by Tom Lennon
Neil went into his own bedroom, switched on his radio, and listened to the flood of callers expressing their support for him. One elderly female caller said she wished he was her son. Another lady from Longford said the whole country should hang its head in shame, that we were supposed to be a nation who cherished its children, but in her experience, there was nothing further from the truth when it came to gay people. “My own son died of AIDS,” she then announced in a hushed tone, struggling to retain her composure. “He was a lovely, gentle boy…”
Again Marian Finucane had to use all her skill to coax the story from the caller, a story the caller so obviously wanted to tell.
“When he was nineteen, he went to a dance in the town…And he came home with blood all over his face…”
There was another delay as the lady struggled to control her heartbroken voice. She continued her story bravely, her sentences punctuated with sobs.
“He told me that he had just got into a fight, that it was nothing to worry about…But soon after that he went to live in San Francisco. He took twenty years of my life with him that day he left, Marian. It broke my heart. You see he was my only child, and his father had died a few years before. Anyway, for five years, he phoned me every Sunday night without fail. I can’t tell you how much I looked forward to those phone calls. He sounded so happy there. Until October two years ago, I’ll never forget it. I hadn’t heard from him for a month and I was worried stiff. You see, he didn’t have a phone where I could call him. But this windy October night, he phoned and I knew immediately that something was wrong. His voice sounded different. He told me that he was coming home. Of course I was delighted. But then he said those words that I’ll take to the grave with me. ‘Mum,’ he says, ‘Mum, I’m dying…’”
The sobs began in earnest and a record was put on. Neil felt the teardrops trickling down past his chin and dripping onto his pillow. By the time the music had finished the lady caller had recovered her composure.
“After he died, a fellow who was in school with him told me of all the jeering and torment my son had suffered at school and around the town. And I never knew about it. All those years he had kept it hidden. But the saddest thing of all was that I never even knew that he was gay until he came back from San Francisco. He was my only child, but still he felt he couldn’t tell me. And he was such a lovely, gentle boy. He wouldn’t have harmed a flea. I loved him so much. But they crucified him, Marian, they crucified him…”
She broke down for the final time. Neil covered his face with his hands. He felt dizzy. If that story didn’t change people’s attitudes, nothing would. He tried to visualize the lady’s face, but he kept seeing his mother’s. Would his mum have gone on the radio and told the same story about him? She probably would, that was the thing. After he was dead and gone, when she realized that it wasn’t such a big deal after all. Maybe Jackie was right, maybe he should tell his parents before it was too late.
The rest of the show was a blur. Suddenly the whole country seemed to support the gay cause. Each one of them in turn stated their disgust at the treatment of the Longford caller’s son. But their liberal professions made Neil skeptical. He couldn’t help wondering how many of them had been a party to a similar lynch mob in their day. How many of them would be so liberal if it were their own son or daughter who was gay? Very few, most likely. He tried to think how he would react himself if he was heterosexual and one of his own children told him that he or she was gay. But it was an impossible situation to imagine.
That night Neil went over to Andrea’s house to watch a movie. Gary, of course, had heard the Marian Finucane Show, and when he began to tell them all about it, it was a relief to Neil that the room was dimly lit. He felt like he could’ve lit a cigarette off his face. The fact that Gary had heard the show didn’t surprise Neil. His pal seemed to have a built-in radar for detecting shows with a gay theme. Films like Sebastiane and Edward II had fascinated him, and many were the breaks in school he had held court, elaborating to his school pals about how much the films had disgusted him. “Two men kissing! Ah, it’s fuckin’ disgusting!” He would spit the words out, and of course all his classmates, including Neil, would voice their agreement. When Neil had told Becky about Gary’s fascination, she had insisted that he was more than likely a closet case. But, as he had done during those breaks, Neil remained silent and pretended that he hadn’t heard the radio show that day.
“I feel so sorry for that mother,” Trish said after Gary had told them about the caller from Longford.
“The problem is,” Gary shook his head knowledgeably, “all homosexuals are promiscuous.”
The volcano inside Neil rumbled into life again. He had trouble lighting up his cigarette, his hands were trembling so much.
“It’s true, they are,” Gary insisted, looking over at Neil. Neil shrugged. Why did he always have to maintain this calm exterior? Why was Gary looking at him?
“You should know, Gary,” Andrea said, and the others laughed.
Gary ignored the comment. “I mean, when you think of it, a man’s sex drive is higher than a woman’s.”
This brought a volley of protest from the girls. But Gary was undaunted. “So if you put two men together for sex…” He whistled as he shook his head. “You’re talking Richter scale.”
The others laughed loudly.
“I mean, let’s face it, that bloke from Longford didn’t catch AIDS from knitting handbags.”
Again, the others whooped with laughter.
Neil bit his tongue and waited for Gary to tell them all about the caller who had distortion put on his voice. Gary didn’t disappoint him. He told them that he didn’t believe that anyone could know that they were gay at ten years of age.
“I think that old fella had a point though; a lot of it is caused by propaganda,” Gary continued, draping his arm around Trish’s shoulder as though to prove his manhood. “And there’s nothing worse than all those bloody intellectual queers, making it all sound so natural.”
Neil wanted to cry out loud. His insides were shuddering with helplessness.
“Jesus, Gary, you’re a bigger bigot than I thought you were,” Andrea said with a laugh. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to contain himself much longer, Neil excused himself and went upstairs to the bathroom. He stood over the hand basin and splashed cold water onto his face. Gary’s comments had hurt him, but still he couldn’t say anything. He looked at himself in the mirror and started to cry.
After he had washed his face again, Neil went downstairs and told the others that he wasn’t feeling well.
“He’s lovesick,” Gary teased.
Yeah, I am, Neil thought as he grinned at his pal. And I’m now going to walk my promiscuous way home past my loved one’s house. Jealous, are you?
“Aren’t you going to stay for the movie?” Andrea asked.
“Nah, I’ll pass,” Neil replied, holding his stomach. Fuck the lot of you, he thought. Sitting here passing judgment on something you know nothing about. Someday I’ll shake you out of your smugness…Someday.
Neil caught a bus into town. Soft drizzling rain drifted through the narrow cobblestoned lanes. None of the first night nerves bothered him now; he was feeling too empty inside to care. Tears of self-pity welled up in his eyes. Why was he so lonely? He stood at the end of the gloomy road and watched the pub door across the road for a while. Strangers desperate for love, filing in singly and in pairs. Arriving late under cover of darkness. Lost souls.
Go home and go to bed, Neil, the voice in his head told him. Everything will be all right in the morning. Even if the guy in the white T-shirt is in there you’d be terrible company tonight. Better you don’t meet him.
A couple, their arms draped around each other’s shoulders, looked at him as they passed, and Neil met their stares defiantly.
Lights on Capel Street bridge were red. Headlights blurred in the drizzle. Snarling engines waiting. Cross now? Maybe wait for the rush of traffic, then step off the pavement. The
screech of brakes. A scream. A hollow thud, followed by deafening silence. Blood on the road. Report on the news, maybe. An appreciation of the late Neil Byrne in the Blackrock Annual written by his closest pal, Gary Kelly. Oh God, spare me. Cross now while it’s safe. Pull the baseball cap down over your face. I don’t care if anyone sees me. Oh yes, you do. Inside now. Upstairs. No sign of White T-Shirt. No sign of Redser and his pals. Rain has kept everyone at home. Not even a video playing.
“Pint of Budweiser please.”
You should know my order by now, Poncehead. Imagine if you said that aloud. Barred from a gay bar. Marvelous. Oh fuck, here comes Uncle Sugar.
“How’re you, Neil?”
Return the cheery smile. God, the state of the hair!
“You’re becoming a bit of a regular.”
Look who’s talking. Stop fooling yourself, Neiley Nook, you’re glad to see him and he knows it. Let him rabbit on a while and then steer the conversation toward his little bachelor pad. “What videos d’you have, old-timer?” That’d be a good opener. “I’m horny as hell!” That’d be sure to give poor old Sugar a heart attack. Jesus, look at him, yapping away like an excited schoolkid. Of course he’s excited, he knows that in fifteen minutes you and he will be driving to Clontarf in his sex machine.
“You look like a little lost boy with your hair wet.”
Tell him that you took your cap off in the hope of catching pneumonia. Tell him how empty you feel tonight. Wouldn’t he just love to become a confidante?
“Neil, sorry about the phone calls, I didn’t realize they’d cause you such hassle.”
Grin politely. Just don’t do it again, Sugar, or you’re dead meat. And don’t be driving past my house late at night hoping for a chance meeting. It’s pathetic, I should know. Oh great, bulging wallet’s out and he’s buying another round. A belated birthday drink, he says. Feeling better now, maybe this world isn’t so bad after all. The headlines. Radio star feels merry after two pints. More like, gay radio star feels randy after two pints. But, Sugar, perhaps you should know, if that guy in the T-shirt walks through that door, you’re history.
“You’re certainly knocking them back tonight.” Uncle Sugar’s wallet reemerged.
Yeah, what d’you expect? I have to get drunk to face your sad little pad. Cut the crap, Sugar, let’s go out to your car, before I start to cry. I’m in a mess, Sugar, can’t you see? You’re the only one in the whole world who’s in love with me. Sad, isn’t it? Worse than that, it’s pathetic.
“I love the watch, is it new?”
Any excuse for a grope. Fondle my skinny wrist, tickle my hand, I don’t care, it feels nice. Wish I could fall in love with you, Sugar, it would save so much hassle. But I couldn’t, not in a million years. Life is funny, isn’t it?
“D’you fancy coming back for a cup of coffee?”
Phew, thought you’d never ask. But not so fast, agree reluctantly. There are roles to be acted out here, games to be played.
Maybe I’ll play the game Trish played with Gary when they first met. Coy and shy and the oh-I’m-so-innocent face. Ah fuck, can’t be bothered. A little nod. Okay, I wouldn’t mind a cuppa. Look at the face on him, he can’t believe it. Poor old Sugar, he’s going to burst a blood vessel. Finish the pints and let’s hit the road.
Sugar slipped another tape into the VCR and sat back in his armchair.
Oh Jesus, he’s looking over again. Pull your T-shirt right down over your weapon. There, he won’t see much now. “Hey, Sugar, d’you hear about the sexy bullfighter? He died on the horn.” Ha, ha, ha, very funny, aren’t I? Would you look at the collection of pornos he has? No wonder he looks worn out. What does he do? Sit in here every night? Forget about Sugar and concentrate on the action. Oh God, it’s amazing.
“D’you want a hand there, Neil?”
Would you fuck off. No, don’t say it, just throw him a disdainful look and shake your head. Set the ground rules. You keep to yourself, Sugar, and I’ll keep to myself.
“There’s some tissues there.”
Sleazeball, would you just go and pull yourself and stop gawking over here? Is there anything sacred anymore? My God, look at what they’re doing! Elastic limbs! And that guy looks a little like Ian! Oh Jesus, tissue quick!
Now what? Don’t look over at Sugar. God, his sound effects are repulsive. Feel dirty now. And guilty. All those video stars have mums and dads, brothers and sisters. How in the name of God do they perform in front of cameras? They all look stoned. Twosomes, threesomes, foursomes. Jesus, it’s disgusting really. And depressing. What the hell am I doing here? Sounds like Sugar’s reached his climax. Finish the coffee, one smoke, and then tell him he’s bringing you home. You don’t belong to this underworld. No, you’ll have a big wedding in Blackrock one day. And at your stag party, a male kiss-o-gram will burst into the pub and sit you down on his knee. “Everyone knows about you, Neil,” he’ll say, and all the lads will be doubled over in hysterics.
“Fancy another cup of coffee?”
Shake your head. Listless now. Maybe everybody does know. Gary kept looking at you when he was talking about the radio show.
“You can stay the night here if you want.”
Shake your head again. Could think of nothing worse, Sugar. Stand up as you put your jacket on. Subtle hint. Oh God, the noise he’s making chewing that biscuit. That’s what comes of living alone. No mammy to say, “Stop eating with your mouth open, Sugar.” That must be his mammy in that photo on top of the telly. All the time watching her son, the king of porn. And that must be Sugar there, at his confirmation. In short trousers! The state of the outfit. But he wasn’t a bad-looking kid, whatever happened him since.
“There’s a great view of the sea out this window during the daytime.”
Look out the window into the blackness. How interesting. C’mon, Sugar, let’s get the show on the road. Oh no, don’t tell me he’s going to try and get romantic again. Get your hand off my shoulder, you disgusting old pervert. Never know what I’d catch off you. Yuck, he hasn’t even washed his hands!
“D’you want another biscuit?”
Have some candy, children. Shake your head and shrug his hand off your shoulder. Wouldn’t eat one if you paid me.
“Right, let’s hit the road.”
Everyone had gone to bed when Neil got home. He told his parents he was in, slipped one of the family home videos into the VCR, and lay across the sofa. He fast-forwarded to the part he wanted to watch. Himself at twelve years of age, sitting proudly on his new BMX bike, about to head off with Gary and Tom for a ride. The grinning faces, looking as innocent as the day they were born, cushioned from the confusing world that awaited them. No one could ever have guessed what would happen that summer in Donegal when Gary had gone on holidays with Neil’s family. He and Neil had to share a bed. And before they fell asleep, Gary started to play nighttime games. “Pretend it’s a girl who’s touching you. See how still you can lie. Stop giggling. Now you do it to me.” Innocent excitement under the sheets. The next day both boys blushed whenever they saw each other. The encounter was never mentioned again. Sometimes Neil wondered if it had ever happened at all.
The living room door opened and his dad stuck his head in.
“Ah, just the man I want to see,” his dad said, tucking his dressing gown in underneath him as he sat down on the arm of a chair. “What’re you watching?” he added, glancing around at the television.
“Ah, just some of the old videos,” Neil replied, sitting up and flicking the TV off, thinking of the quagmire he would have been in if he had taken Uncle Sugar up on his offer of a loan of some videos.
“I was talking to Charlie Dunne, you know the pal of mine who owns the civil engineering firm?”
Neil nodded, knowing exactly what was coming next.
“Yeah, well, he says he can fix you up with a bit of summer work.”
“Oh, great.” Neil tried to infuse his voice with interest.
“It’ll give you a taste of what you
’re going into.”
Neil rolled his tongue around his mouth, struggling to resist the bait. His dad was always doing things like this, making plans for him that he knew were contrary to Neil’s wishes. It was his way of provoking the conflict that he wanted resolved. In typical family fashion, a cloak of silence had fallen over the matter since the day Neil broke the news about wanting to study art. But it was constantly bubbling beneath the surface, detectable in the worried glances he sometimes caught his mum and dad sneaking in his direction when he was eating or watching the TV.
“And it’ll give you a few bucks to put toward your college fees.”
“Yeah,” Neil answered, chewing the nail of his index finger nonchalantly.
“Oh, Becky-what’s-her-name phoned for you earlier.”
“Did she?” Neil’s face perked up.
“I think she said she’d phone again, you better ask your mother.”
Neil shifted uncomfortably when his dad turned and stared at him. “Tell me, are you and Becky an item?”
Neil felt his face redden. His dad had never asked such a direct question about his love life before this. But the no-go zone was obviously being breached at his mum’s behest. The pair of them had probably spent the whole evening agonizing over their son’s unusual romance.
“Well, we were before she went to France.” Neil tried to sound jocular in his reply.
“Well, just take one bit of advice from your old fella… Never mess around with a girl’s heartstrings.” His dad tried to make it sound like he was being lighthearted. Neil clenched his fist in frustration. It was all so ridiculous. What a day for his dad to pick to start advising him on how to treat the fairer sex. Did he really know that little about his son?