by Jamie Lake
It had taken him years to be comfortable with the fact that Keith was a man, and that he was in love with another man. But by then, the lie had taken hold, and Mario kept it going, telling himself that the truth would break his mother’s heart. It was easier to say you were lying so you wouldn’t hurt someone else than to admit that you were barely comfortable with the truth yourself.
Now, he avoided his mother’s eyes, looking down as he said softly, “We thought it would be best.”
Mario always hoped if he could find the right time for this conversation, that somehow it wouldn’t be painful and awkward. But was there ever an easy way to tell someone you would never be the person they expected you to be? That you’d defied their hopes and dreams for your future? Was there ever a time that it would be easy to admit to your parents that you could accept yourself as a failure, but you would never survive knowing they thought of you that way, too?
“Best? For whom?” she asked.
“For everyone,” he said.
“Seems like a coward’s way out to me,” she grumbled.
Who is she to talk? Mario thought. Wasn’t his mother the one still pretending that his father was coming back? Wasn’t she holding on to a lie, just like he was?
“Really, mother?” he said. “Fine, I’ll tell you what you want to know. Everything, nothing held back but only under one promise from you: that we never discuss this again, ever.”
“Whatever you wish,” she said. “Of course, had you been honest with me the first time, we never would have had to have this little discussion in the first place.”
He sighed, sank back into the chair, and stared at the bed to gather his thoughts for a second. Then he began, “His real name is Keith.”
After he said it, Mario watched his mother’s reaction. He wanted a response from her. He had earned that right after decades of avoiding the topic, after decades of caring for her. Where would she be without him? She might see him as a good-for-nothing waste of a life after this, but she would have died long ago if it hadn’t been for him.
His mother swallowed hard. “Keith,” she said, breathing out as if in relief. “That seems like a nice name.”
“Really, mother? Are you going to pretend that you’re fine with it?” Mario was on edge. He’d prepared himself for a fight. For insults and tears and shame.
“Why wouldn’t I be fine with it?” she said in feigned innocence.
“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe because you and Papi said that if any of your sons ever went gay, you’d disown them. That ever since I was a kid you told me to buck up and be a man and that if you wanted a sissy, you would have had a daughter?”
“Me?” she said. “I would never-”
“You would and you did,” he said firmly. He wasn’t going to let her deny it. He wasn’t going to let her off the hook. If she was going to make him own up to his past, then she would have to own up to hers.
Finally, she lifted her chin. “Things were different then. I was only trying think of what was best for you. It’s a cruel world out there and I didn’t want you to go through any more heartache and pain needlessly.”
“Is that your way of saying you’re sorry?” he asked her. He was at the end of his rope. He didn’t know how to pretend anymore. His emotions were taking over, and they lapped over him like waves. He stopped trying to control himself, stopped trying to be the model, obedient son. He was Mario. Gay, emotional, maybe even a disappointment to her. But he was himself, dammit, and that’s all that mattered.
“I haven’t always made the best decisions, but you have to understand that I never meant to harm you or make you unhappy,” she said.
He sighed and shook his head. That was probably the closest he was ever going to get to an apology from his mother for her years of disapproval, lack of acceptance, and stranglehold on his life. If he didn’t accept it, he would be bitter for the rest of his life. He reached out and squeezed her hand, then kissed her on the forehead.
“Are we done yet?” he asked, starting to get up, but she squeezed his hand and pulled him back.
“There’s … one more thing,” she said.
His shoulders, which had started to relax in relief, tensed up again.
“What is it, mother?” He braced for impact.
“You have to understand, at the moment, I was more shocked than anything—and I was still hoping that somehow I could persuade you to …”
“To what?”
“To marry that nice little girl in the village, remember her name?”
“Gloria?” he asked. “How could I not? You bugged me about it every day since I returned from the States.”
Was she losing her mind? Was her age really causing her to forget, or was this yet another one of her performances?
“Yes, that was her name, Gloria. She would have made a lovely wife and mother for you,” she said, smiling at the memories.
“Tell me,” he said.
“He was a nice man, Keith,” she said.
Mario frowned at his mother. She had said that almost as if she knew him, and she had a funny look on her face.
“Yes, he was,” he said cautiously.
“And beautiful blue eyes,” she added.
His insides leapt. He didn’t have a photo of Keith; they’d agreed it would be too risky. “How did you know he had blue eyes?”
“Gorgeous strawberry blonde hair, too.”
“What? How did you know?” he asked.
She was toying with him again, working him up. He knew she loved seeing him panic like this.
Her lips quivered. “‘Cause he came here … looking for you four years ago.”
His heart dropped and the blood rushed from his face. “Wh-what?”
“He came here to the house-”
“I heard you, but what do you mean, ‘he came here’? How could he have come here and you not tell me?”
It felt like time had stopped. Everything around him was frozen, and even the earth had stopped moving. Had Keith, the love of his life, come all this way just to see him and he’d missed him? Mario could hear his own heartbeat in his ears. A drop of sweat rolled down his back between his shoulder blades. It was suddenly unbearably hot.
Tears were streaming down his mother’s face. He’d never seen her cry like this, not even when his father left the last time, for good.
“I didn’t want you to go,” she choked out between sobs.
“What?!” he said, his voice raising.
“You were all I had. You have to understand. I have nobody else and I didn't want you to go away. I was trying to protect you. Your father left me, and-”
“My father left you ‘cause he was a drunk. Why did you have to deny me the one thing that made me happy?”
Mario leapt out of his chair, too restless to sit one second longer. His body was buzzing with electricity. He felt like he had fire at the tips of his fingers and if he touched something, anything, it would burst into flames. It felt like he would burst into flames. His mind raced with a million thoughts. His Keith, right on his door step. How could he have never known about this? Why hadn’t Keith left a note, even if all he had to say was goodbye?
“I didn’t want you to go through the heartbreak I did. Love only lasts for a moment.”
“No, mother, not true love. You are … You are …” How could he possibly put into words all the anger, pain, and betrayal he felt? It felt as if he was being torn to pieces.
“I know. I am all of it and … there’s more…” she said, sobbing so hard her words were almost indistinguishable.
“More?” He wasn’t sure if he could take any more.
“He thinks … I mean, I told him that you were …” Her words broke off as she started coughing emphatically.
Maybe I should let her cough to death, Mario thought spitefully. But finally his empathy, as well as his anxiety about what she had to say, implored him to fetch her some water. If she died now he would never know, and he had to know. He practically forced the wat
er down her throat as she gasped for breath.
“You told him I was what? What, mother? What?” he asked. “Married? You didn’t tell him I married someone else, did you?” He couldn’t imagine what could be worse than that. The very idea of Keith having moved on had hurt him so much, he couldn’t bear thinking that his mother had inflicted that same kind of pain on Keith.
She wouldn’t answer. He couldn’t help himself; he grabbed her and shook her. “Mother, tell me!”
She calmed down enough to answer, looking at him even more apologetically than she had before. Then, she uttered one word: “Dead.”
Shock and horror swallowed him up like a giant wave. His ears were ringing, and he couldn’t believe that he’d heard her correctly.
“Dead?”
“I told him you had died in a horrible accident. He wanted to visit your grave, but I told him, there was nothing left of you, and so…”
Mario felt like he was drowning. His body was dizzy and weightless, and he had to gasp for breath. He shook his head to clear it and blinked furiously, hoping this was all just a dream he would snap out of.
He squeezed his eyes shut. Maybe when he woke up, he would still be waiting for a letter. Maybe when he woke up, he would still be crying into his mop at the elementary school. Maybe when he woke up, he would still be in that sun-warmed vineyard, lying on the fragrant green grass with Keith lying next to him, their fingers intertwined. At this point, anything would be better than being here, now, knowing that his mother had ruined every single opportunity for him to be happy again. And she’d done it on purpose.
His throat was so choked with hatred he had to fight to say the words. “You are wicked, you are evil, you are … I will never speak to you again. Never.”
He turned to storm out of the room. He wanted nothing from his mother. He had spent his entire life trying to make her happy, trying to be good enough, and what had she given him in return? She never let him live. She let him die a little bit each day, knowing all along that he could have had at least an ounce of happiness. Had she hated him that much for being born? Had he really robbed her of her dreams? Was this her way of getting revenge?
“I won’t try to stop you this time,” she called out weakly after him from her bed. “I know I deserve it, I know I deserve to die alone.”
Mario whirled around. “Don’t even try to guilt trip me into one of your manipulative-”
“I am not manipulating you,” she gasped at the audacity of it.
He laughed a bitter, angry laugh. “You have manipulated me from the day I was born, using whatever means you could to suck me into your conniving self-serving agendas. I’ve been nothing but good to you. I went to America to send money to you, I gave up the love of my life for you. Everything was for you, and what do I have to show for it?! I’m 34, I’m stuck here in this -- this hell hole living with you, the female embodiment of the Devil.”
He spat the words out like they were venom. She gasped in shock. Mario was sick of her, sick of her lies, sick of her acting, sick of her ropes that strangled and chained him to a world he hated. He wanted to be freed, freed once and for all.
“Don’t give me that dramatic display,” he snapped. “There won’t be any Oscars, any Emmys, any Tony awards for your performance today, mother. What you did is unspeakable and for your sake, I hope that God forgives you.”
For the first time he could remember, his mother was stunned into silence. He stormed out of the bedroom and, in a flustered rage, grabbed whatever things he could and shoved them into a bag. He was leaving. He didn’t know where he was going, but he wasn’t staying here one more night with that woman. Let her find someone else to look after her, he thought. Someone who doesn’t have a life, who doesn’t care about being robbed of every shred of their freedom and personal life. Or let her die, alone.
But, on his way out of the house, Mario stopped suddenly in the doorway. Could he actually do it? Could he truly leave behind the safety net that for years had served as his excuse for not following his heart? Could he leave his own mother alone, no matter how much she deserved it? What kind of person did that make him—and, if there was a God, like his mother had pounded into his head all these years, would He forgive him?
Mario took a deep breath. This was the part he hated. She always pulled him back. After all, she was blood. There was nothing stronger than blood—well, maybe true love, but she had destroyed any possibility of his having that years ago. Now, he had nothing but the sliver of hope that somehow he could scrape together a life of his own and that maybe Keith would be waiting for him, dreaming of the same thing. And yet, he knew what he had to do.
When Mario walked back into the bedroom, his mother looked up at him, her eyes puffy and red. With her tiny frame swaddled in a robe and blankets, she looked more like a little girl than the old woman she had become.
“Goodbye, mother,” he said. “I will call Paula and ask her to check in on you tonight.”
He didn’t even bother to let her respond, leaving her with nothing but the echoing sound of his footsteps as he headed out. A steely resolve settled in his chest. If there could be forgiveness for who he was, a gay man, there could be forgiveness for what he’d done.
“Mario?”
When he heard the voice behind him, Mario turned around and stared in surprise. His mother was in her bedroom doorway—standing up on her own two feet. She was no longer wheezing or coughing; she was no longer the sickly woman she had presented herself to be for the last few weeks, but the proper lady he remembered from his childhood. He was confused.
“It was me, you know?” His mother was speaking clearly now, no longer rasping out her words between wheezes. “I couldn’t think of what to get you for your birthday and I … I made you clean out that shed because I wanted you to find that letter. I asked your cousin to put it under the boxes because I knew if you stayed out there long enough, you would find it. Can I get at least credit for that?”
Mario stared at her, his face an expressionless mask. Even though he felt like a hurricane had ripped through him, unsettling everything he believed, he refused to give her the benefit of seeing how much she’d shaken him. The woman he had devoted his entire life to, the woman he had spent countless sleepless nights worrying over and caring for, was now standing before him healthy and strong. She had never really needed him, he realized now. This whole time, it had all been a performance, a complete lie. There was nothing he could say to convey to her the immense pain, betrayal, and rage he was feeling.
His mother reached over into the kitchen drawer and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Death on a stick. Her coughing and wheezing was thanks to that, and still she insisted.
“Sit down,” she said, cupping her cigarette in her hand as she flicked the lighter.
Just to defy her, he stayed standing as she lit it up like an old pro.
“I may not win an Oscar, an Emmy or even a Tony, son but you have to admit, I gave the performance of a lifetime,” his mother said, taking a deep drag on the cigarette. “I was going to be an actress before you … before your father left you with me. You know that. I could have been somebody. You owed it to me. The least you could have done after stealing my future away is stay with me.”
Here she was again, blaming him. After everything she had done, and admitted to doing, she was going to lay it on him again. Well, he had let her blame him for everything that was wrong in her life long enough. He was done.
“No, mother. I don’t owe you a damn thing.” He hitched his bag on his shoulder and started to walk out the door.
“You’ll miss me!” she called after him, yelling out the door, “You’ll come back! Mario? Mario, come back! Come back this instant!”
But her calls fell on deaf ears; he kept walking with conviction. He knew where he needed to go. He knew where his heart was, and he was going to finish what he’d started so many years ago. This time, he was older and wiser and ready to take the reins in life. The only person that could stop h
im this time was him.
Maybe he’d find nothing. Maybe Keith would be with someone else—but he had to know, he had to try. He was going to return to the love of his life, if he would see him.
CHAPTER 10
There had been so many moments when Mario thought he would never get to the vineyard. Months had passed since he’d hitchhiked his way up through Mexico and smuggled his way over the border. He had faced heat, dirt, exhaustion, and fear when the flashlights of the border control almost tracked him down.
But he had made it—and now he stood at the foot of the vineyard. The scent of wine grapes filled his nostrils, bringing with them so many memories of times gone by. As he walked down the dusty road, Mario thought about the summer he spent working in the fields, the summer he fell in love for the first time. Now, the house rose up before him: a plantation-style home with columns that seemed to reach the heavens. The house was beautiful, but badly in need of repairs-- the paint was chipping, the wooden boards of the porch sagging. It almost seemed abandoned to Mario; there was no one around that he could see. But still, as he climbed the steps of the front porch, his heart was pounding in his chest. The yelp of an old dog nearly made him jump out of his skin. The ugly mutt was practically blind but as it smelled the air, its growls turned to a friendly bark and it licked his hand.
The screen door creaked open suddenly, and a man with rifle stepped out. “Can I help ya’?” the voice said.
Mario recognized the voice immediately, and he felt as if a warm hand was closing around his heart.
It was the love of his life. It was Keith.
He stepped out from under the shadow of the house into the sunlight and cupped his hand above his brow. He’d aged well, the years had been good to him. Not even the fine lines that had begun to be etched around his mouth could take away that handsome face and those ice-blue eyes. After a moment, a smile of recognition lit Keith’s face.
