by K. C. Wells
“Ouch!” He rubbed it briskly. “Aww, c’mon, Momma, you know Daddy loves your cookin’.”
“Now he does” came the muttered comment from behind the local paper. “’Specially if he knows what’s good for him.”
Momma glared at his daddy, who wisely kept hidden.
“Remarks like that will not have me rushin’ to make your favorite turkey, stuffing, and cranberry sauce sandwiches when you next ask me with those puppy dog eyes.” She huffed. “Like those work on me anyway after all these years.”
Tommy wasn’t fooled for an instant. He could hear the love in her voice.
He left the tree and went over to the fireplace to kneel on the worn rug in front of it. Something else that was battle scarred—there was a hole in the rug from when Tommy had tried to poke the fire rather too vigorously one year and a burning chunk of wood had landed on it. He knew there was no way Momma would’ve thrown it out. Grandma had made it when Momma and Daddy had gotten married.
Momma went into the kitchen, and Tommy half listened to the noises that drifted in from there. He was relaxed and happy. It had been a really good visit. His parents had been so happy to have him home. He’d arrived four days before Christmas, and so far it had been great. Even Mary seemed to have mellowed a little since he’d seen her last, but maybe that was due more to her impending motherhood. She’d been talking about having a family since she and Dan had gotten together when they were high school sweethearts.
It was the love that had permeated every second of his time at home that had finally helped Tommy come to a decision. The moment had arrived. Once he’d made up his mind, it was simply a question of when.
No time like the present.
Momma brought in three mugs of hot chocolate on a tray, and after placing them on the coffee table, she settled back on the couch, feet propped up on a little padded footstool. Tommy reached for his mug and wrapped his hands around it, inhaling the aroma. He closed his eyes, ignoring the fluttery feeling in his belly and the dryness in his mouth. Tommy drew in a couple of deep breaths and then opened his eyes.
“Momma, Daddy? Can I talk with you for a minute?”
Daddy lowered his paper instantly and regarded him, brow furrowed. “Sure. Anything wrong?”
Momma put down her mug and sat up, back straight.
“No, sir, it’s just that there’s somethin’ I need to share with you both.” Tommy’s heart was pounding so hard, he was surprised they couldn’t hear it.
Momma’s green eyes, so like his own, were fixed on him. “Is everythin’ all right at school? I thought you were doin’ real well.”
“Oh, I am,” he hastened to tell her. “It’s not that.” The gentle fluttering in his belly had developed into a rolling ocean. He set his mug on the table and sat crossed-legged on the rug, facing them. “Before I start, I just want you to know that the only reason I feel able to share this with you is that I know you both love me and support me.” He smiled at them.
Momma’s expression softened. “Of course we do, son.” The love in her voice filled him with warmth. “But you’re worryin’ me now.”
Tommy nodded. No use putting it off any longer. He took a final deep breath. “Momma, Daddy, ever since I was a little boy, you’ve taught me how important it is to tell the truth.”
They nodded.
“Well, I’ve been doin’ a lotta thinkin’ ’bout my life, and I figured it’s about time I shared it with y’all. Like you always say, Momma, ‘the truth will set you free.’ So this is me, sharing that I… I’m gay.”
The silence that fell was so sudden, it descended with the swiftness of his daddy’s axe chopping wood. Daddy stared at him, eyes wide. Momma gaped, so still he’d have sworn she’d been turned to stone.
Momma was the first to speak. “Gay,” she repeated heavily. Then she squinted at him. “Gay, as in homosexual?”
“Yes, Momma. I’m gay.” Tommy swallowed, heart hammering.
She glanced at his daddy, whose expression hadn’t changed one jot, then back to Tommy. “I see,” she said slowly. Her hands fidgeted in her lap, and she frowned. “Well, I… I don’t rightly know what to say. This is… unexpected.” Her gaze traveled once more to his daddy, who nodded.
Tommy breathed a little easier. He hadn’t known what to expect, but this decidedly low-key reaction definitely wasn’t it. The tightness in his chest abated.
“I think you should go to bed now, son,” his daddy said suddenly, his voice low.
Tommy blinked. It wasn’t even nine fifteen.
Daddy nodded. “You sure have given us somethin’ to think about, and we can talk more ’bout this in the morning. So why don’t you go on up to your room and get some sleep, huh?”
Momma nodded in agreement.
“Okay, Daddy.” Tommy rose to his feet, legs trembling slightly, and picked up his unfinished hot chocolate. He went over to his momma and kissed her cheek. “G’night, Momma, g’night, Daddy.”
They both gave him a quick smile, and then he left the room. He climbed the wooden stairs, his head in a whirl. In his worst moments of panic prior to this, he’d imagined his parents ranting at him, getting out the family Bible and reading passages to him, maybe even wanting him to pray with them. Of course he’d always hoped they’d react calmly, but even he was amazed by this quiet… acceptance.
Tommy got ready for bed with a considerably lighter heart. He pulled the covers up around his shoulders and turned onto his side to stare out his window at the velvet night sky, strewn with stars.
It really is gonna be okay. For the first time in weeks, he fell asleep almost instantly.
THE NEXT morning Tommy awoke late and stared at the clock in surprise. Since when does Daddy let me sleep this late? Not that he was complaining. He’d slept like a log and felt fine. Noises filtered from downstairs, the hum of low voices. Guiltily, he sprang out of bed and pulled on his jeans and sweatshirt before hurrying into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. There was a whole list of chores that had to be done in the mornings—feed the chickens, horses, pigs, dogs, and cattle; milk the cows; collect the eggs—and Tommy was expected to help out. Holidays or not, there was a farm to run.
He came down the stairs and straight into the kitchen in search of coffee. To his surprise, the large room was empty, but there was the buzz of voices coming from the living room. The absence of his parents was suddenly clear. The living room was reserved for when there was company.
“C’mon in here, son,” his momma called out.
Tommy rapidly combed his fingers through his hair, making sure he looked respectable before pushing open the oak door—and coming to a dead stop in the doorway.
The room was full of family.
Momma and Daddy sat on the two-seater couch in front of the window. To their right on the largest of the couches sat Mary, Dan standing at her side, his daddy, Pastor Cunningham, beside him. Next to Mary were Tommy’s grandparents. The armchairs were taken by Tommy’s Uncle Ned and his cousins, Jake and Bill, both older than him.
“What…?” Any words died in Tommy’s throat when he gazed around the room at the group of people assembled, their faces set as they regarded him in stony silence. And in that moment, any optimism Tommy had been feeling packed its bags and left the building. The quietly oppressive atmosphere in the room made his heart sink fast.
This is not gonna be good was probably the understatement of the year.
“Tommy,” his momma began, her voice even, “your daddy and I have spent all night prayin’ an’ thinkin’ ’bout what you shared with us yesterday, an’ we feel there are some things we’d like to share too.”
“Okay,” he said slowly, swallowing. His scalp prickled, and his belly quivered. The cool scrutiny of his relatives was unnerving. Why are they all here?
“Since you’ve seen fit to choose this… lifestyle and stray from the path of righteousness, we—”
“Now hold on a minute,” Tommy butted in, his heart racing. “This isn�
��t a choice, Momma. This is how I am, how I was born.”
An angry buzz rippled around the room, and his throat grew tight. Mary stared at him, wide-eyed, Dan’s hand upon her shoulder, looking for all the world like he was comforting her. Beside her, his grandparents held hands, lips narrowed.
“No one is born a homosexual, Tommy,” Pastor Cunningham interjected, stepping forward. “We are all created in God’s image, and he has some pretty specific things to say on this subject.” He held aloft a Bible.
“No offense, Pastor Cunningham,” Tommy said politely, “but if you’re about to quote from Leviticus, about a man not lyin’ with a man as with a woman, then I’ll be forced to quote a little Scripture of my own.” He pointed toward his Uncle Ned. “Or are you gonna be the one to tell my uncle here that the Bible says you can’t have tattoos? Or maybe tell my momma that accordin’ to the Bible, her sister, my aunt Jeanie, should be stoned to death ’cause she’s divorced?” All the things he’d heard in those meetings came back to him in a rush.
That buzz grew louder, the sound almost painful. Momma’s mouth fell open, and her hand flew to her chest. Daddy’s nostrils flared, and his eyes bulged.
The pastor shook his head, his expression sad. “Oh, Tommy, now I understand better. They’ve brainwashed you, son, so you think that what you’re doing is all right. But it isn’t, I’m afraid. Doesn’t it warn us somewhere about the Devil citing Scripture for his purpose?”
Tommy stared at him with wide eyes. “So if I quote Scripture to show you the Bible isn’t infallible, I’m the Devil, right? But if you do it, suddenly that makes it okay?”
There were low gasps from his relatives, but Tommy was beyond caring. This was fast turning into a nightmare.
The pastor approached him. “Your parents called me and asked me to be here because they know I can help you.”
“Help me?” Tommy blinked. His thoughts seemed to freeze.
Pastor Cunningham nodded, holding out his left hand, which contained some pamphlets. “There are places for people like you, Tommy. Places where you can be helped back onto the right path.”
Murmurs of approval accompanied his words.
Tommy saw the light. Cold spread from his core to all his extremities. “You’re talkin’ ’bout reparative therapy. Camps where you ‘deprogram’ gays?” He shook his head. “I’ve heard about such places an’ what goes on in ’em. An’ you wanna talk about brainwashin’?” He turned to his parents. “Tell me you’re not listenin’ to this, Daddy, Momma?” He couldn’t believe this.
His daddy rose to his feet. “We’re offerin’ you a choice, son, ’cause we love you. Either you do what the pastor says an’ undergo some treatment, or….” He glanced down at Momma on the couch, who nodded. Daddy looked him in the eye and swallowed. “Or we can’t have you under our roof.” He straightened. “You will no longer be a part of this family. Not if you’ve chosen to follow the path of deviancy.”
Tommy’s blood turned to ice in his veins. “You… you can’t mean that.” This isn’t happening. “You say you love me, an’ yet you’d disown me because I’m gay?” Of all the times he’d heard horror stories about parents doing this to their kids, he’d never once imagined his parents being capable of perpetrating such a cruel act.
“Tommy, d’you think I’d ever be able to hold my head up in this town once word got out?” Momma looked stricken. “Why, people might think I condone your… behavior. They’d look at me an’ wonder what I did wrong when I was raisin’ you, for you to turn out this way.”
Oh, this was too much. “You’re prepared to kick me out because of how people might view your skills as a parent? Or what they might say ’bout you? Momma, can you hear yourself?” He drew in several deep breaths in an effort to calm down. “Momma, Daddy, this is how God made me.” He gestured to his body.
“You blasphemin’ little sack o’ shit!”
Before Tommy knew what was happening, his uncle had launched himself from his armchair and aimed a punch at Tommy’s face. His fist connected with Tommy’s cheek and eye socket. Pain shot through him, exploding in his head, and he dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes. His uncle stood over him, fists clenched.
“God didn’t make you no homo, you little bastard!” Uncle Ned’s face was bright red, his teeth bared, spittle flying from his lips. “Your fag friends did that!”
Daddy and the pastor were at his side in an instant, pulling him back.
“No violence, please!” the pastor pleaded.
His grandma and Mary were crying, his cousins standing by his uncle, looking daggers at Tommy. There was so much hate in the room it was clawing at him.
Tommy stared up at them, his cheek on fire. Daddy stood over him, face grave.
“Either you choose to come back to the path of righteousness, or you choose to carry on along the road to damnation,” he intoned. “An’ if that’s your choice….” Daddy’s eyes locked on his. “Then don’t come back to this house until you’re prepared to change your ways.”
The room fell silent once more.
Tommy slowly got to his feet. “Then if that’s all you have to say on the subject, I guess I’ll go upstairs an’ pack.” He faced his parents, the bile rising in his throat.
Momma gazed at him, her face pale. “You sure you wanna do that, Tommy? There’s still time to change your mind.” He swallowed hard, and she pressed on. “C’mon, son, you’re a good, God-fearin’ Christian boy, always have been. I know if you look into your heart, you’ll see the path the Lord wants you to follow.”
Aw crap. “But that’s just it, Momma. When I look inside myself, I see who I really am.” He held his head high. “An’ that person is gay.”
She regarded him for a moment and then nodded. “Then you do what you have to, Tommy.” Her face was ashen.
That was it, then.
Tommy stared at his parents for a moment, searching for the words, any words, that would make sense of it all, but he had nothing. He pulled himself up to his full height, turned around slowly, and walked out of the living room, pulling the door shut behind him.
Once he was standing in the airy hallway, he grasped the newel post and held on to it, bent over, shaking, fighting the urge to throw up. The whole situation had a surreal feel to it, like it was part of some nightmare. Any second now he was going to wake up in his bed, damp with sweat but out of this horrible dream, back in the comfortable, cozy world he’d inhabited since he’d arrived home.
Except, of course, he knew this was no dream.
Could I do it? Could I go through their therapy, live my life as a straight guy?
After all, the only place where he lived as an out gay guy was between his ears. Sure, he had fantasies, dreams, but none of it was real. Would it be so hard to give up something that didn’t really exist?
Then it hit him, with all the force of a sledgehammer to his ribs.
I told them in the first place because I wanted to be true to myself, because I didn’t want to hide. How could I live with myself if I deny what I am?
And if they didn’t want a gay son, then that was their loss, painful though that thought was. He knew the pain would ease with time. Never mind that right then, it felt like someone had ripped his heart out of his chest with their bare hands.
Tommy went back upstairs and entered the room that had been his for all of his life. He gazed around it in a daze, unsure of where to begin. It was only just beginning to sink in that he wouldn’t be coming back there.
What the hell do I take with me?
There was other issues, far more pressing ones. The dorms were closed for the winter break. Where was he going to stay until the semester started? And what about his studies?
A wave of sorrow and nausea rolled over him, and he was seized with the urge to get out of there. He grabbed a suitcase from his closet and another couple of bags and proceeded to stuff as many clothes into them as he could. He scanned the bedroom for anything else to take, those items that really meant
something to him. When he’d finished, he dragged the case and bags down the stairs, bumping each step as he struggled with his burden. The door to the living room was still closed.
Guess this really is it.
Tommy went out the front door to where his truck sat on the driveway. He slung his suitcase into the back of the truck, followed by the rest of his bags, and then he returned to the house to close the door. As he walked over to the truck, he glanced at the front window to see if anyone was observing his exit, but there was no one there.
His heart like a stone in his chest, Tommy got into the truck and pulled his phone from his pocket. He scrolled through his contacts until he found Ben. It took a few rings until the call connected.
“Whassa time? Hell, Tommy, why you callin’ me before noon two days after Christmas?” Ben’s voice was heavy with sleep.
“Ben, would it be okay if I stayed with you awhile?”
He heard the rustle of sheets. “Oh fuck. Something’s happened.” Ben sounded more alert. “Okay, you don’t have to tell me now. An’ of course you can stay. I’ll tell the ’rents you’re coming.” There was a pause. “You all right, Tommy?”
The kindness in Ben’s voice, his genuine concern, was the arrow that found its way through Tommy’s defenses. His breathing hitched, and then the tears came, hot and plentiful, coursing down his cheeks until he was blinded by them, unable to hold back his sobs. He sat there, phone in hand, and wept for the life he’d just lost until he was all cried out.
He heard Ben clear his throat. “Come on home, Tommy, okay? We can talk when you get here.”
Tommy wiped his face on his sleeve and sniffed. “I’ll see you in about four, five hours, all right? Maybe a bit longer if I make some stops.”
“That’s fine. Just get your ass here, right?” Ben’s chuckle tickled his ear. “Maybe tonight’s the night I finally get you drunk.”
The way Tommy was feeling right then? That was sounding more and more like a damn good idea. He disconnected the call and started up the engine. One final glance over his shoulder to the house where he was no longer welcome, and then Tommy pulled out into the street, leaving the dust of Americus behind him.
