It's All Relative

by J. M. Snyder

  That’s my mom talking, trying to guilt me into feeling like the evil son. Me, who’s gainfully employed. Look at Ray, stretched out on the rug in front of the TV and laughing at an episode of The Simpsons that he’s already seen a hundred times. Each joke, you’d think he never heard it before, the way he carries on. And I’m the disappointment here.

  Dad sits in his recliner, staring at the screen, but he’s not laughing and during commercials, I see him glance at me. At Dan’s arm around me. What I wouldn’t give to know what he’s thinking. Did he even hear what I said? Maybe I should say it again, just to get a rise out of him. Mom sort of hogged the spotlight in the dining room. Now she’s in the kitchen, phone in one hand as she washes up the dishes, and over the running water I can catch phrases of her conversation—she’s running down the relative list in her address book, calling everyone she knows to share the bad news. Not about me, thank God. Aunt Evie. As if she might actually call someone her sister missed.

  “Been sick awhile now, poor thing.” Her voice rises over the water and drifts into the den where I sit on the sofa next to Dan. He’s only pretending to watch TV—I can feel his gaze on my face like a hand tracing the curve of my jaw, touching my neck. With an uneasy smile I rub his knee, sure someone will say something, but as long as the TV’s on, I don’t exist. I learned that long ago. “Have you talked to Billy yet? Evie was so young.” Mom dissolves into fresh tears, and Dad turns the volume on the TV up a notch.

  “She was sixty something,” Ray mutters from his spot on the floor. He rolls onto his side and stares at Dan’s hand where it rests on my shoulder. “So how does this work, actually?” I give him a questioning look and he explains, “What goes where when you guys do it?”

  I feel Dan’s hand fist in the loose fabric of my shirt, and I squeeze his knee when it starts to shake in anger. “I’m not talking about my sex life with you,” I say, studiously watching the TV. “You want to know about the birds and the bees, go ask Caitlin. I’m sure she knows.”

  “It’s Cat.”

  I look up as my sister enters the den, dressed in a black baby-doll shirt that exposes her flat stomach and prominently displays a silver belly ring. As she passes me, I poke at her navel. “What’s this?” I ask.

  She swats my hand away, then sinks to the couch beside me. “Fake,” she says, but the arched way she nods at our dad makes me think otherwise. Before I can argue, she kicks out, her small foot connecting with Ray’s thigh. “I thought I already told you how that works,” she mutters. “Guy’s dick goes up the other one’s ass—”

  “Caitlin,” Dad growls. It’s the first thing he’s said since dinner. Some part of me thinks maybe she talks this trash just to get him to notice her—if so, she’s the only one of us who manages to draw his attention away from the damn television set. He hasn’t said anything about Aunt Evie yet, or me, or Dan, or anything at all, really. After he pushed away from the table, he came straight into the den and flicked the channels until he found something to watch. Ray followed him, ever his father’s son. I just came in here to get away from my mom, and Dan trailed behind me. I’d call it a night and head on to bed—I could use his arms around me right about now—but I have a feeling that Mom’s not through with her hysterics yet, and no one’s said anything about what we’re going to do about Evie. Sugar Creek is a good eight hours’ drive north of here. When’s the funeral? Who’s taking care of the arrangements? Who’s at the house? Hopefully she’s finding this out with her phone calls. This is stuff we need to know.

  Dad waits until Ray turns back to the TV before he looks at Dan. Not at me, mind you, at Dan. “Army, huh?” he asks.

  I told them that when I introduced him earlier. But Dan just nods and says, “Yes, sir.” My dad grunts in approval—it’s the sir, I’m almost sure of it. He eats that shit up. “Fifty-seventh Quartermaster Corps.”

  Dad nods, impressed. “Supply,” he says, and now I’m impressed, I didn’t think he’d know that. “Stationed where, Fort Detrick?”

  That’s in Maryland. We live in D.C., a good two hours north of my parents here in central Virginia. With a shake of his head, Dan corrects, “Fort Myer.”

  Another nod. “Where’d you do basic?” Dad wants to know. Suddenly he’s Mr. Army, where the hell is this coming from?

  “Fort Lee,” Dan tells him.

  In the kitchen my mom cries into the phone, and I think I hear her telling whoever is on the other end of the line that we’ll be there tomorrow. Beside me Caitlin picks at lint on her black jeans and sighs dramatically, bored. When no one looks at her, she starts to kick at Ray, but he’s watching TV again and ignoring the rest of us. “How long have you been in the service?” Dad wants to know.

  I feel like a teenager again, my parents quizzing my latest date before we can get to the movies, though I never dated in high school, and if I had, I would’ve never brought any of the guys home. Dan’s not my first boyfriend, but he’s the first one I’ve ever wanted my parents to meet. Now I’m wondering just what possessed me to subject him to this. I’ll have to tell him I’m sorry when we finally get alone.

  But Dan’s taking it all in stride. He’s a good man, better than anyone else I’ve had in my life since I left home at eighteen. He has a way that makes you think you’re getting to know him, even though he doesn’t let you in and keeps a close guard on his heart. The night we met, I was just going to hang out at a local gay bar with a few friends from work—have a couple beers, hit on the cute boys in uniform who wandered into our midst, leave with a raging hard-on and the start of a hangover. But somewhere between my third bottle of Zima and midnight, we ended up down the street at a straight club running a drag contest. The place was flooded with soldiers from Myer, out for a night of fun. Must’ve been payday, it turns out the base and the boys scour D.C., looking to spend their hard-earned cash.

  I’d like to say I saw Dan the moment I walked in. I’d like to think I caught his eye, but the truth is never that romantic. No, I actually didn’t see him for most of the night. Not being one for drag, I hung by the bar, kept to myself, a little miffed that everyone I came with had ditched me for some aging queen with makeup pancaked on her ancient face. She was onstage doing the worse rendition of “I Will Survive” that I’ve ever heard, and even from where I sat, I could tell she was a guy in a dress and nothing more. I wasn’t that drunk.

  Two Army buddies plopped down to my right—Dan and his roommate, a kid named William Jackson who has acne scars and baby fat in his cheeks that makes him look like a chipmunk. William ordered another shot of whiskey and a barmaid, if there were any to spare, and then he laughed at his own joke, nudged Dan, nudged me. “A barmaid,” he said, snorting into my drink. “Get it?”

  “I get it,” I told him, moving away. I looked past him and saw Dan looking back, his dark eyes like shadows in his face. The way he sort of smiled at me, like he didn’t want to be the first to respond but couldn’t help it, made me blush. I’d had too much to drink, I told myself. Servicemen like him don’t hit on preppy boys like me.

  William drank himself sick. Unfortunately he did it right there at the bar, and he stayed between Dan and me the whole time. Every now and then he said something he thought was funny, and he’d clap me on the back or nudge me with his shoulder to share the joke. Each time I looked his way, I found Dan staring back. When William finally leaned over and puked on his polished shoes, Dan stood up to go. He paid for their drinks and asked the bartender if there was a phone he could use to call a cab while William reeled sickly on his feet. “Outside,” the bartender told him.

  I slipped off my bar stool and followed them out.

  It was January and the night was brisk, the air smelled of snow. I watched Dan start to half-carry, half-drag William down a sidewalk busy with college kids and winos despite the late hour, and before I even knew what I was doing, I grabbed his elbow. He turned to frown at me, that stern mask of his slipping easily into place. “Excuse me,” I said, giving him my best disarming
grin. It didn’t work—he didn’t smile back. Slowly, I removed my hand from his arm. “I have a car,” I said. It sounded lame, but there it was. “I can give you guys a ride back to base? If you want.”

  “Why?” Dan asked.

  I didn’t know what to say. Because I thought he had pretty eyes? I liked his quiet demeanor? I thought I saw something in the way he kept glancing at me throughout the night? All that and more, but his question made me stop, made me think I might have been wrong about him. He’s stronger than me, not so much taller but broader in the chest and arms, he could’ve easily kicked my ass if he wanted. Would he think I was propositioning him?

  I dug my car keys out of my pocket, jiggled them like an enticement. “Just doing my part to help out our nation,” I told him, hoping it sounded cheesy enough to make him smile.

  It did. Together we managed to get William to my car, and I remember thinking that if he threw up on my floorboards, I sure as hell better get something for my troubles. I’d settle for a kiss, light petting maybe, a copped feel or a phone number, but if that drunk got sick twice, nothing less than a blowjob would salvage the night. Fortunately, William passed out before he even hit my seat, and I don’t think he woke up again until the next morning.

  Fort Myer wasn’t too far—I took the interstate, but stayed in the right hand lane, keeping to the posted speed because I didn’t want to rush through this moment. The more I talked to Dan, the more I found I liked him and his quiet manner, his soft replies, the way he called me sir until I told him that I couldn’t be that much older than he was. That made him smile again, and he started to open up a bit. Told me a little about himself—twenty-two at the time, from Ohio, joined the Army straight out of high school because he needed the money. He kept looking over his shoulder into the back seat where William stretched out, snoring in long, thick bursts that threatened to rattle the windows.

  He made the first move—put his hand on the back of my seat when he turned to check on his friend, then left it there like he forgot where he put it. By the time the sign for Fort Myer appeared in my headlights, that hand had found its way to my shoulder, and his fingers were brushing along the hair behind my ears. “Michael,” he said when I told him my name. His hand rested on my shoulder, his fingers dangling against my collarbone—I could feel them through the thin jacket I wore. “Like the archangel.”

  I had to laugh. His finger touched my cheek and when I didn’t jump or pull away, it traced the frame of my glasses back to my ear, circled around the outer fold of skin, then plucked at my earlobe playfully. “Why’d you give us a ride?” he whispered.

  A glance in my rearview mirror showed William sound asleep. “I don’t know,” I admitted. I gave Dan what I hoped was a meaningful look out of the corner of my eye and told him, “I think I like you.”

  “You think.” I nodded—I didn’t want to commit to more than that.

  We didn’t speak again until after I was waved through the guard post onto base. Dan navigated me through the winding streets to his barracks, and when I pulled to a stop in front of the building, he said, “Maybe we can do this again sometime.” With a faint smile, he added, “I think I like you, too.”

  I jerked a thumb at William and said, “Only if you promise not to bring him along.”

  That got me his number, and I called the next evening to hear Dan’s quick laugh in my ear as he told me, “I was starting to wonder if I had dreamed you into existence.”

  “I’m not that good,” I said coyly.

  He laughed again. “I’d like to find out.”

  Since then, we’ve been inseparable. I know more about him than I do about myself, and I know that although he doesn’t show it, he’s nervous around my parents. My dad in particular, I think Dan feels he must impress him or something. I should have warned him, Dad doesn’t get excited about anyone, especially not his son’s boyfriend. Still, he’s not screaming at us, there’s that at least. He tends to leave the theatrics to my mother.

  Dan answers his questions politely. Been in the military since high school, five years now. No, sir, he hasn’t seen action yet. His unit was put on high alert after the attacks last September, but other than frequent security checks and bi-monthly inventory reports, he hasn’t noticed much of a change in daily life around post. “Do they know you’re…” Dad waves his hand in the air almost dismissively. I wonder if he can even say the word gay.

  “No,” Dan says.

  My dad nods at that and falls silent. Leaning close to my lover, I whisper, “I think you passed the test.”

  That earns me a smile, one I want to kiss away. But not here. So I rise from the couch and Dan stands beside me without a word. “I guess we’ll head on up, then,” I say to no one in particular. I’m ready to have him all to myself.

  Ray winks at me like he thinks we’re going to get it on the minute my door’s closed, and Caitlin kicks him before I can say something. “What’d I do?” he mutters, rolling out of her reach.

  Ignoring them both, I say, “Night, Dad.” He brushes me off—I’m interrupting his TV time here. In the hall, I wave at my mom and mouth the words, “Good night.” She’s still on the phone.

  She looks up at me with large, teary eyes and covers the mouthpiece with one hand. “Remember what I said,” she tells me. She means the sex. I nod and roll my eyes, how old am I again? Please.

  I feel Dan’s arm around my waist as I lead the way upstairs. My bedroom is much smaller than I remember, and the first thing I do when Dan closes the door behind us is fold up that damn cot and set it against the door like a barricade. Everything else looks exactly the same as it always has, and suddenly I’m in high school again, it all comes rushing back.

  And my Aunt Evie is dead.

  The events of this evening hit me in the stomach, knocking the wind out of me—dinner, the phone call, my mother’s reaction to both. Hot tears burn my eyes and I turn before Dan can see me cry. I try to keep it in but the hurt, the pain, the emotions all leak out and course down my cheeks like liquid fire burning my skin in its wake.

  Dan’s there—thank God for him. He takes me into his arms and I bury my head in his shoulder, hug him tight. With a tender touch, he rubs a hand along my back, rocks me gently, murmurs that he knows, he knows. I fist my hands into his shirt and cry harder. I’m not sure what’s upset me most, my mother’s anger or my dad’s neglect. I expected something so much more than what I got tonight.

  “It’s okay, Michael,” Dan tells me, and I let his hands and lips convince me that yes, it’ll be alright. He helps me undress to my boxer briefs and white undershirt, then holds the blankets back as I slip between the covers of my bed. Stripping down to his drab olive underwear, he turns off the light, fumbles his way to the bed, crawls in beside me. Then his arms are around me again, and his lips press against the back of my neck as I cuddle up into his embrace.

  Chapter 4: First Night Home

  We lie sandwiched together in my narrow twin bed. I’ve never shared it with anyone else before. I stare into the darkness of my bedroom and listen to the sounds of the house around me. The TV is loud even though it’s downstairs, water runs in pipes through the walls, my mom’s still on the phone. The kitchen’s right beneath my bedroom and I swear I can hear her talking. I wonder if she’s told anyone about me tonight. I imagine her scandalous gasp as she exclaims, “Just before Penny called, Michael told me he was gay. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph—my heart!”

  Beside me, Dan nuzzles against my neck and asks, “What’s on your mind?”

  I blink at the ceiling and answer truthfully, “I don’t know.” Right now my mind is a crazy mix of disappointment and anger and sadness, and I’m not sure what I’m thinking. I replay the scene at dinner. This time it goes the way I wanted it to, but I don’t know exactly what that means so I push that image away. If my dad said something, if he told me it was wrong to love another boy or if he said he’s ashamed of me, or hell, even if he told me to get out of his house, at least I’d know what he t
hought about it. At least I’d have some clue as to how to act. But he said nothing, and I’m left feeling like a marionette two seconds after the strings are cut—I’m hovering in midair, waiting for the fall.

  And then there’s Aunt Evie.

  My mind numbs at that. When’s the last time I saw her? After high school, definitely, one summer when my being home for a few weeks just happened to coincide with our annual family vacation to Sugar Creek. I remember sitting on the front porch swing at her house, leafing The Advocate, which was the only half-decent magazine I could find in the last convenience store we stopped at before we got to town. I’m quite certain that no one in Sugar Creek has ever read an issue of The Advocate. It’s just not the type of thing they sell down at Grosso’s Market. As it was, I hid the magazine inside the newspaper so that none of my aunts would see it. The last thing I needed was one of them asking about the banner across the cover, Pride Issue written in loud, rainbow print.

  I was barely twenty years old at the time and reveling in a sexual freedom I never knew could exist. A month prior I broke up with boyfriend number three, who was the first guy I ever slept with, and it’s sad but since Dan, I can’t even remember the kid’s face. I remember his name was Matthew and he sat next to me in an economics class, but his features have blurred with everyone else in my past. When I was at Evie’s that summer, though, my heart still hurt for him. Here in my bedroom, Dan’s arms around me, I can’t recall just why I was so torn up over the guy, but I remember the pain, the sleepless nights. Of all my relatives, only Aunt Evie noticed at the time. “You okay, Mike?” she asked, squeezing beside me on the porch swing.