Safe

by Mark Zubro

  Only one of the parlors inside was in use. With thick rugs and antique furniture everything was hushed. In the viewing room, I saw a man and woman in their late forties or early fifties standing at the coffin. The guy was kind of tall with broad shoulders, but he was really hunched over, as if he hadn’t listened to all those times his parents told him to stand up straight. He had gray hair tied back in a ponytail that trailed halfway down his back. For the wake he wore black jeans and a muscle T-shirt covered with an ill-fitting gray suit coat. The woman next to him, whose breasts would drive the straight guys in the locker room berserk, wore a black top and blue jeans that emphasized the hefty size of her butt. The woman held a hanky in her left hand.

  They stared into the open casket. I presumed they were Kyle’s parents.

  A plump older woman sat in the front row facing the coffin. She wore a beige, cloth raincoat and a babushka covering her head. Next to her was a wrinkle-faced old man. He clutched a rosary in both hands. Two people waited to greet and say kind words to the people next to the coffin. A few people sat in the chairs toward the rear.

  Glancing around, I saw nobody from school, no classmates, nobody Kyle’s own age. Then I thought maybe I was being shallow. Is that how our lives are to be judged, by how many people show up at our funeral? Is there some godlike or Santa Clausian figure keeping track of who gets the most mourners? But I felt bad for Kyle just the same.

  I moved hesitantly toward the front of the room and stood in line.

  When I got up to the people at the coffin, the man and woman turned to me. The woman took my hand. I was intimidated. I was dressed for school in jeans and a plain blue shirt. I didn’t know these people. I wanted to be a thousand miles away. It was dumb to come here.

  Still clutching my hand, she asked, “Are you from Kyle’s school?”

  I nodded.

  “I’m Kyle’s mother.” Without saying anything else, she led me the few steps to the body. I’d only been to a couple family funerals over the years. I’m a little squeamish about seeing bodies in coffins, and I don’t understand going up to stare at a dead person, but it seemed expected at the moment. I knelt for a minute. I wasn’t sure about a prayer. My family doesn’t go to church.

  Kyle looked dead, kind of waxy and still, with his glasses reflecting some of the light. On each side of the coffin there was one large display of flowers.

  We got up from the little kneeler. Mrs. Davis held onto my arm. She brought me the few feet back to where she stood originally and introduced me to the stoop shouldered man. He was Kyle’s dad.

  “You’re the only student who’s come from school,” she said. “We can’t thank you enough. We thought Kyle didn’t have any friends.”

  I couldn’t tell them I’d never met their son. I just hoped they didn’t ask me for reminisces.

  I said, “I’m sorry he died. I wish I’d have known him better.”

  Mr. Davis said, “We barely knew him. We thought something was wrong lately. He never had many friends. I told him to get out more. He’d just go to that pet shop, not much for a healthy boy. For the last couple days, he kind of moped around the house. Of course, he moped around a lot.” He pulled a hanky out of his suit coat pocket and wiped his tears.

  “I think he wanted to talk to us,” Mrs. Davis said. “I can’t be sure. I wish I’d known why. He was always such a quiet boy. Never gave us any trouble, really. He never talked to us. Maybe we should have been home more, but we had work. We knew he had problems with the other children. We tried to help him, but we didn’t know how. He wouldn’t let us.”

  She clutched my hand. I felt helpless.

  Mr. Davis blew his nose and put his hanky away. He spoke in a harsh whisper. “I don’t think he killed himself. Sure something was wrong, but I just don’t think Kyle would do such a thing.”

  “It was that school,” Mrs. Davis said. “That school never lifted a finger to help him. We complained but they never did anything.”

  “That’s a shame,” I said. “Did you go to Mr. Ashcroft, the principal?”

  “No, this was in grade school. I don’t remember the principal’s name. There were always new ones. Kyle didn’t like us to go and complain. He said it never did any good, so I stopped.”

  Mr. Davis said, “I tried to show him how to stand up for himself. I tried, but he just wouldn’t.”

  “We should have been able to help,” Mrs. Davis said.

  I heard a rustle behind me. I turned and saw Morty and Nancy Gold, the people from the pet store. I was glad somebody else I knew had shown up. They recognized me and nodded a subdued hello. The Davises turned their attention to the newcomers.

  I stood at the side of the room, undecided about staying or going. I watched the adults in front murmuring together. Finished, the Golds stopped by to talk with me. Our entire conversation took place in whispers.

  When they got up close Nancy reached a hand out toward my face and gasped. “Are you all right?”

  Morty asked, “What happened?”

  I told them a shortened version. They tsked, nodded sympathetically, and expressed horror at what had happened.

  Finished with that topic, Morty motioned to the nearly empty room. “This is so sad.”

  I nodded.

  “I feel so sorry for the parents,” Nancy said.

  We looked to where Mr. and Mrs. Davis stood forlorn and temporarily alone a few feet from their son.

  “So few flowers,” Morty said. “We should have sent more.”

  Nancy said, “His death really hit me hard. This makes it even worse. Nobody knew how good and kind and gentle he was. I haven’t opened the door to his workroom since you were there. I haven’t had the heart. It’s as if that were the only thing of his that will last.”

  “I know he didn’t kill himself,” Morty said. “I wish someone could prove it.”

  “His parents said he’d been kind of depressed lately. How was he at the store?”

  “The usual,” Morty replied.

  Nancy added a nod of confirmation.

  “He loved the place so much,” Morty said. “He always seemed so happy.”

  “Do you know if he rode his bike the day of the suicide?”

  “Yes,” Morty said. “I remember him taking it out of the storeroom.”

  So the bike had landed in the canal that night.

  I gave a brief explanation of what I’d learned.

  Nancy said, “At least someone cares.”

  “You keep looking,” Morty said. “If we can help you, let us know.”

  I sat with them for a few minutes in the back row of chairs.

  The oppressive silence and overdecorated gloom was broken only by the rustle of the clothing of the adults’ stilted movements. I felt bad for the mom and dad, but the real story here was what a sad life Kyle had led.

  In a few minutes the old woman and the man with the rosary left. Kyle’s parents walked up to the coffin and knelt down.

  A few minutes later, I left with Morty and Nancy. On the way out, I stopped to sign the visitor’s book. Mr. Ashcroft had signed. So had Mrs. Templeton, Kyle’s English teacher, who had cared enough to try and help him. I didn’t see any other adult names from school.

  I was only a little worried about coming home late. I figured if I made it before six thirty, I could beat my parents home, and I’d be safe.

  I stopped to see Jack. I wanted him to know I hadn’t told on him, and I wanted him to tell me he hadn’t told Bert about my being gay.

  He only lives a few blocks away from my house, so I didn’t consider my stopping to see him to be a direct violation of my parents orders to hurry home.

  Jack’s dad answered the door. Mr. McVeen growled at me and said Jack couldn’t see anybody. Mr. McVeen is a great bear of a man. He wore a T-shirt misshapen from years of trying to cover an expanding beer belly. Grey chest hair spilled over the frayed collar of this one. He had massive tufts of nose and ear hair that were really gross. He slammed the door in my face.


  With the door staring at me, I didn’t have a chance to argue. I plodded back to the car. I was getting used to the semi-hop necessitated by the walking cast.

  I started the engine and gazed for a few seconds at the front of the house. Jack sprinted from around the back. He stopped abruptly, glanced furtively around, then rushed over. He jumped in, slumped down, and said, “Drive down the block a little way.”

  I did so.

  When I stopped, I asked, “What happens if your dad finds you gone?”

  He said, “Screw him.”

  “I didn’t tell on you.”

  “I know. Friends called and texted me. My dad threatened to take my phone away. I told him if he did, I’d go live with my mom. That doesn’t always work as a threat, but it’s the only thing I’ve got to fight him with. It’s a good thing he hates her so much. He doesn’t ever want anything to happen that looks like she gets what he calls an advantage over him. I guess that’s what I am now, an advantage. I hate him.”

  He had talked about his fights with his dad, and the threats Jack had made to go live with his mom. I always felt lucky to have my parents when he told me these stories. Still, I doubted if he’d ever really go live with his mom. He hated his dad, but his mom was a total mess.

  I didn’t know how to bring up the subject carefully, so I simply said, “Whatever you said to Bert helped give him the impression I’m gay.”

  Jack protested vigorously. “I didn’t tell him anything. Honest, I swear. All I said was go ask him yourself.”

  Bert would take that slight non-answer and turn it into truth.

  Jack continued on, “You’ve got to believe me. That’s why I snuck out just now. I had to tell you. When I got called to the office to talk to the cops, Bert was there. We sat next to each other. He kept asking me questions. I barely said anything to him. He’s an asshole. He made shit up. Bert came to the locker room after he saw you in the newspaper office. He told everybody he knew you were gay.”

  “Did they believe him?”

  Jack stared out the car window. “Most of the guys said he was full of crap. Bert claimed I said it was true. I said you were straight. I mentioned all the girls you dated. Bert was pretty persuasive, though. I think a lot of the guys at least had questions. Why’d you have to be gay? We had a perfect friendship.”

  “I didn’t choose to be gay, and I still want to be friends.”

  “Yeah,” Jack said, but he wouldn’t meet my eyes. Instead he kept staring out the passenger side window.

  “Why did you want to tell me all this?” I asked.

  “Because my dad went ballistic tonight about the cops talking to me. The school notified all the parents of the kids that the cops questioned. This was before I found out who told on me. I pretty much laid the blame on you. He wanted to go over to your house and confront your parents.” He hesitated briefly then added, “I told my dad you were gay. I’m sorry.”

  He drummed his fingers on the dashboard, caught himself doing that, then stopped. We sat in silence until he said, “I’m really sorry. I was still mad from earlier. Anyway, my dad went totally apeshit. He asked if you’d ever tried anything with me. He exploded when he thought about the times I stayed over at your house. He thought you were trying to seduce me or corrupt his precious athlete son. He scared me. He wanted to beat the crap out of you. I’m surprised he didn’t try anything when you came to the door. Must have been a real jolt to see you standing there.”

  “He slammed the door in my face.”

  “That’s how I knew someone was here. The whole house shook worse than last year’s earthquake. I looked out my window and saw you. I’m not supposed to leave my room. I snuck out the way I used to when I was younger. My dad said a lot of bigoted, stupid things that were so off the wall that I felt bad about the way I acted when you told me you were gay. If there’s anything I know for sure, I don’t want to be like him, or think like him, or act like him, ever.”

  When the friends had called and informed him who had really told the cops, Jack had felt even worse.

  I told him about going to the funeral home.

  “I want to help you with Kyle,” he said.

  I told him what Singleton had told me about the high probability that Kyle had committed suicide.

  “I don’t know about that,” Jack said. “I do know what I didn’t tell the cops this afternoon.”

  “What?” I asked.

  “I saw Kyle that night.”

  “Huh?” Not the best reportorial question in the world, but I was pretty stunned.

  “If you say something, I’ll deny it. I can’t deal with my dad as it is. He thinks I just had a few brews in the groves.”

  “When did you see him?”

  “About ten thirty, ten forty-five, my curfew is eleven, and you know how I like to get in at the very last second. The party in San Bernardino was a dud. I ripped off a six-pack and drove out to the groves. I was right near where they found him.”

  “Was he alone?”

  “Nope. He was with two guys. I know it was him because earlier he’d come by and offered to give me money if I’d let him blow me.”

  “Why didn’t you tell me this earlier?”

  “The kid was a creep. I didn’t know you were taking this all so seriously. I thought you were just doing another newspaper thing. You know I think that stuff is all useless.”

  Academics and Jack seldom mixed. He was happy to maintain a barely C average during baseball season when he needed the grades to be eligible.

  Jack continued, “A few minutes after he made the offer, I saw these three guys. One was the right height, and his glasses reflected the moonlight, so I figured it was Kyle.”

  “Did the three of them say anything?”

  “I couldn’t hear, and I didn’t go over or get close. I guessed he’d found two guys who would let him do it. I for sure didn’t want to watch so I left.”

  “You didn’t see any rope or step stool or his bike?”

  “Nope.”

  We sat in silence for a few minutes, then Jack said, “I gotta be getting back. Old dad isn’t too bright, but he might accidentally check and find his firstborn missing.” He slipped out of the car and dashed back toward his house.

  So Kyle had talked to people that night. With the amount of kids out in the groves, I suspected at some point, you couldn’t see the trees for all the kids.

  I wanted to find out who those two kids were. I was sure his death wasn’t as simple as Kyle peddling out to the orange groves to die. It was murder.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Thursday 6:30 P.M.

  My mom and dad drove up five minutes after I did. He’d picked her up from working late at the flower shop on his way home. I’d made it just in time.

  Supper proceeded with an amazing amount of calm. Mostly my sisters burbled about their day’s activities and my grandmother’s impending arrival.

  I didn’t mention my after school activities. I didn’t want to lie about where I’d been. I wasn’t ashamed of going to see Singleton, visiting the funeral home, or stopping to see Jack. It’s just I wanted to avoid a confrontation if I could. It’s not that I’ve never lied to my parents. It’s just I’ve never done something deliberately bad enough to blatantly fabricate a story about my actions. I didn’t want to start tonight.

  I still didn’t feel so good, and muscles I didn’t think were hurt had started to ache. I took three pain pills before dinner to quell the ache from my throbbing ankle.

  After supper my parents called me into the living room.

  “We’ve been talking,” my mother said. “We’ve come to some decisions.”

  I sat up. She sounded dictatorial beyond reason, a tone I’d never heard from her before.

  She said, “Your father and I have decided that you need to see a therapist. The whole family will go in for counseling sessions together. Until counseling is over, you will be much more accountable for your time, where you’ve been, and who you were with.”<
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  I barely heard the rest. They took turns saying that they were not angry with me, that they were simply concerned about me, that I was their child and they wanted to make sure I made the right decisions, and I definitely needed to think over a decision that could ruin my life. They also said they had found out about a group of parents of gay kids they might visit, but as a last resort, not a first.

  When they finished, I stood up and strode to the middle of the room. The pain pills had taken effect. I could stand close to ninety percent of normal. “I’ve made some decisions too.”

  “This isn’t something you get to decide about,” my dad said. “This is our house, and as long as you live under this roof, you will abide by the rules, and what we’ve decided tonight will be the rules.”

  I gaped at him. My fear of telling them had been well justified. They’d used one of the ultimate threats in the teenager-versus-parents wars.

  I tried telling myself to be calm. I knew I was not going to give in to this. I couldn’t. I felt my world begin to tilt out of control.

  What flashed through my mind was the picture of Kyle’s parents at the funeral home and how sad and tragic that had been.

  I said, “I went to the funeral parlor to see Kyle.”

  Things got very quiet for several beats then my dad said, “You deliberately defied us. You shouldn’t have gone there. You should have asked us first.”

  I said, “Just please listen for just a minute. This is really important.” They both fell silent. I figured that was a step in the right direction. I continued, “I think the scene in that funeral home was one of the saddest things I will ever see. I was the only kid from school who came.”

  My mom said, “That’s awful, but all I care about right now is you.”

  I said, “I just want to talk about what I saw tonight.” Silence again. I went on. “Kyle must have led an incredibly lonely life. He was gay and frightened out of his mind. His parents tonight told me that they thought something was wrong, but they didn’t know how to talk to Kyle, and he sure didn’t know how to talk to them. He could never tell them what I was able to tell you. I loved and trusted you enough to be open with you. Would you rather have it the other way? Would you rather I never said anything? Is that what you want, silence? Kyle couldn’t talk to his parents. He died because he felt so alone.”