Dad turned to Mom. “See, she goes off to college and comes back a goddamn liberal!”
“Don’t take the Lord’s name during the holidays,” Mom warned as she headed back into the kitchen.
“What’s wrong with voting Republican?” Dad wasn’t going to let that remark slide.
I debated as to what to say. “Maybe we should save this for another day.”
“No.” Dad wasn’t going to leave me alone.
“We’re talking about economics in class,” I said. I didn’t want to mention my conversations with Carol. “Reagan’s policies seem to be protecting the rich and leaving the rest of the country to fend for itself. I’m not sure how I feel about it.”
“Feel?” he bellowed. “I’d like a word with some of those damn teachers of yours.”
“Oh, here we go,” Mom sighed. Her silent hand signals weren’t getting anyone to the table any faster.
“I’ll tell you what you’re gonna feel if you vote Democrat,” he said. “We can afford nice things because I worked hard to get us here. Now if our taxes get raised for all these programs to help lazy people, then we might not have much money left. So you’re gonna feel cheated that the government is taking our money. Or someday, your money.”
I thought about Carol. It wasn’t her fault she had a condition that required costly medications. But I stayed silent. I wanted to keep the peace and avoid another stressful holiday meal that hurt my digestion.
“It’s not that simple,” Mom argued.
“There’s your mother.” He shook his head. “She’d keep givin’ the shirt off her back to the poor til she don’t got any clothes left.” He winked at her. “I love her compassion, though, even if she does get swindled all the time.”
“I do not! It’s called being a good Christian.”
Just then Kenneth came through the door, wearing the same tan corduroy jacket I always remembered. He’d gotten a haircut, and his blond strands seemed a little darker. He was turning into a very handsome man.
“Where’s Sheila?” Mom asked, the first one to hug him.
“She thinks she’s gettin’ the flu. She didn’t want to make y’all sick.” Kenneth took off his jacket, then gave me a big hug. “Sorry I didn’t get to see you off before school,” he said apologetically.
“I forgive you.” I smiled at him. He was another one who was easy to forgive. Of course he wouldn’t call or write letters the whole time I was away, but I knew he wasn’t much of a writer.
Dad gave him a quick slap on the back, and my brother made a beeline for the table.
He had moved to Marietta with Sheila, his girlfriend of two years, and gotten a more “respectable job,” as Dad put it, at a retail store selling automotive parts. Dad still held a grudge that Kenneth didn’t stay and work the farm, that he had to pay “twice as much” to get help. But Kenneth let the guilt roll off his back somehow, and I wanted to ask him what magical spell he used to do it. Mom and Dad were anxiously awaiting engagement news from Kenneth, so they wouldn’t have to keep dodging the issue of him living in sin around their church friends.
Slicing the turkey as he’d done every year, Dad rattled on about family values.
“What does that mean?” Kenneth asked, scooping a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “I mean, who isn’t for family?”
“You’d be surprised,” Dad said mysteriously.
Kenneth grinned. “I’m for dysfunctional families myself.” He winked at me.
“Smart-ass,” Dad muttered.
There was something so comforting about being back home with people I’d known my whole life. After all, they were my touchstones in the world, the people who had always made me feel safe in spite of their weirdness.
“So tell us about school, dear,” Mom said.
“It’s great.” I was tempted to talk about Adrienne, but I didn’t want my face to turn red or accidentally reveal anything that would result in yelling. So for the sake of my digestion, I kept quiet.
“How do you like the campus?” Dad asked.
“It’s beautiful,” I answered. “I went to this amazing place off-campus the other night…it was a club that played really good music and…I went with this friend of mine.”
Mom’s eyes twinkled with delight. “A boy friend?”
“Oh no.” I laughed and tried to act like it was no big deal. “He’s a boy, yeah, but he’s gay, so, no…not a boyfriend.”
A stunned silence fell upon the table. Mom jumped up to get some extra gravy. My dad dropped his turkey cutting knife. And Kenneth simply said nothing. It felt like all of the oxygen had been sucked out of the room. During this time in the 1980s, the only time gay people were mentioned was in news reports about AIDS or pride parades where the commentary wasn’t exactly favorable.
Dad pointed his fork at me. It was a major moment I’d never forget. “You be careful who you associate with down there, y’hear? I don’t wanna hear that my daughter is hangin’ out with queers.”
“But he’s a nice guy!” I insisted. “You just don’t know anyone who is.”
“I don’t want you gettin’ any diseases,” he said, plunging the knife into his turkey. “And you don’t want to associate with them ’cause it reflects bad on you.”
“Really, dear,” Mom chimed in. “How do you expect to find a nice boy to marry if you spend time with…you know?” I knew she wasn’t trying to be cruel; she just didn’t understand.
“It’s no big deal. We went out dancing once.” I stared down at my peas. They were the kind that were fuzzy inside and made me feel like I was going to choke.
There was silence all around. Dad seemed to be coming out of his chair.
“Feel free to jump in here.” He glared at Kenneth. “She listens to you.”
“I hear they’re good dancers,” Kenneth said. “Maybe they can teach her ’cause she sucks.”
I shoved my brother.
“Robin,” Mom began, “if you continue to go to these…places…people will think you are, you know.”
“You wanna bring shame on the family?” Dad said. “Keep hangin’ out with queers. You don’t know what you’re gettin’ mixed up in.”
Now it felt like my parents were the enemy, giving me those same shivers I had in the club parking lot when the gang of guys harassed us. This wasn’t the man who had taught me how to swim or the mother who had cut bubble gum out of my hair when a cruel wind had shifted my bubble over to the side of my head at age seven. My loving parents had been replaced with fearful, angry strangers, hissing and clawing at me from across the table.
“I guess I don’t see the big deal,” I said quietly.
“Your grandmother would turn over in her grave if she heard you talk like this,” Dad said.
“She was cremated,” Mom corrected.
“Well, whose fault was that?” Dad was now irritated and purple.
“Let’s move on, Jimmy,” Mom urged softly. Certainly this wasn’t the conversation Mom had envisioned when I came home from college.
But a heaviness had fallen across the table. I lost my appetite. There was nothing worse than arguing with my parents. I was a pleaser at heart and never wanted to do anything to upset or disappoint them. That’s why I instinctively knew it was up to me to salvage the family dinner.
“Just so you know,” I said, “I wasn’t planning to go back to that place anymore. I only liked the music they played.”
“Well, you can hear music anywhere,” Dad said, lightening up a little.
“Yes.” Mom was very eager to ask Dad to name places in town where they played music.
So he launched into a long speech about exploring the town more and checking out this and that. I tuned him out, then slid a forkful of peas into my mouth. I chewed and chewed them but couldn’t swallow. They seemed to expand inside my mouth. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m that way either.” I heard myself say the words. I felt Bette Davis judging me. But it was a momentary, fleeting discomfort. It was so much easier
to slide back into the familiar, the ways of home, of religion, of straightness.
My parents nodded with relieved smiles. The world was turning on its axis again.
I glanced at my brother, noticing how he didn’t seem to mind challenging our parents. He didn’t seem to care about keeping the peace. Then again, they didn’t seem to get so angry at him either. When he told Dad that the farm was not for him, Dad reluctantly had no choice but to accept it. Somehow, though, I knew with something like being gay, it wouldn’t be the same level of acceptance as changing jobs.
* * *
That night, I lay on my bed and stared up at the ceiling. I imagined what the dinner table would have been like if I’d told them I wondered if I might be gay. What I pictured was a nightmare—silverware flying, Mom breathing into a paper bag and Dad having a stroke. But especially the yelling. It would last for days. I was exhausted from simply imagining it.
What a strange, yet familiar, holiday it would be this year—with the frenzied unwrapping of presents, the sounds of Dad and Kenneth snoring in front of a football game and Mom baking Christmas coffee cake. She spent her whole life in the kitchen, and she loved it. It truly was her favorite room in the house, and not because of 1950s advertisements that told her she belonged there, but because she really loved cooking and baking. When she was not cooking or baking, she was looking for new recipes to cook or bake. I didn’t really understand her, but I envied how clear her goals seemed to be and how she could let the day take her in whatever direction—without having to have a list of projects every morning. I was driven to a level my mother wouldn’t understand. Every day, I felt compelled to achieve; my ambition was thicker than the Georgia mud. I’d inherited that from my father.
I was now suspended over my body, watching myself lying in bed, locked in a weird place where there was no way out. But there was. I didn’t have to be subjected to taunting strangers outside back-alley clubs. I had all the power to stop these thoughts and choose the path I’d follow, the right path, God’s path. I could follow Adrienne’s lead and say the whole thing happened because we drank too much. Nothing more. After all, Reverend Butler always said that alcohol was the devil’s brew and caused people to do strange things, usually things without their clothes on.
A dance song by The Cure, “Lovesong,” played faintly in the background, reminding me of the Cobra Club. Before I changed the station to classical, I got a great idea. I found a blank cassette in my desk drawer and began making a compilation tape. Even though Adrienne and I had agreed not to get each other anything because we were both broke—I went along with that so she wouldn’t hate me for having money—we never said anything about making a present. And I wanted to do this. I felt so excited. I waited for songs I recognized to come on the radio station, and I quickly hit “record” to get them from the beginning, hoping the DJs wouldn’t talk over them. This was the most fun I’d have all Christmas.
Chapter Fifty
The holiday break wouldn’t have been complete without a surprise visit from Marc. He arrived unannounced one morning, wearing a black overcoat and holding a small wrapped gift.
“Marc!” Mom exclaimed with arms outstretched. “Come in from the cold right this minute!” She treated him like a son. “Robin! You have a visitor!”
Just the way she announced him—I knew who it was. I took a deep breath in front of my stereo, where I was still working on Adrienne’s tape.
I came downstairs in a simple cranberry turtleneck and jeans. “Hi,” I said.
Marc raised his face to see me on the staircase. He looked as though I was a leading lady in the movie of his life. It was far too much pressure. Only now I understood what he felt, why he kissed me the way he did. And I knew with certainty that I couldn’t return those feelings.
“I’ll leave you kids alone.” Mom scurried down the hall. She was even more excited to see Marc, I think, after the previous dinner conversation.
“Hi,” he said, gazing at me.
I came over to him, but I kept a safe distance between us. I was uncomfortable with the way he stared. I stuffed my hands into my pockets to give my arms something to do. After a moment, he presented me with a Christmas gift. I hadn’t gotten him anything, and my face burned red-hot. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know I’d see you.”
“It’s okay.” He shrugged. It probably wasn’t okay.
I unwrapped a small box and pulled up a silver bracelet with a charm that had our initials engraved in it. “Aw, that’s so sweet.”
“You think so?” His voice was suddenly hard and businesslike.
“Yeah. Thank you.” I reached up to kiss his cheek, but he turned, and my lips bumped his chin. It was awkward, as I expected it to be, especially knowing that I’d spent all of last night working on a music tape for my roommate.
“You don’t write or call,” he said.
“Neither did you.”
“I asked your mom in church for your address. She said she’d get it and forgot to give it to me.”
“Oh.” I held my head in shame. “Sorry.”
“You didn’t even think about seein’ me over break. You really think it feels like we’re in a relationship?”
I exhaled in frustration. Nervously stroking the top of Dad’s velvet chair, I finally decided to let the pretense go. He wasn’t a fool. It was time to stop treating him like one.
“No, it doesn’t,” I answered. “But we knew things would be different when we went to college. I’m sure you’ve met other girls.”
“I’ve met some,” he said. “But they aren’t you. So I guess you found another guy?”
“Not exactly.”
He threw his hands in the air. “What does that mean? Are you breaking up with me?”
“I care about you,” I exclaimed. “I really do. But I think we should let each other experience life. I don’t want you to feel committed to me.”
“Thing is,” he muttered, “I want to be. I love you.”
I couldn’t say it back. He started for the door. “Enjoy the bracelet,” he said bitterly and left.
Hearing the door, Mom rushed back into the foyer.
“Robin,” Mom scolded. “You didn’t even offer to take his coat? Or invite him to stay for cheesecake?”
“Trust me, Mom. It wouldn’t have been a good idea.”
“I realized I forgot to get your address for him. Every time I saw him in church, I said to myself, ‘I need to get that.’ But I forgot.” She was blaming herself for us breaking up, which I was sure she heard from eavesdropping in the kitchen.
“It’s not your fault, Mom,” I said. “It really isn’t.”
* * *
The last night before going back, I spent a lot of time in my room, even though I knew my parents wanted more time to visit with me. I didn’t want to answer more questions. Dad wanted me to pledge a sorority, but I thought they were weird. The first week of school was Rush Week, where all the new pledges chose, and were chosen by, a sorority. I saw all these girls crying in the arms of total strangers because they were now wearing the same letters on their shirts. It was too weird for me. I told Dad I’d consider it, but I wasn’t going to.
There was a knock on my door. “It’s Ken.”
“Come in.” I sat up, surprised to hear his voice. He’d gone home after Christmas to take care of his sick girlfriend. I was glad he came back.
“Hey, Robbie,” he said. His face was warm and familiar. He closed the door behind him and sat on the edge of the bed. “Mom and Dad wanted me to check on you.”
I rolled my eyes. “Because I’m in my room?”
He nodded. “You know them. They want to make sure you’re not…whatever they saw on a talk show.” He ran through the list. “Teenage depression, pregnancy…”
“No chance of that,” I laughed. “If they only knew…” It slipped out before I could censor myself.
“If they only knew what?” His face was relaxed. He didn’t have the same expressions of my parents, who always se
emed to be moments from needing a padded cell.
I looked at him intensely. If only I could unburden myself, share my secret with someone I trusted.
“Nothing,” I said.
“Well…” He mussed my hair and got me to laugh. Then he looked at me seriously and imitated something our high school counselor used to say: “Now remember, dorms are for studying, not sexual relations.”
I slapped him playfully. Of course his joke was aimed at my goody-two-shoes reputation. He’d gone to college for a semester, but decided it wasn’t right for him. Again, he managed to tell my parents, who were very disappointed. I thought I’d rather have my eyes gouged out with hot pokers than disappoint them. But he switched to a vocational school, and they were eventually okay with that.
“Ken?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t know,” I mumbled.
“Sure you do. What is it?” He could always see through me.
In his face I saw the boy I climbed trees with, went to Sunday school with, all those things that had once made sense. If I revealed myself, it would make me a stranger to him. What if he looked at me like Mom and Dad did?
“If I told you something, could you keep it secret from Mom and Dad?” I smiled awkwardly.
“Of course. You never told them mine.”
“Huh?”
“They still don’t know about the tattoo on my ass.”
“That’s right!” I remembered. Now I had some leverage. I laughed. When he was in high school, he went to a friend’s party and got drunk. He came home with a tattoo of a cross on his right butt cheek, but couldn’t remember how it got there. Since it wasn’t in a spot where our parents were likely to see it, no one had to know. He was kind of proud of it, although I’d never seen him as the tattoo type. He wanted to tell me, though, and I swore I’d never reveal his secret. “So you kind of owe me, don’t you?” I smiled playfully.
“This better be good.” He lay across the bed with hands folded.
There was so much heaviness on my face, and I knew he could see it. I was carrying not only the weight of the world, but the universe and whatever other matter existed out there too.
Hurricane Days Page 22
