If I Told You So

by Timothy Woodward

  “Oh, shit,” Jay lets out, but then I’m underwater. It’s dark and the roaring gurgle of bubbles past my ears is disorienting. I kick out trying to break the surface, and my outstretched arm hits sand and rock. Light doesn’t seem to be penetrating into the water; my eyes are open but I can’t see and I can’t find up. I think I can hear someone yelling my name, but it’s distorted through the murky water. I can’t tell where it’s coming from.

  I try to kick myself around, but I can’t move my right leg. It’s stuck. I kick harder and my sneaker hits something solid that gives way, and I’m free again, kicking, stretching my arms for the surface of the water. My lungs have started to ache for air, and I thrash harder for the surface. I can feel my heart beat in panic. I need air. And then I am lifted out of the water. I’m still holding my breath and kicking for several seconds before I realize I’m upright.

  “Sean! Sean! I’ve got you.” Jay is holding me to his chest and stroking my hair out of my eyes. My vision is blurry with lake water, but I see the overturned canoe floating beside us.

  “Are you okay?” Becky is hovering over us in Jay’s boat. She unlatches a ladder from the back of the boat, and it unfolds into the water. Jay pushes me toward the ladder, and I suddenly realize I can stand. We’re only in a few feet of water. I try to speak, but I end up coughing up lake water. “C’mon,” Becky says, “I think I hear someone coming.”

  We don’t waste any more time. Jay pushes me up and into the boat and then pulls himself up in one fluid movement. The engine starts right away, and Jay expertly backs us away from the dock and out into the lake. Becky and I watch behind us and see flashlights bobbing down from the cabins, but by the time they reach the beach, we are too far away to be seen.

  I spend the ride back to Bell Cove standing next to Jay at the wheel, trying to let the breeze created by the boat dry me out. Jay and I take off our T-shirts, and I lay them across the bow seats. The cool night air causes goose bumps to form across Jay’s smooth chest, and when I return to stand next to him he pulls me in with his free hand and wraps me in a one-armed embrace. I can feel his skin against mine, and it’s warm and electric. I almost forget that Becky is with us, which I think is what she wants. It’s like she’s trying to hide in the back of the boat out of embarrassment.

  By the time we get back to Bell Cove I’m still wet, but I pull my T-shirt on anyway. After Jay’s warm body, it feels like putting on a piece of lunch meat, cold and clingy. I cross over to Becky, but she won’t look at me. As we enter the marina I sit down next to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear over the engine.

  “You were right. I did have fun.”

  “You’re not mad?”

  “Of course not. You didn’t do it on purpose. And besides, you got Jay to take off his shirt.” I stick my tongue out.

  “Pretty tasty,” she says with a smirk. “You know, you’re not too bad yourself.”

  I shake my head at her, but I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face. I jump up and offer her my hand. “C’mon. We’re home. Try not to tip this boat over, okay?”

  She takes my hand, and I pull her up, but don’t let go, forcing her into a bear hug.

  “Sean! You’re still wet!”

  “That’s the idea.” I hug her tighter, trapping her in the embrace of my sodden clothes. Jay kills the engines and comes up behind Becky. He’s holding his damp T-shirt and drapes it across her shoulders before wrapping his arms around her, too. Becky starts to squeal as the damp starts to soak through her clothes.

  “This is sooo not fair!” Becky tries to wriggle free, but she’s trapped. “I can feel it soaking through my shirt! I’m going to cry rape.”

  “Like anyone would believe that,” I say, loosening my grip. “We’re gay, remember?” I realize as it comes out of my mouth that it’s the first time I’ve called myself gay without choking on the words. No one else seems to notice, but I feel a small rush of adrenaline flood my veins.

  “Aww, did we make you wet? Isn’t that usually a good thing?” Jay taunts Becky, and she pushes him hard enough to knock him onto the banquette seat.

  “It figures my fantasy of being sandwiched between two beautiful men would come true, and they’re both gay.” Becky crosses to the side of the boat and jumps up onto the dock, displaying much more grace than she did at the camp. “I’ve had enough excitement, boys.”

  “Good night!” I call after her as she walks down the dock. She waves her hand over her shoulder, and then turns to blow me a kiss. And then Becky is out of sight in the darkness. And I’m alone with Jay.

  He comes up behind me and puts his arms around my shoulders. “So that was fun,” he whispers in my ear.

  “Right up until we were underwater.”

  “I liked rescuing you.”

  “I liked it, too.” And I did. The moment Jay pulled me out of the water, he became my knight in shining armor. Even though I wasn’t really in danger of drowning, it felt like I was, and then I was in Jay’s arms, and I was safe again. I knew he wouldn’t hurt me, that he was there for me. I felt closer to him in that moment than I have with anyone else. In that moment, I knew what it feels like to be in love.

  Jay turns me around in his arms so I am facing him. He’s still shirtless, and I lay my head on his warm shoulder, my hands pressed in close against his chest. Then his hand is pushing my head up; our lips are nearly touching.

  “I’ll be your lifeguard anytime.” And then his lips are on mine and the fire is flowing through me again. Jay pulls me in tight against him; I slide my arms around him, let my fingers caress the muscles in his back. His hands find the bottom of my shirt and creep underneath it, inspecting every inch of my stomach and up to my chest.

  One hand finds my left nipple and gives it a gentle squeeze. It’s like he’s found a switch that makes my knees weak. An involuntary gasp escapes my lips. He pinches my nipple again, but a little harder, and it feels like he’s plucking a guitar string that connects my head and my crotch. The vibration thrums through my body, and I feel myself start to get hard. I have to come up for air. I pull myself away from Jay.

  “Wow.”

  “You okay?” Jay asks, a sly grin on his lips, his hands still exploring under my shirt.

  “Very.” I dive back into him, pressing my lips against his and letting my hands start to explore more than just his back. They work their way down to the waistline of his underwear, where it clings to his skin and sits above his shorts, which have sagged from the weight of being wet. I let one finger lift up the elastic waistband, and then let it snap back into place.

  Jay stops kissing me. “Nice,” he whispers. “Do it again.”

  I’m about to follow his command when the clock on the Methodist church begins to chime the hour. It always does Westminster chimes followed by single bongs to indicate the hour. I figure it must be one A.M., which means I’m late, but not enough to be in real trouble with my mom. But there are two bongs. That can’t be right. I grab Jay’s arm and pull his hand from under my shirt to look at his watch.

  “Shit!”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s already two! My mom will be pissed.” More than pissed. I have to go. Now.

  I start scrambling to find my wet shoes and put them on my feet. I shove the socks into my pocket. I can bike home in ten minutes; I just hope my mom isn’t waiting up. She didn’t last time, and if she doesn’t this time, I might be able to convince her that I got in at a more reasonable hour.

  I get the shoes tied and start to jump up on the dock, but Jay catches my hand.

  “Sean, wait.”

  “I can’t wait, I—”

  “I know, but I want you to know how much fun I had with you tonight. You’re really special.” There’s a tender note in his voice as he says this, and he brings my hand to his lips and kisses my fingers. Then he lets me go, and I am off to find my bike chained at the end of the dock. And even though I’m rushing, I have time
to let Jay’s gentle touch sink in. Something in my chest flutters at the thought of it. It flutters all the way back to my house.

  Chapter 14

  There is a blanket over my knees and chest. I pull it up to my chin and feel the worn cotton fabric, almost silky to the touch: my grandmother’s quilt. I’m suddenly aware that my knees ache, and there’s a dull pain at the back of my neck, like I’ve been holding it in an awkward position for too long. I pry my eyes open; they feel like they have a layer of rubber cement keeping them closed, but finally I manage it. The room is dim; the window by my bed is a pale gray with predawn sunlight. I look up at it for several seconds before I understand that I’m on the floor, propped next to my bed. Did I fall out? Did I. . .

  I inhale sharply. The night before rushes back and would have knocked me over if I wasn’t already on the floor. Jay and Becky at the camp. Jay and me on the boat. Rushing back to the house. My mother waiting for me. Me telling my mother I’m in love with Jay. There are no tears this time, but I can feel my heartbeat quicken, and a jolt of electricity radiates from my chest to my fingers and toes. Did I really just come out to my mother? I could have been dreaming. It feels like a dream. At least, it doesn’t feel real. But my damp sneakers feel real. I kick them off into the far corner of my room, as if distance can undo last night.

  I’m on my feet. My grandmother’s quilt falls to the floor. I have just enough time to realize that my mother must have put the blanket over me during the night before I have to sit down on the bed because my head has started to spin, black dots floating across my vision from the head rush of standing so quickly. I wait for my vision to return, breathing slowly to calm my heart. The clock by my bed reads 5:09.

  There is nothing to do. My mother was here, but she left. It’s too early to call Becky. And I’m still tired. I reach down for the blanket on the floor, then lie back on my bed. There’s an immediate feeling of warmth as my circulation returns to my feet, stretched out for the first time in hours. I let my head sink into the pillow. Crunch.

  There’s something stiff and crinkly on my pillow. I reach up and find a single sheet of white computer paper. I recognize my mother’s precise, distinctive cursive.

  I love you, Sean. When you’re ready, let’s talk. When you’re ready. Will I ever be ready? But the paper is reassuring. I pull my grandmother’s quilt up to my chin and close my eyes.

  When I finally wake up for real, the sun is streaming into my room, and I can tell the day is well under way. I roll over in bed and see the paper my mom left me. When you’re ready. I know she means it, but something tells me that I’d better be ready pretty soon, because I don’t think she’ll be able to wait very long.

  I force myself out of bed and make my way to the bathroom. I’m still wearing my clothes from the night before, and my shirt is stiff from the lake water. I can feel it scratch against my skin when I pull it off to take a shower. The water makes a loud static hiss in my ears, drowning out the outside world. I enjoy this isolation for as long as I can, until I start to feel the water begin to run tepid. I quickly lather and rinse before it turns cold, and I almost make it. I’m leaning into the freezing stream of water trying to get the last of the shampoo out of my hair without letting the water hit the rest of my body. The cold water makes my scalp tingle, and it’s not entirely unpleasant. I take a deep breath and put my entire body underneath the frigid stream of water. I can only stand it for about four seconds and then I twist the shower control, stopping the water. The sudden cold is invigorating. I briefly relive last night’s plunge in the canoe, only this time Jay isn’t there to pick me up. But the thought gives me strength.

  She’s sitting on the deck when I get downstairs. A cup of coffee is on the table beside her, and she has a book in her hand. But she’s not reading. The book rests in her lap with a finger holding the page. She’s staring off over the lake, which is very blue today, reflecting the cloudless sky.

  There’s still half a pot of coffee in the coffeemaker, and I pour myself a cup, or rather half a cup, which I then fill the rest of the way with milk and four or five or six spoonfuls of sugar. I stir only enough to turn the mixture a uniform caramel color. I don’t want the sugar to dissolve entirely; I look forward to the granulated sludge that will be left at the end. I taste the coffee and it’s sweet, like melted coffee ice cream. Perfect. I take another sip. My mother hasn’t moved. I can’t stall any longer.

  She looks up when I slide the glass door open. She doesn’t say anything when she sees me, but her mouth stretches into a tight-lipped smile. Her eyes shine in the bright sun. She’s not wearing any makeup, and I can see the wrinkles around her mouth and eyes. I’ve never really thought of my mother as old before, and I guess she isn’t really. I’m just suddenly aware of her age. Did those wrinkles appear overnight?

  I sit down in the Adirondack chair next to her and sip my coffee. She picks up her own mug, and I see that it’s one I made for her in art class in elementary school. We took pre-made white coffee mugs and painted them with our own designs and then gave them to our moms for Mother’s Day. Mine has a big red heart and says, I love you, Mom on it. I didn’t even know she still had that. Neither one of us says anything for a long time. We just drink coffee and watch the lake. A small sailboat enters the cove and heads toward the dock, the sail a gash of red and yellow against the dark blue water. Finally, my mother breaks the silence.

  “When did you start drinking coffee?”

  “A while ago.”

  “I never noticed.” She takes a sip from her mug and studies its design carefully. She rubs her thumb across the heart, following the brush strokes in a curved line. “I guess I haven’t noticed a lot of things.”

  I turn my head, and I see that she’s looking at me. She reaches out a hand, and I let her run her fingers through my hair. It feels good, actually. I can’t remember the last time she did that. She stops.

  “Can we talk about this?” She’s asking my permission, giving me the power in the conversation. I have the option of saying no.

  I lick my lips slightly, but I have no words. I nod.

  “Good,” she says.

  But I don’t know where to begin. The words are stuck in my throat again, and I don’t know why. She knows my secret, so what am I afraid of?

  “Sean, I have to ask.” She waits for me to look at her. “Are you gay?”

  I thought that I had made that clear last night. I open my mouth, but again there are no words. Why does she have to ask if she already knows the answer?

  “If you are, it’s okay. I think that’s what you were trying to tell me last night. I just. . . ” She stops and turns away. She pinches the bridge of her nose like she’s trying to stave off a headache. “I just need to know for sure.”

  I’m replaying the previous night in my head, and I realize I told her I’m in love with Jay, but I never used the word gay.

  “I need you to say it,” she says.

  And I need to say it. It’s like with Becky all over again. It doesn’t have meaning until the word comes out of your mouth. It’s not real. You can still turn back. Take it back. Until . . .

  “Mom.” She turns back to me, and her eyes hold mine.

  She nods slightly. “It’s okay.”

  “I’m gay.”

  My mother’s face crinkles. Her mouth moves up in a smile while her eyes squint together and tears shine in the deep creases. She puts down the coffee mug and reaches with both arms to give me a hug. She’s sobbing, but she’s not deflated. Her embrace is strong and warm. I hug her back.

  “Oh, Sean, I know how hard that was.” And now I’m crying, too. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you,” she says in my ear. “You’re my son. I love you.”

  The phone rings, shattering the moment between us. My mother pulls back, wiping her eyes with the backs of her hands.

  “Shit,” she says. She smiles at me with this ironic grin that says, “Always at the worst moments,” and gets up. She goes through the slider, leaving it ope
n behind her and crosses to the phone. “Hello?”

  I’ve had enough emotion for one morning. I tilt my coffee mug toward the sky and let the thick coffee-flavored syrup make its way to my mouth. I wipe the residue on the bottom with a finger and take my mug into the kitchen. My mother is looking very serious on her end of the phone, but she gives me a crooked smile when she sees me. I don’t ask who it is, and instead give her a little wave as I head out the door.

  She waves back and mouths, “We’ll talk more later.”

  I’m sure we will, but in the meantime, it’s a perfect day for a bike ride.

  Chapter 15

  I ride my bike to Mann’s Hill. On a day like this, you can see clear across the lake from the top. Right at the highest point there’s a small clearing with a grouping of rocks that overlooks the lake. It’s a favorite spot for picnickers. One of the rocks is almost flat on top, and it makes a perfect “table.” Today, I climb up on this rock and lie flat on my back, looking up into wide-open space. It’s getting near lunchtime, and the sun is almost directly overhead. I shade my eyes with one arm and breathe in. A breeze is blowing off the lake, and I take in the sharp tinge of pine trees, and the moist, clean scent of the lake that reminds me of towels and bathing suits drying in the sun.

  My mother didn’t say much, but she said enough. I realize how heavy the secret I had been keeping from her had become. With it lifted, there’s nothing to stop me from simply drifting away on the lake breeze. It was easier than I thought, telling my mother. I should have known she’d be cool, given her position as a school counselor, but there’s always a chance.

  But really, my mom and I have always been close. Even before my parents divorced, it was just the two of us a lot because my dad was so busy with work. My dad worked as a school principal in a neighboring town, and it seemed like he had meetings nearly every night. Even on weekends or during the summers, he would make excuses to be at work. Looking back now, it’s easy to see why my parents divorced.