Big Love

by Rick R. Reed

  “The truth is, Dane, even in a small town like Summitville, there are probably dozens of gay people all around you. They just don’t announce it, because here is maybe a little bit more backward than the big cities.”

  “A little bit?” Dane snorted.

  “My point is this. I’ve known a ton of gay people, and the vast majority of them—by and large—are not people like Jimmy Dale. Not that there’s anything wrong with being a little soft, veering a little more to the feminine side. Those guys, the ones I’ve known anyway, are actually tough sons of bitches, because they have such a hard lot and get beat up on, both literally and metaphorically, most of their lives.” Seth grinned. “Try messing with any drag queen. You’ll see.” Seth grabbed a couple of fries and made them disappear. “But yeah, most of us are pretty everyday, pretty ordinary, just leading our lives. I know you think, right now, being gay is awful special, freakish even, but I’m here to tell you that it’s just a variation on the human theme. And that’s what we all are—human.” He touched Dane’s hand again and again was met with the same response. Seth frowned. He assumed Dane didn’t want anyone in the diner to see the two men touching.

  He’d have to work on that, because he most assuredly wanted to touch Dane some more. He took a sip of his Coke and decided to move on. “You said maybe we could help Truman? What would that look like to you?” Seth wondered if any attempt the two of them made to help Truman would also be helping Dane. He felt a small rush of pleasure and was suddenly glad fate—and a cheating lover—had brought him to this small town.

  “I don’t know,” Dane said. “I guess it crossed my mind that we could maybe informally counsel the kid.” He grinned, but the rapid shifting of his gaze told Seth that Dane was nervous. “I know I mentioned clinics with sliding scales that Patsy could take Truman to, and they do exist. But not here in Summitville. They’re a good drive away. And I just worry that, because they’re impractical, not to mention probably overloaded, it might be hard for Truman and Patsy to follow through.”

  “And that’s where we’d come in?” Seth asked. “I don’t have any training at all in counseling.”

  “Neither do I,” said Dane. “But I think we both have one quality that any good therapist would have, should have—compassion.”

  “And we both know what’s it’s like to be gay.” Seth put a hand on his chest. “An old, tired veteran of the homo wars.” Then he pointed to Dane. “And a new recruit.”

  “I don’t know if I’ve exactly been ‘recruited,’” Dane said. “I mean, it’s not a choice.”

  Seth burst out laughing. “You’ve learned the first lesson in Gay 101.” He looked into Dane’s eyes, noticing how icy and pale blue they were. It nearly took his breath away. “Anyway, it was just a figure of speech. How about if we call you a newbie instead?”

  “I don’t know if I’m ‘new’ to anything.”

  Seth rolled his eyes. “C’mon, man!” He slapped the table, grinning. “Lighten up. Can’t I catch a break?”

  Dane smiled back, thankfully. He shoved his plate away from him. It almost looked as though it had been licked clean. “I can talk to Patsy. How would you wanna do this?”

  “I don’t think it should be done on campus. Let’s keep things casual, maybe see if we could drop by the house once a week or something. Just to talk and let him know that he’s okay, because we are.” Seth started to reach out to touch Dane’s hand once more, then thought better of it and pulled back.

  “Good thinking. Of course this all depends on Patsy and, naturally, Truman. They have to be on board.”

  “Oh, I think they will be.” Seth smiled at Dane. “You know, this has been an awful morning, but in a perverse way, I’m kind of glad of it.”

  Dane cocked his head, but he was smiling. “Oh?”

  “Yeah, because I got to know you better. And it looks like there’s a bit of an opportunity to get even better acquainted.” Seth could do this thing—raise one eyebrow independently of the other. He did it now. “I like you, Dane.”

  Dane looked around nervously. Seth thought he was probably checking to see if anyone had heard. In Summitville it was a dangerous thing, Seth guessed, for one man to say he liked another. God, what would happen if one said he loved him? Would a lightning bolt streak from the sky?

  Love, Seth thought. Let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

  Dane asked, “Are you sure you have time for this? I mean, it might go nowhere, but it might also go somewhere, and that could mean a real time commitment outside school.”

  “Dude, I just moved here from Chicago. I don’t know anyone. Other than the obvious benefit of maybe doing some good in the world and helping a kid in need, I’m also hungry for something to do. Do you have the time? You’re the one with two kids.” Seth started to add “that you’re raising alone” and decided against it.

  “I’ll make the time.” Dane glanced down at his watch. “Shit. It’s after noon. We need to hightail it back. I’ll talk to Patsy after school.” He leaned forward to grope in his back pocket.

  Seth grabbed both checks off the table. “No. It’s on me today.”

  Dane looked puzzled. “Why?”

  “Because next time, buddy, you buy. This is my way of making sure there is a next time. I know you’re a man of honor.” Seth got up without waiting for Dane to argue.

  Chapter 11

  TRUMAN WAS silent on the way home from Pittsburgh. Patsy didn’t want to pry, but she was curious about the three days he’d spent in the hospital’s psychiatric ward. When she drove up to bring him home, one of the doctors, a man who looked not much older than Truman himself, had met with her, advising her that Truman should get ongoing therapy, that he needed to come to learn to accept himself. He’d said a bunch of other things too, but Patsy knew that, ultimately, whether or not Truman got well would depend on her.

  It always did.

  They drove west on a two-lane road bordered by naked trees whose branches looked like fingers reaching up to the curdled-milk sky. The outdoors was as bleak as Patsy’s mood. The sky was gray, oppressive. It seemed the clouds pressed down on their noisy little car. Snow was imminent, and a few warning flakes danced in the air now and then. Patsy prayed she’d make it back to the house before any real snowfall began. Her tires were nearly bald, and icy roads were more of a threat to her than the average driver.

  Once they got home, Patsy led the still-silent Truman to his room. “Why don’t you lie down? You hungry? It’s almost lunchtime. I can heat you up a can of chicken noodle. I can fix you a sandwich. We still have some of that deviled ham, and I think there’s some of the swiss you like in there. Sound good?” She watched as Truman flung himself onto the bed. He turned away so he faced the wall.

  Patsy wanted to scream. She wanted to cry. She wanted to go over and lie down on the bed with him and spoon, like when he was a little boy. It tugged at her heart, though, the realization that he was not her little boy, not anymore. That little boy might as well have died. He wouldn’t be coming back around.

  The young man on the bed seemed like a bit of a stranger. “Truman, honey? You wanna eat?”

  “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”

  Patsy turned and started from the room. That teacher, Dane Bernard, had come over and talked to her a couple of days ago, when all the shit had gone down, and told her that he and that other teacher—Patsy couldn’t remember his name—wanted to help. If it was okay with her, they’d like to come and hang out with Truman, maybe once a week or so, and see if perhaps they could help him grow to become a little more accepting of himself. To be happier.

  Of course it was okay with her. Patsy would take any help she could get. And the price was right. Her mom had always said, “Honey, if it’s free, you take it.”

  They said they’d come for the first time tomorrow, and Patsy realized she was pinning a lot of hope on these two guys. If nothing else, maybe they’d make Truman see he wasn’t so alone in the world.

  She was halfway to the ki
tchen before she stopped herself. “No,” she said out loud. She turned and went back to Truman’s room. She tiptoed to the bed, thinking maybe he’d fallen asleep. Odd was curled up at his feet on the foot of the bed. But when she peered over his shoulder, she saw his eyes were open, staring listlessly at the pale yellow wall in front of him.

  Patsy sat down gently on the edge of the bed. Tentatively she reached out a hand and laid it on his back. When he didn’t resist, she began rubbing with a gentle, circular motion.

  “It’s gonna be okay,” she said softly.

  “Sure, Mom. Whatever you say.” His voice was dull, lifeless.

  “Truman, honey, please don’t be this way.”

  “How do you want me to be, Mom?”

  He rolled over and sat up suddenly. He plastered a big fake grin on his face. It scared her.

  “Is this how you want me to be?”

  Truman slumped back down and resumed staring at the wall.

  “Stop it.” It hurt her to see him like this—her sweet boy robbed of his gentle heart.

  “Go make the chicken soup, okay? I know you mean well. I just feel like crap. Besides, don’t you have work?”

  “Endora traded shifts with me. I have the whole day off now. But I do have to go in for Sunday breakfast and lunch.”

  She started to get up, but something unfinished hung in the air, almost like a bad smell. They had never really talked, not really, not beyond the simple stuff like how Truman was sleeping in the hospital, what he’d eaten for lunch, stuff like that. She went back and—damn it—went ahead and did what every common sense impulse told her was wrong and inappropriate.

  She lay down beside Truman.

  But it felt right. She wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close to her chest. “Is this okay?” she asked, her voice a little shaky, unsure.

  He didn’t say anything for a minute, and Patsy thought maybe she should just back off. Then she heard him sniffle. He trembled a little, and Patsy knew he was crying.

  “It’s okay, Mom,” he managed to get out. “It’s nice.” His voice was breathless, a little raspy.

  Patsy lay still, staring at the back of her son’s head. When had his blond hair, always so downy and fine, become coarser? When had it darkened? It used to be almost white. “Why, honey?”

  Truman didn’t say anything for a long time, long enough for Patsy to wonder if she’d heard him. Finally, though, he found his voice.

  “Because no one’s ever gonna love me.”

  “Oh, baby, I love you. With all my heart. You’ll always be my little man. Numero uno. And I love you just the way you are.”

  “I know, Mom. I love you too. But you have to.” He drew in a shuddering breath. “But—oh crap, I might just as well say it—no guy’s ever gonna love me. I’m a freak. Why was I made this way? Why couldn’t I just be like other boys?”

  Patsy hugged him tighter. “Why would you want to? You’re wonderful, baby. You’re a good young man. Smart. Handsome. You have nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Again… mother speaking.”

  “Honey. Believe it or not, you won’t always be this scared teenager living in your mom’s house. You’re gonna grow into a fine man and make me the proudest mother that’s ever been. I don’t hope for that. I know it. You’re gay. So what?” Patsy shrugged. “Don’t you know gay people can now get married—in every state? I’m gonna dance at your wedding one day. You’re just as entitled to happiness as everyone else.”

  “You’re sweet, Ma, but you don’t know.”

  “Don’t know what?”

  Truman said nothing.

  “Know what?” Patsy squeezed him a little tighter.

  “There was someone. I thought he loved me.” Truman continued to talk—to the wall. “We were together, you know? In that way.”

  Patsy swallowed. She had a bunch of questions. Who? Where? When?

  “I thought he loved me, Mom. I thought maybe, one day, he’d realize he was like me and we could be together.”

  A chill coursed through Patsy. Truman was only fourteen. Had someone abused her son?

  “Who was it, Truman?”

  “I don’t want to say.”

  “Was it someone older?” A flame of rage ignited in Patsy’s gut.

  “Yeah.”

  “Who?”

  “Only a little older, Mom. Don’t get all bent out of shape. It wasn’t Stranger Danger.” Truman sniffed. “He’s a senior.” He turned to her so their noses were almost touching. “Can I tell you everything? Will you promise me you won’t say a word about this to anyone, especially him?”

  “I don’t know if I can make that promise, sweetie.”

  He turned back to the wall. “Just forget it. Can you go heat up that soup now?”

  Patsy was at a crossroads. She needed to know what Truman was keeping secret, what, in fact, maybe pushed him to the edge of that rooftop. But what if she made a promise she couldn’t keep?

  She had to take the chance. If she needed to talk to someone about whatever it was Truman would reveal, she’d do so only after persuading him it was the right thing to do. “I won’t breathe a word to anyone. Just tell me.”

  “You know how I used to take those walks down by the river?”

  Pasty said, “Yeah?” She remembered how, all summer, it became a habit of Truman’s, around dusk, to take Odd out for a stroll. She thought nothing of it at the time. In fact, if she were being honest with herself, she was a little relieved to have them both out of her hair for a little while so she could nap. She was always so tired after being on her feet all day in the diner. She usually fell asleep with her head on the kitchen table with the TV blaring some reality show. Now that she thought about it, she seldom even remembered when Truman would come home from those outings. She felt a little ashamed. She should have been paying more attention.

  “Well, when Odd and me would head down to the river, we used to meet the guy.” Truman drew in a deep breath. “My guy. Or at least I thought he was.”

  “Truman, who was it?”

  “Ma, that’s not important.”

  “What is important, then?”

  Truman sniffed again, and the next sentence emerged in a strangled voice. “That I loved him.” He wept.

  Patsy felt a little sick, but she drew even closer to her boy, hugging him hard. “That’s wonderful.”

  “No!” The sobs and the tears dried up suddenly. “It’s not wonderful, because it turned out he didn’t love me back. He was just using me.” He turned on his back and regarded Patsy out of the corner of his eye, as if weighing what he would say next. Finally, in a breathless rush, he let the words out. “For sex.”

  Patsy couldn’t help it—she was no prude and had been around the block herself more times than she cared to admit—she shuddered. He was her baby! Just a little kid! Not even all the way grown! And he was having sex. “What did you do with him?” Patsy asked, a little breathless, not sure she could stand the response.

  “Do you really want to know the specifics?”

  Patsy gnawed for a moment at a hangnail on the edge of her thumb. “I guess not. But at least tell me this much—were you careful?”

  “Good God, Mom. Yes. We were careful. We were both virgins anyway, so I don’t think there was any need, but we used rubbers just the same.”

  Patsy wanted to be relieved. She wanted to congratulate Truman for having a good head on his shoulders, but all she could do was stare at the ceiling. She needed to deal with her son being sexual on her own time, she realized. Maybe later tonight, when she was by herself and in her own bed. The prospect was not that thrilling, though. She tried to shift the focus away from the carnal. “But you loved this guy?”

  “Oh yeah, Mom! He was—is—so fine!” Truman got a little breathless. “I never thought someone like him would ever look twice at someone like me.”

  Patsy chastised, “Sweetie, a lot of people would look at you twice. Don’t undersell yourself.”

  “But he was
a jock, Mom. One of the most popular guys in school. He—” Truman stopped, probably realized he was saying too much. Summitville was a small town, and Patsy had a job that put her into contact, sooner or later, with almost everyone who lived there.

  “Anyway, I was just a thing to him.” Truman turned away again to stare at the wall. “A receptacle.”

  Patsy winced. It would have hurt no less if Truman had jabbed her with a knife. Funny how a single word could conjure up so much pain. But Patsy herself had been a “receptacle” in her own past and knew the pain and emptiness that went with it, especially when you thought you were in love with the person in question. Why couldn’t she shield Truman from pain like this?

  “Oh, honey.” She rubbed his arm, touched his hair, and wished she knew the right words to say.

  “I tried to let him know how much I cared about him the last time we were together, tried to let him know—just like you always tell me—that being gay was okay, nothing to be ashamed of.” He stopped for a long while. “He laughed at me. Called me a fag, even though we’d been doing stuff with each other and to each other in secret for months. And then he hit me. Punched me in the stomach.” Truman swallowed. “So hard I threw up. He told me he never wanted to see me again, and that if I ever told anyone what we’d done together, no one would believe me and he’d hurt me a lot worse.”

  They were quiet for a long time. And it hurt Patsy, in her own gut, to think of Truman being treated that way. It made her furious. It made her heart ache.

  At last Truman laughed, but it was a bitter laugh. “Hey, look at me, Ma. I’m not crying like some big old sissy boy. This is the part where I’m supposed to cry, right?”

  Patsy just shook her head. Perhaps she’d shed enough tears for the both of them. Finally she said, “You feel what you feel, honey. Whatever it is, it’s valid.”

  “You’re so wise, Mom.”

  Patsy snorted. “Yeah, which is why I’ve got such a promising career and live in this mansion.”

  They both laughed.

  “After that happened,” Truman said, “that’s when things went dark, when they seemed so hopeless.” He looked at her again, then away. “That’s when I decided to, um, decided to climb up on that roof.”