Big Love

by Rick R. Reed

  Dane could see that Truman really dreaded going back to school—and with good reason. He wished there was something more he could do, like getting him into a private school in Pittsburgh or something. But even if he did that by some miracle, who’s to say the teasing and the bullying would stop? It could just be the same script with different players, albeit more affluent ones. No, Dane knew, like he knew this fact for himself, that it wasn’t what was outside that needed the help; it was what was inside.

  We can’t change the world—only our reaction to it. Truman needed to be strong, somehow, in his own self-worth to truly combat the fear and hatred he encountered far too often for a boy his age—for a person of any age, really.

  Seth, of course, proved to be the wiser of the two of them, and he said what Dane was thinking. “Listen, buddy, when I first came out, I thought the whole world was gonna be against me. But you know what? It was incredibly freeing. For one thing, being honest showed me that not as many people as I thought were against me or, in fact, that they even cared. Most people, I think you’ll find, are too busy dealing with their own crap to be as concerned with yours as you might think.” He blew out a breath. “And the ones that had a problem with it? You know what I said to myself about them?”

  Truman leaned forward, eager to know. Dane leaned forward too.

  “I said, and you’ll pardon this and promise me you understand that I’d never say this in the classroom, but I said….” He paused for a moment, for effect maybe. “I said, ‘fuck ’em.’ If they couldn’t accept me or didn’t like me for who I was, for something that was really unchangeable and real about me, then fuck ’em. They didn’t deserve to know me. And their problem—which was being afraid, because really that’s what all hate’s rooted in—was not mine.” He sat back, presumably to let the words sink in.

  Truman grinned. “That’s a great attitude. It’s easier said than done, though.”

  Seth shook his head. “No. You can’t cop out like that. You can’t change anyone else. But you can change you.” Seth stood and lightly touched Truman’s chest with his finger. “You need to know, as I know your mom has told you and we’re here to tell you today, that you’re okay. There. Is. Nothing. Wrong. With. You. You have lots of great attributes, and I’m sure, just like everyone else on the planet, you have some bad characteristics. But just being who you are, who the Lord made, is not one of those bad characteristics. Bud, you need to hold your head up high, banish any shame, and let the world know you’re one of God’s children and they need to be okay with that. And if not?”

  Truman said, “Fuck ’em.”

  Both Dane and Seth couldn’t contain their smiles. And Dane couldn’t contain the feelings Seth stirred up inside. He was certain his fellow teacher had no idea Dane was soaking up his words like a sponge, appreciating them, absorbing them, filing them away for later, darker hours. Yes, this time was supposed to be for Truman and his healing, but there was nothing wrong, was there, if Dane got something out of it too? In many ways, he and Truman were on the same level, developmentally speaking.

  “That’s right,” Seth said. “You’re a fast learner.”

  “Putting it into practice, though, might be a little harder than it sounds.”

  Seth nodded. “Don’t be so negative, kid. Yeah, you’re right. It’s not easy. What is? The teasing and the bullying won’t stop. But if you, slowly but surely, do change who you are and how you react to it, on the inside, you’ll be so much further ahead. Because once you love who you are, really love him, warts and all, the ‘slings and arrows of outrageous fortune’ become a lot easier to bear.”

  “Shakespeare,” Truman murmured.

  “Very good!” Seth cried. “What play, though?”

  “Hamlet.” Truman grinned.

  Seth nudged Dane. “This kid is going places.”

  Dane nodded. He felt strange. He wanted, suddenly, to go off and be by himself, to think about the things Seth had said, to “absorb” them. He realized his own coming-out process wouldn’t be complete until he loved himself—and he didn’t know if he did, not yet. He carried around so much guilt about all the years he’d worn a mask and the secrets he’d kept from those who loved him. And then there was Katy—surprisingly Katy. She was no longer even with them, but he still experienced her presence. He just didn’t feel anything in regards to what she would think about him and the truth he’d kept concealed from her through all the years of their marriage.

  “He sure is,” Dane forced himself to say. He realized he hadn’t been doing much to allay the boy’s pain, to make him more confident about facing that first day back at school, and thought that maybe now would be a good moment to offer the kid some advice, while at the same time forcing his mind away from himself and his own struggles. So he returned to a thought he’d had earlier and uttered something he thought would be helpful.

  “And Truman? Can I give you some advice about when you return to school tomorrow? I don’t want you to take this the wrong way. I want you to know I’m only saying this out of love and wanting you to fit in.”

  He glanced over at Seth, whose eyebrows had come together questioningly.

  “The way you dress? The pride T-shirts and—” Dane cut himself off to gesture up and down at Truman’s person. “—that getup you have on right now. They’re kind of screaming to the world you’re gay. And I think that makes you more vulnerable, more of a target. Now maybe if you just wore some jeans and a T-shirt, maybe some Chucks, you might not open yourself up to so much to bullying.” Dane smiled and tried to put caring and benevolence into the expression. Since that first day, when Truman had worn that “It Gets Better” T-shirt with its rainbow flag, Dane had thought the boy courted some of his own trouble.

  He glanced over at Seth, expecting a smile or some words of agreement.

  But he didn’t get what he expected.

  What he got was an open-mouthed stare from Seth. Truman had shut down, and his gaze hovered somewhere above Dane’s head.

  Had he said the wrong thing? He was just trying to help the boy fit in! Help him not stick out so much as a target. Was there something wrong with that?

  Apparently there was. Seth didn’t say anything for a while, and when he did, he began with a glance at Dane, sending a weak smile in his direction. He scratched his head and soon turned back to Truman.

  “Listen, Mr. Bernard here means well.”

  He glanced nervously at Dane again, who wanted to ask “What did I say? What did I say?”

  “But I have to disagree with him.” He smiled at Dane, begging with those incredible hazel eyes—for what? Forgiveness? Understanding? “See, Truman, being yourself is all about holding your head up and telling the world you’re proud of who you are. You shouldn’t hide that. You shouldn’t dress a certain way to fit in if it’s not you. You shouldn’t try to change the way you talk or the way you walk because you think it’ll make you less of a target and, I might add, just like everyone else.” He leaned close to Truman and put a hand on his knee. “You should celebrate who you are. Be proud of the differences. Now, I don’t like to deal in ‘shoulds,’ but that’s one I think bears saying. Who you are is unique. Special. Don’t hide it. Don’t dress it down because you think some narrow-minded fool doesn’t get you.”

  Dane silently peered at his own clothes—his Oxford-cloth button-down, his khakis, and his Asics running shoes. “Should I dress differently?” he wondered, realizing too late he was speaking out loud. This wasn’t about him! But in a way it was, in more ways than Dane expected. Still, he shouldn’t be asking such things, not with Truman sitting between them. “Never mind,” he said quickly.

  Dane looked to Seth and nodded. “Mr. Wolcott here is right. He’s absolutely right. Forget what I said. I’m still learning. Be yourself. Be proud.”

  Dane didn’t really recall much of what else they said. He did know it was more of the same: encouragement, the speaking of support and of being available to Truman.

  By the time they le
ft, Dane felt himself oddly shaken.

  OUTSIDE, SETH said, “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”

  Night had fallen, and with it, the temperature had dipped. Dane shivered and rubbed his hands together, blew into them for warmth. “Oh, you didn’t.”

  Seth put a hand on his shoulder. “Oh, but I did.”

  Dane stopped and stared at him. “Maybe a little. Is how I dress so bad?”

  Seth laughed. “You know what? I think you missed my point. Gay people come in all different shapes and sizes. We all dress different ways. We like different movies, books, TV shows, music. Everyone who doesn’t know any gay people—or rather, think they don’t know gay people—wants to stereotype. Depending on who we are, they want to put us in drag, in leather, in flannel and work boots. You dress just fine for you.”

  Seth looked him up and down, and in that look, which lasted so long it made Dane feel a little giddy, Dane read appreciation.

  Or at least hoped he did.

  His guess was confirmed when Seth finished up by saying, “You, sir, look just fine. Very fine. Just the way you are.”

  They went quiet after that. Dane felt a little embarrassed. He’d never in his life known how to graciously take a compliment, and especially not one from another man. The guy he saw in the mirror every day was a big, lumbering oaf. Sort of the like a Lennie from Of Mice and Men, except a Lennie with brains and an English degree. That Seth saw something different was intriguing, scary, and—exciting.

  “It’s fucking freezing out here. It must be in the single digits.” Seth’s gaze met Dane’s in the darkness, which had now fallen completely. “Do you wanna go grab a bite somewhere? The lunch meat, cheese, and crackers didn’t quite do it for me.”

  Dane thought of his kids at home, eating lunchmeat and cheese, and wondered whether he should just beg off. He was torn. He knew that if he went home, Joey would still be glued to the TV, and Clarissa would most likely continue to pretend he didn’t exist. They probably both would have already made themselves something to eat. In fact, Joey was already tearing into the food when Dane left the house.

  Or… he could go have dinner with this handsome young man who was asking him. Of course, it wasn’t a date, and Dane reminded himself that Seth was most likely simply hungry. We all have to eat….

  “Why not?” Dane said. “Let me just call my kids.” He pulled his phone from his pocket and rang Joey’s cell. His son assured him that they’d eaten, homework had been done, and Joey was now watching an episode of Orange is the New Black on Netflix. Clarissa had gone to her friend Jerri Lynn’s house down the street, where she was once again spending the night. Dane couldn’t say anything about that—not now. But he could object to his twelve-year-old son’s viewing habits.

  “I told you, Joey. You’re too young for that show.”

  “Yeah, Dad. Whatever. I’ll turn it right off.”

  “You’re not a very good liar, son.”

  “And that’s a good thing, right?”

  “I guess so. Try to find something a little more appropriate. There’s lots of alternatives.”

  “Okay, Dad. Right away.”

  “I’ll be home in a couple of hours. And if I see any women’s prisons on the TV when I get there, you’re going in the Special Housing Unit.” Dane knew his son would understand the reference to the SHU from the show.

  He ended the call and smiled at Seth, who had begun to shiver. Snow danced in the streetlight behind his head. “You wanna just take one car?” Seth asked. “I can bring you back here once we’re done.”

  “That’d be nice.”

  Once they got in Seth’s car, a Nissan Leaf, Seth turned the heat on and the blower to high. Warmth was coming out in no time. Seth grinned. “Better?”

  “Oh God, yes.”

  “Where to?” Seth asked, putting the car in gear and pulling away from the curb.

  “Well, certainly not the Elite. It’ll be swamped on fried chicken night.”

  “It’s that good?”

  “It’s heaven. You’ll see. But not tonight.” He found himself wanting to take Seth someplace quieter, where they could actually talk and not have to shout to be heard.

  “If you make a right up here at Etruria and then go up the hill, you’ll be in the part of the town we call the East End. There’s a little Italian joint there run by a local family. It’s only a bar and a row of booths, but the lasagna’s so good it will make you cry. Not to mention gain ten pounds.”

  “Sounds perfect. And Dane? I don’t gain weight. My metabolism still thinks I’m an adolescent boy and burns everything right up. In fact, I’d love to be able to gain ten pounds.”

  “I hate you,” Dane said softly, wondering if he’d be satisfied with the chopped salad they made at D’Angelo’s.

  “What’s that?” Seth asked.

  “I said I envy you. I’ll have to run five miles in the morning just to stay even.”

  “You look great. I like a man with a little meat on his bones.”

  Dane laughed. “Well, I have plenty of that! Meat, I mean.” He thought how dirty that sounded, and heat rose to his cheeks. He was glad it was dark in the car. Damn his fair complexion!

  Seth didn’t say anything, but Dane could see he raised his eyebrows. Whatever that meant….

  D’ANGELO’S WAS, as Dane had hoped, quiet. There were a few men at the bar, nursing shot glasses or bottles of beer, watching an old episode of Mike and Molly on the TV above the bar. Only one of the four booths was occupied—by an elderly couple whom Dane recognized as the grandparents of one of his honor students last year, who’d gone on to Case Western Reserve University.

  He was wondering if he could get away without stopping to talk to them. Harriet, he thought the woman’s name was, was a notorious talker. From past experience, Dane knew they’d be stuck for at least fifteen minutes at their table, and he wasn’t in the mood.

  He wanted to be alone with Seth.

  Just then Mary D’Angelo, who owned the place along with her husband, Sam, greeted them. She held a stack of menus and wore a black apron. Her gray hair was cut short.

  “Hey, Dane! Just you and your friend tonight, honey?”

  “Just us two, Mary. How you been?”

  “Good. Good. Can’t say the same for Sam, though. He’s gotta have that back surgery they’ve been threatening for years. Goes in the hospital next week.” She led them to a booth that just happened to be before they’d pass the older couple’s table.

  “Thank you, Mary.” And Dane really was thankful, in more ways than one. “You tell Sam to take care. I’ll keep him in my thoughts and prayers.”

  “Aw, ain’t that sweet?” She waited for them both to sit and handed them menus. “Can I get you guys a beer to start? Maybe a glass of red?”

  “Wine would be nice,” Seth said. “Chianti?”

  “Is there another kind?” Mary asked and laughed. She regarded Seth, then shifted her gaze back to Dane. “Who’s your buddy?”

  “Mary, this is Seth Wolcott. He just started at the high school this semester. Teaching English and theater.”

  Mary smiled and nodded. “Well good luck, Seth… and welcome. I’ll get you your wine.” She hurried away.

  Seth looked around the room, and Dane saw it through Seth’s eyes. Dane didn’t think he’d ever realized how cliché the place was, but also how romantic. The walls were paneled in dark wood, and the lighting was dim, cast by flickering candles in red glass holders on each table and the accent lighting behind the bar. Above them, the ceiling was patterned black tin. The floor was a well-worn checkerboard of black and white. The checkerboard theme continued—quite naturally—with the tablecloths, only these were red and white. The booth seating and bar stools were covered in black vinyl, which had the look and feel of leather. Frank Sinatra was singing over the bar’s speaker system, “Strangers in the Night.”

  “This reminds me of a Billy Joel song,” Seth said. “You know the one.” He grinned.

  Dane fille
d in, “Scenes from an Italian Restaurant.”

  Seth nodded, his glee that Dane had picked up so easily on the musical reference apparent. He raised his eyebrows and offered, “Maybe we should get a bottle of red and a bottle of white.”

  Dane chuckled. “You may be able to handle drinking like that on a school night, but I’d be on my ass.”

  “And wouldn’t that be a sight?” Seth looked far away and said softly, “A very pretty sight.” He gave Dane an evil grin.

  “You’re terrible, Mr. Wolcott.” Dane felt something akin to helium in his gut—giddy and scared all at once. Was the guy flirting with him? It had been so long since Dane had flirted with anyone of either gender that he really wasn’t clear on what signals to look out for. But if Seth was flirting, flattering and exhilarating as it was, Dane was in no way prepared to flirt back. He didn’t know how. He wondered if it was even right to flirt with a coworker. And the whole man-on-man thing was hotter than hell, Dane could admit to himself, but also mighty strange to a guy who was so buttoned-up he’d rarely allowed his fantasies to even stray much in that direction over the years of his marriage. So he changed the subject and immediately felt both disappointment and relief at doing what he thought was the right thing.

  “So, Seth, how are you adjusting to our little town? Must be a bit of a culture shock, coming from Chicago. I can’t imagine.”

  Seth blew out a sigh. Before he could respond, Mary showed up with their wine and a platter of homemade bread and a little bowl of olive oil and balsamic vinegar infused with crushed red pepper and garlic. She backed away quickly.