I turn and open the door. Cold air hits my swollen face. I take a deep breath and shoot Kate a how could you look before I walk out, but I don’t even know what for. Having him over? Not telling me? “Ciao.”
“Declan. Please! Stay. Come back. It’s okay, Declan! Come back. We can talk! We need to talk, Declan! Declan…”
But I’m already halfway to the corner. Her desperate voice trails off behind me. Because of the broken lace, my boot feels like it’s going to come off, but I don’t stop running. Past the stop sign, around the corner, past the park and the houses and the post office. I don’t stop until I get to the top of the hill. I’m out of breath. Walking, I backtrack toward the school.
Not bad for a smoker. Fuck the smoking pamphlets in Miss Fraser’s office! Fuck guidance counselors, and vice principals, and tutors, and stupid-fucking-asshole gay fathers! Fuck everything!
When I reach the school I realize I’ve been talking to myself, because kids carrying instrument cases are staring at me as they arrive for a school band concert. Shit. I just want to be alone.
I walk around to the staff parking lot in the back and start pounding on a big red Dumpster. I pound and I pound and I pound, with both fists. I pound because I feel stupid. I pound because I feel betrayed. I pound because nothing makes any sense. I keep pounding until I can’t lift my arms anymore. Limp, exhausted, I turn around, brace my back against the bin and slide down until I’m sitting in the snow.
And then there are tears. I can’t stop them. And huge sobs from way inside my chest. My whole body shakes, and I bury my head in the arms of my big jacket and cry like I’ve never cried before.
Fourteen
I’m not sure how long I’ve been sitting back here. It’s dark, and the parking lot lights came on a while ago. I saw the door of the loading dock open twice. It was the janitor, piling up garbage bags before bringing them to the Dumpster; both times, he gave me the evil eye. He probably thinks I’m going to graffiti the Dumpster.
I’m cold—in fact, I’m starting to shiver. I pull my cigarette package out of my pocket and take out a smoke.
There’s band music coming from the school, and the front parking lot has gone from empty to full. Cars are squished together right up to the part of the driveway I can see from back here. As I stand up, my knees feel like they aren’t going to unbend. My jeans are frozen and wet and stuck to my ass. I head inside to warm up before walking home.
Kids from the Ghana project are selling cookies and chips and drinks in the main hall. It smells like coffee. I scan the girls behind the table. Thankfully, no Leah.
The school feels different when there’s people in it at night. It reminds me of winter carnivals at elementary school. I never cared about the lame bingo games and face painting or the fish pond where you held a yardstick with a string on it over a giant cardboard box so some mom from the parent-teacher group could attach a crappy dollar-store surprise.
My friends and I would wait for the right moment and sneak into the hallways where we weren’t allowed. We loved running around the school when there was nobody there. The principal always found us and kicked us out eventually, but trying not to get caught was part of the fun. We’d write rude things on the blackboards or draw pictures of penises, hoping they’d still be there when everyone arrived for school the next morning.
After I use the washroom, I decide to check out the concert. On the way to the gym I walk past the door of the main office, and I notice too late that Mr. Peters is sitting at his desk. His head’s down, but he hears me and looks up.
“Declan?”
Shit.
“This is the last place I would expect to see you, at”—he checks his watch—“7:04 at night.” He pauses, staring at my face. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, sir. I went to visit my sister in town. Just came in to warm up before—”
“Are you walking home? Now?”
“Sure, sir.”
“Declan, it’s cold and late. And dark.”
“Not that cold. Or late. I do it all the—”
“Yes, I know. Look, I’m leaving in about twenty minutes. Why don’t you go see if the guys need help in the gym, setting up and taking down chairs between band sets.” He’s been trying to get me involved with the techie geeks all year. “I’ll come get you when I’m ready to go.”
“Thanks, sir, but I don’t know—”
“Declan, let me drive you home. You don’t look too good.”
Great. Why’d I have to go and walk past his door? I wish I had a do-over.
“I don’t suppose you’d tell me now about that nasty gouge on your face? It’s obviously not from squeezing pimples. You in a fight?”
“I figured Miss Fraser would’ve told you.”
“No. She doesn’t tell me anything. She needs your written permission to tell me if she passed you in the hallway.” He waves his arm like he’s fed up with all the rules.
I nod. “My brother.”
“You wanna talk about it?”
“Nope.”
“Fair enough.” He clasps his hands on his desk and tips his head to one side. His eyes are kind. “The offer to drive you home is still on the table. I promise I won’t ask you any questions. I’d just like to see you get home. You look tired.”
As soon as he says it, I realize how tired I am. A lift would be cool. But I don’t want the third degree. “Sir, no questions? You won’t make me talk about anything?”
“No questions. Scout’s honor.” He crosses his right arm over his chest and holds two fingers in a peace sign against his left shoulder.
“For real? You were a—”
“Boy Scout? That’s not fair. If you get to ask questions, so should I.”
“Sir, I bet you were a Boy Scout. You seem like the, like the—”
“The Boy Scout type?”
“Yeah, sort of.”
“You mean like a dork?”
He thinks I just called him a dork! I’m not sure whether he’s insulted or just messing with me. He’s smiling a lopsided smile and has one eyebrow raised. I always wanted to be able to do that.
“No, Declan. I was never a Boy Scout. I sang in my church choir though. Now it’s my turn.”
I brace myself.
“Were you?”
“What?”
“Were you ever a Boy Scout? You seem like the Boy Scout type.”
I exhale and laugh. “Good one, Mr. Peters.”
“So, it’s a yes for the lift?” He looks at me over the top of his glasses.
“I guess so. Sir?”
“Yes?”
“Thanks.”
Fifteen
Mr. Peters slows down at the end of my driveway. We’ve been making small talk, and he keeps his promise—no questions. It turns out he’s thinking of buying a house out here, so he drives around looking for À Vendre signs. Maybe he’s not a pedophile after all. I think about telling him Leah’s mom’s a real estate agent, but I decide not to.
“Here is fine.” I don’t want him to drive me to the door and see the trailer and the junk on our front lawn. He thinks I’m enough of a case already.
“I’d like to see you to your door.” He’s peering into the blackness beyond the beam of his headlights. The front light of the trailer glows through the trees in the distance. “You have a long walk to the bus every morning.”
“That’s the way it is out here, sir.” I shrug my jacket onto my shoulders. “I’m going to have a…” I hold up the cigarette I took out of my package while he was driving.
“Okay, Declan. We’ll see you tomorrow. Get some rest, eh?”
“Thanks, sir. Bye.”
He makes a U-turn and heads for the highway. I take my time walking to the house. There’s a lot on my mind: Little Miss Perfect, Seamus, Mitch, Dad.
Yeah. Dad. My famous vanishing father. I guess his new act is reappearing when you d
on’t expect it.
It was like he went into exile after he came clean with us. At the very beginning of the TMNT story, Yoshi, who becomes the Turtles’ sensei, is exiled after he brings shame to his family by breaking an honor code—he disappears to protect his family. I mean, we knew where Dad lived and everything, and we saw him a few times at first. But Seamus and Kate acted like they hated him, and there were huge fights whenever he was around. He caused total chaos, and Mom was a wreck. Now I wonder, was it vanished or banished? Maybe he thought he was doing us a favor.
I’ve never met anyone who’s dad or mom is gay. I never thought about it before, but there must be other kids with gay parents, maybe even at my school. How do they deal with it?
That poster in Miss Fraser’s office, the sex one. Lots of times I’ve wondered, because of Dad, if I might be gay. I know Seamus does too. He doesn’t have to say so. I can tell because of how homophobic he is, and because he calls everyone fuckin’ gay asshole when he’s mad. Could having a gay dad make you gay? What if I—how would I know? Calm down, dickhead. You get a hard-on practically every time a cute girl gets near you. That’s got to mean something. Never got a boner with a dude, and the idea gives me the creeps.
Does that make me homophobic? Do all kids with gay parents go through this stupid shit in their heads?
So which is it? Vanished or banished? I’m more confused now than ever. It was easier when I just didn’t think about it, about Dad. My parents had to divorce. I get that. But lately I’ve been asking myself, did he have to disappear?
I feel the pores of my face open and little beads of sweat form around my eyes and on my upper lip. What if he hadn’t been gone the last five years? I don’t want to think about it. I throw the last of my cigarette into the ditch. The cherry fizzles out in the damp snow.
Mom’s car is in its spot, and the lights in the living room are on. She meets me at the door with a gasp. It’s the first time she’s seen my face since last night. She doesn’t say anything, just stares.
“Hi,” I say, “nice to meet you. My name’s Declan.” I reach out to shake her hand. “And you are?”
She crosses her arms in front of her and rolls her eyes, but I got her to smile.
Out of habit, before taking off my jacket I reach into the pocket to take out my wallet. Of course, it’s not there. “Damn. I can’t seem to find my wallet. I’ve looked everywhere. Have you seen it?” I hang my jacket on the hook on the back of the door.
She shakes her head, and I scan the table again just in case. Nothing’s changed since I left for school. The lampshade is still propped on the broken base; I guess we’ll need a new one.
“Maybe it’s in my room and I just didn’t see it.”
I turn to face her under the light in the hallway. She gets a good look at my cheek. “Oh my god, Declan! Come here.” She reaches out like she wants to examine my cheek.
I pull away. “It’s no big deal, Mom.”
She steps back and shakes her head from side to side, biting her bottom lip. Obviously, she’s uptight about something. “Katie called.”
Of course. She knows I went there. I wonder if she knows who else was there? I was planning to pretend the whole thing never happened, make some excuse for being so late. I wait for her to finish her sentence, but she doesn’t.
“Yeah. I stopped by to see Mandy.”
“I know, Dekkie. Katie told me everything.”
“Can you believe it? Dad was there. Fu…freakin’ unbelievable.” I shake my head.
“Well, Declan, he is her father, and Mandy’s grandfather.”
What? What is she saying? “This is bullshit! Sorry, Mom.” I’m stunned. It feels like they’ve changed the rules on me. “Are you for this? Is this okay with you? Wait a sec. Did you know? That she…? That he…? Mom! What the hell’s going on?!”
Silence.
My face is getting hot, and that feeling like I want to punch something is creeping back in. “I can’t believe you wouldn’t tell me! I can’t believe she didn’t tell me!”
“You should have called first, before you showed up at her house.”
“Called? I never call! It’s not what we do! Why didn’t you tell me? Did you think I couldn’t handle it? Like I’m ten? I’m not ten! Nobody tells me that—that he goes there for supper. That Mandy calls him Grandpa! Well, let me tell you, it was a pretty fucking big surprise!” I don’t even care anymore about my language.
She’s cringing. I lower my voice. “Okay, Mom. I’m not going to hurt anyone. I’m mad, all right?” I flop down onto the sofa and let all the air escape through my lips. With my head in my hands, I take a second to calm down. I need to think.
When I raise my head again, she blinks a few times.
“How long have you been hiding this from me? You and Kate?”
“Not really hiding—”
“Oh fuck! Mom! What the…?” I smash my fist into my thigh. Pain shoots through my right hand.
“I should have told you, I guess. I just figured you’d find out sooner or later.”
That’s Mom—don’t get too excited about anything. Always patting our heads to make things go away.
Doesn’t she realize this is kind of a big thing to just find out? He’s not supposed to be there. There are reasons. I close my eyes and remember Kate yelling at Seamus that Dad was a piece of shit, that he wasn’t our father anymore. I remember Seamus punching walls and throwing things, and Mom just standing there, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“I thought Kate hated him. We all hated him.”
She joins me on the sofa. “No, Declan. We all loved him. It tore us up. He took our life away, like that.” She snaps her fingers. “I wish I could’ve hated him. It would’ve been easier. He was my best friend.”
“Yeah right. I love you, and you’re my best friend. I just forgot to tell you I like to fuck guys!”
Before I have a chance to regret what I said, pain sears my cheek, and my head jerks to the right. Everything is black. It takes me a second to realize that she slapped me! Her hand flies to her mouth. Her eyes are huge.
I stand up with my hand on my cheek and start to walk out of the room. Tears prickle at my eyes.
She follows me. “Stop! I’m sorry. You crossed a line, Declan. You don’t understand. You couldn’t understand. You were too young. Come back here. We need to finish this.”
Still holding my left cheek, I return like a robot to the couch. I don’t know what else to do. She sits down beside me. Reaches out like she’s going to put her hand on my leg, then pulls it back.
“Things change, Declan. People change. It gets easier, and you move on. Thank God. Because I couldn’t have lived feeling that bad forever. I had to take care of you kids, find a new job, and then Mandy was born. So you just keep moving. And one day you realize it’s gotten easier.”
Easier? We just pushed it away. But it was still there, working its magic. Look at us! Seamus, acting out as Miss Fraser calls it. Me, failing at school. Kate, pregnant at seventeen. Mom, who was a business manager, working in an animal-testing lab, for Chrissake. We’re all just living in our own private versions of hell, trying to survive, pretending we’re fine. It’s not easier, just quieter.
“You missed him too. You don’t seem to remember that,” she says.
She’s wrong. I do remember missing Dad. At the time, I couldn’t figure out why he left. They never fought, like other kids’ parents did. They actually seemed to like each other. I remember wondering why being gay meant he had to disappear. He was supposed to be my dad. But everyone else thought it had to be that way. Nobody ever talked to me about it. I just followed along like a fucking puppy dog.
“You wouldn’t leave me alone,” she continues. “You didn’t want to be away from me. Do you remember sleeping in my bed?”
Oh my god. All those times Seamus locked himself in his room—our room—I had to sleep with Mom. Seam
us teased me about being a mama’s boy. How did I forget that? I swallow hard because there’s a huge lump in my throat, and my nose is starting to run.
Mom says, “You were always trying to cheer me up—you still do that. I guess I told myself because you seemed okay, you were okay. Maybe it was wrong for me to do that, but what else could I do?”
I squeeze my eyes shut to fight back tears and see the day Dad left, and all the screaming. It’s like a nightmare. I’m watching everyone—Kate, Seamus, Mom like she’s in a trance, Dad. Me? I can barely see me. It’s like I’m not there. Don’t worry about him. He’s just little. He has nothing to say.
The ringing phone brings me back. Mom answers, “Hello…Yes. He’s here.” She glances at me, then turns away, nodding while she listens. “No. He got a ride home…I don’t know…Well, he’s very upset.” She’s almost whispering, but I can still hear, “Yes, tell Katie. Okay, goodbye, Patrick.”
The hairs stand up on the back of my neck. She said his name. Patrick. She was talking to Dad.
There’s a pause, and her voice changes completely. For the rest of the call, I can tell she’s talking to Mandy. I walk to the bathroom to get a wad of toilet paper for my runny nose.
When I come back, she hangs up the phone.
“He’s still there?”
She nods. “He visits. Has done for a while now.”
I shake my head. How long is for a while now? Mandy was so comfortable with him. And yet he’s a stranger to me.
“I thought you hated him. Because he’s—”
“Not hate. I felt betrayed. I didn’t want to believe it. But by the time he left, I already knew. I always had my suspicions. I just kept them to myself. I thought if we got married it would go away. Then we had kids, and you just kind of forget.” She takes a sip of water from a glass on the coffee table, then uncrumples and folds a Kleenex she’s had balled up in her hand. I can hear the fridge motor whirring in the kitchen, and the fish tank bubbling. Even the lamp on the table next to us seems loud.
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