, I will hesitate at the door, wondering if it’s worth the withering stares of some of my brothers to show up at home. The worse one is the passive face of my Dad, who has never said a negative word about my decision to accept the scholarship to dance, or my sexuality, but he has never said an encouraging or positive word either. I realize I am making the trip home to again gauge his reaction to all of it, needing to know whether he approves of me or not, and I don’t text because I don’t know if I’ll have the courage to knock on the door and find out.
Chapter Five
When I get home, I take the subway to the south side of Boston. I pull a hoodie out of my backpack and pull it on, concealing my face. I had changed into jeans and sneakers before leaving. The three-hour train ride had taken what seemed like forever, but I arrived home around five-thirty.
It makes for walking up to the front door easy, because I know Dad, Liam, Seamus, and Patrick are all still down at the docks, leaving Mum, Kathy, Sarah, and Collene at home. I jog up the steps of the old Brownstone building and let myself in through the front door. Dad and Mum had worked hard to purchase the entire downstairs of the apartment building, in order to have room for our large family. They paid for it by renting the top two levels to two other Irish families.
When I get to the middle door of the apartments which had been converted to one large apartment, I knock on the door. They had chosen this as the main entrance because it leads directly into the kitchen of the second apartment, which is the central hub of the O’Shea family comings and goings.
“Come in!” my Mum calls at the door. The O’Shea residence has had an open-door policy for as long as I can remember. Whenever someone shows up at the door, they are always invited in, no questions asked, and made to feel welcome. I open the door and step into the kitchen which smells deliciously like the traditional Irish soda bread and lamb stew. “Colin!” she cries from near the stove.
“Hi Mum!” I say brightly, my spirits instantly lifted at seeing her plump, red face.
Per usual, she’s covered in flour and wearing her kitchen apron which sports the holly leaves of the upcoming holiday on it. She’s got an apron for every holiday and she rotates them accordingly.
“Still wearing those ratty old things,” I tease her as I hug her. She’s soft and warm and even though I am a grown man, I hold on for just a second longer, needing the hug from my Mum. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, that would be too direct for her Christian upbringing. Instead she says, “Now don’t start with me about the aprons. They save my clothes from being ruined by feeding all of you!”
“How many times do I have to tell you to come up to the city and I’ll take you on a proper shopping trip, so you don’t look like a dowdy soccer mom?” I explain patiently.
She whacks my shoulder with the spatula she is holding.
“Oh, that would be the day, wouldn’t it? There’s nothing wrong with soccer, mind you. Our Kathy just tried out for the varsity team this year and made left wing, she did.”
“That’s excellent!” I say, meaning it. If it’s one thing my Mum will always boast about, it is the accomplishment of her kids. She’ll never say a word about herself or her appearance whether good or bad, but she will always take pride in us.
“That’s right. So never you mind about me looking like a soccer Mum,” she chides as she turns back to the stove.
She lifts the lid off the pot and stirs the stew. It has always been one of my favorites and the savory smell that wafts through the room makes me glad to be home. I look around and take in the kitchen. It hasn’t changed at all with its peeling yellow sunflower wall paper and shelves crammed with pots and pans and food stuffs. The fridge is plastered in old report cards, drawings and finger paints. The most current being from her new pride and joy, Liam’s son, Aiden. Aiden is the first grandchild and the apple of Mum’s eye.
He totters into the kitchen in nothing but a diaper, t-shirt and pacifier. He holds his arms up when he sees me, and I oblige, hoisting the little tyke onto my hip as I dance with him around the kitchen. He laughs as my Mum watches us and rolls out cinnamon rolls on the counter for dessert.
As I play with Aiden, she fills me in on the rest of the family’s news and drama and I listen and take notes for the upcoming holiday break. I don’t want to step on any toes and occasionally, when there’s too much Bushmills involved with the celebrations, things can get heated quickly. It’s best not to offend Sarah’s new boyfriend by getting the name of his pet Pitbull wrong or some such nonsense like that.
Mum remains stalwart in not asking outright what’s wrong, but she skirts the question by asking about school. I tell her of the upcoming performances and about Katarina’s being on the fence about drama or dancing. She had taken an instant liking to Katarina when I brought her home last Thanksgiving to celebrate with us. She had, according to Katarina, pulled her into the kitchen and thanked her for being such an understanding best friend who was there for me to confide in about what she deemed, “life and love things.”
After that conversation, Mum deemed it prudent to consider Katarina as one of her own, and Katarina willingly went into the family fold, as her own parents are still in Russia, and they rarely had time for her anyway, being social and political figureheads. It’s still questionable if my Dad and brothers think she was my “cure” but one look from my Mum told them all to shut up about it and not ask such a question.
Just as I am about to get to the part of the kiss and the drama that unfolded with that, she pauses in her stirring and says, “A Mum knows. I made your favorite tonight because, somehow, I just knew.”
“You’re a psychic now, Mum?” I tease. “I never called so how did you predict I’d be coming home tonight? Especially seeing as it’s a weekday night.”
“Don’t be silly, Colin O’Shea, you know I don’t hold with that willy nilly hocus pocus nonsense. A Mum just knows when one of her babies is coming around because they need her. That’s why I made your favorite tonight, weekday or not.” She nods her head in affirmation and turns back to the pot as I roll my eyes heavenward.
For a Christian woman, she has some insights into things that can only be described as a divine connection to higher powers. It might just be that connection that gives her a direct line to the Lord Almighty, as she calls him, or her uncanny ability to just “know things.” I’ve long since made my peace with my religious upbringing and the fact that because of my preferences, I am shunned at large in that community. There are those in this age, like Mum, who say that the Lord loves us anyway, but I am well aware of the discrimination. I will always remain respectful of that upbringing, even if it is solely for her benefit. I’m kind of glad she has these premonitions, so to speak, because I realize I’ve been smiling since I walked in the door and received my hug. Something I hadn’t been doing at Julliard, and something that is momentarily disrupted when my Dad and brothers walk through the door and see me sitting at the kitchen table with Aiden and Mum.
“Colin. This is a surprise,” Dad says quietly. I stand and shake his hand. Seamus and Liam give me a pat on the back with a quick hug and tousle my hair like when we were kids. Liam scoops up Aiden who laughs gleefully in his arms as he greets his Dad. I say hello to Patrick who shoves his ha
nds in his pockets. He had once been drunk and told me not to touch him so “it” wouldn’t rub off on him. We keep a respectful distance from one another now.
“Hello, Dad. I hope you don’t mind me stopping in tonight,” I say. I search his face which has gone instantly passive, but he nods his head.
“Not at all. You’ll be staying for dinner of course.” It isn’t a question, more a statement and I nod.
“Ah, yes, Sir. Thank you for having me.”
Mum tsks at him as she gives him a kiss hello. “Of course, he’s staying for dinner, Finn. The boy is skin and bones.”
“Of course,” Dad reiterates. “Will you be staying over as well? I need to clear a few boxes from your room if that’s the case.”
“Um, no. I wasn’t planning on it. I have classes tomorrow. I just…I wanted to come home tonight and see everyone,” I finish lamely. No one here really wants to speak openly about whatever reason I have come home, so offering a ready-made excuse is a good way to bypass that awkwardness.
Kathy, Sarah, and Collene enter the kitchen and begin grabbing dishes to set the table. They had come in to greet me when I got there. The room’s tension almost visibly lessens as they learn I won’t be staying over, and the thought makes me momentarily sad. Sometimes I get angry that they are so uncomfortable around me, like they are on edge, and sometimes I understand why and can’t blame them.
Dinner passes relatively normally for an O’Shea gathering. Mum is glowing because she has all her children around the table. None of us dare disrupt her reverie and happiness by having the audacity to fight or argue, and as I observe Dad and the increased silver in his auburn hair, I notice even he seems more relaxed and content than usual.
I say my goodbyes and Mum makes me promise to bring Katarina for Christmas before I head back to the train station. Mum pulls me aside and makes me promise to send tickets for the performance. She has been to a couple and I am hoping she will convince Dad to come see one. He hasn’t been up to the school yet to see me, and I am not holding my breath that she can convince him to bring her up for Valentine’s Day. Dad makes the offer to drive me, but I know he will be up at three am to head to the docks for work again, so I thank him, but pull my hoodie back on, obscuring my face and blending in with the pedestrians to get to the station.
Dear Valentine Page 4