by A. E. Wasp
Sean’s body language leaned more towards murderous than annoyed, and Troy agreed with the sentiment.
It wasn’t the first time he’d wanted to murder Davey, and he was sure it wouldn’t be the last. He could kill Tina, too, for bringing up Leo, but her intentions had been good. She’d just wanted to have a Christmas toast for the boy they’d all gone to school with. Davey, of course, had to ruin it by calling Leo a dumbass.
“I’m just saying, Leo probably brought some stuff onto himself, know what I mean?”
“So he deserved to be beaten to death, that’s what you’re saying?”
“That’s not what he’s saying,” Paulie said.
With a smirk Troy wanted to slap off his face, Davey shrugged and slunk back in his chair, his arm over the back of Tina’s in a casually possessive manner. “I’m not saying it. But other people are.”
“The same people saying that some women deserved to be raped, I assume.” Charlene scowled at Davey. Tina moved chairs to sit next to her sister.
“Have you seen the way some of those girls dress?”
Mary reached across the table and smacked him upside the head.
“What is wrong with you?” he whined.
Davey had always been kind of a whiny brat, and he and Troy hadn’t been close growing up. But in the six years Troy had been gone, Davey had turned into the kind of closed-minded, slogan-slinging redneck that gave these small mountain towns a bad name. The kind that said things like ‘my woman’ and ‘those people.’
Davey rubbed his head with a grimace but didn’t retaliate. Their dad had pounded the ‘you don’t hit girl’ mantra into them at a young age. Something Mary was not above using to her advantage. “I’m just saying that, you know, those people should be more careful about the things they do, what they say.” He glanced at Sean. “What they act like in public.”
“You mean not be gay, right?” Sean stood up. “Let’s just say it. Gay people, if they insist on existing, should just stay inside. Hide themselves.”
Dmitri came over and stood behind Troy, startling him. He’d thought Dmitri was still on the couch. Sometimes he was as aware of Troy’s distress as Sweetie.
Troy wanted desperately to put an arm around his waist, to feel his solid strength and support. Damn it, why was he such a coward? He’d faced death a thousand times, had fully expected to die, and still often woke up surprised to be alive. What did he have to be scared of any more?
Troy reached up to touch Sean’s arm. The kid trembled with anger. He couldn’t even imagine what Sean had been through, what had happened to him at camp.
“Well. Yeah. I mean. I don’t get why you gotta be a fag anyway. But at least don’t hit on normal people. That’s what Leo was doing. We all know it.” Davey’s eyes narrowed, and his upper lip curled in a smirk, but there was more to his feelings than smug disgust. Davey might have been talking to Sean, but all his energy was aimed at Troy.
Worst kept secret in West Virginia.
Tina’s chair scraped jarringly across the wood floor. She stood up. “Jesus, Davey. Merry fucking Christmas to you, too. Troy, can you get my coat? Charlene, can you give me a ride home? I’m done here.” She looked directly at Davey. “For good.”
Davey stood up to face her, trembling, getting all up in her space. “What? You think it’s okay? Being a fag? It’s disgusting.”
To her credit, and Davey’s Troy supposed — he could give his brother that much, Tina wasn’t afraid of him hurting her – Tina leaned forward to get even closer to his face. “Yeah. I do.” Tina shot a look at Sean and Dmitri and Troy. She furrowed her brow. “Look, I know what the Bible says, but –”
“No you don’t,” Sean interrupted. “You know what some creepy old pastor who is probably screwing little boys every chance he gets told you the Bible says.”
At that, every person at the table jumped in. Yelling, fighting over each other to be heard.
“Sean. Sean.” Troy put a warning hand on Sean’s arm. “Come on. They’re all not like that.”
“Yeah. I know. Some are worse.”
Sensing weakness, Davey stopped trying to intimidate Tina and turned to Sean. “What’s a’matter, Seany? Didn’t you pray the gay away at camp like a good boy?”
“Christ, Davey, what the fuck is your problem?” Paulie asked, finally getting involved in the conversation.
Sean launched himself over the table. Dmitri grabbed him before he could get more than a knee up. He couldn’t stop Troy, though.
Troy dragged the tablecloth with him as he climbed over the table. Coffee cups and cake crumbs flying.
Bedlam.
Davey looked at him wide-eyed as his back hit the ground. Red-hot rage mixed with a grim satisfaction flooded Troy’s brain as he brought his arm back and fisted his hand, ready for a long-overdue beating.
Every other Johnson family member and guest jumped in to pull them apart.
Except for Dmitri. He grabbed Sean’s arm to keep him from joining the fight. “Don’t touch him!” he yelled. The room froze in a strange tableau.
With a whine, Sweetie scrambled over to Troy and leaned against him.
Something soft and warm pushed against Troy’s side. He shivered it away, adjusting his balance on Davey, locking his legs around his side in a violent intimacy.
“Troy. Can you hear me? Troy. Listen to my voice,” someone said to him.
A whimper and something cold pressed into his cheek. Soft fur brushed against his face.
Sweetie?
She woofed softly.
“Troy. What can you feel? What are you feeling right now? In your hand.”
The blood pounded in his temples and sounds distorted around him. He smelled fires and the cold mountain air. What a stupid question.
But what did he feel?”
One hand. Cloth, bunched between his fingers, the buttons of a shirt digging into the soft spaces.
The other hand – clenched so tightly his fingernails cut into the palm.
The hard floor under his knees. Not rock. Not spiky high-desert plants. Not slippery, bloodied mud.
He felt Sweetie’s body pressed against his.
“What do you feel, Troy?”
“The floor,” he answered. “Wood floor?”
“Good. Awesome. What do you hear? Troy. It’s Dmitri. What do you hear?”
Women’s voices sobbing softly. Harsh, ragged breaths of a man under him. He tensed up, drawing his fist back further.
Sweetie whined and nudged him with her nose again. He shook his head quickly back and forth, squeezing his eyes shut.
“Do you hear the music? Listen.”
Could he? He strained his ears, listening. There it was. Soft, a choir singing, voices melding sweet and high. Deeper bass notes. Sounded like his childhood. Like hymns. Like Christmas hymns.
Oh, God.
Opening his eyes, he sucked in a huge breath. Davey lay under him, eyes wide, shocked, hands up to ward him off. “I’m sorry,” he whispered. He crawled off, burying his face in Sweetie’s fur, hiding from the fear and condemnation he knew he would see in his family’s face.
“Troy?”
His mother.
“Is he okay?”
He wanted to answer her, but if he did, the only answer would be no, and he didn’t want to say that.
“He will be.” Dmitri sounded very close. If Troy concentrated, he could feel Dmitri standing next to him.
Fuck it. Eyes still closed, he laid his head against Dmitri’s hard thigh. Dmitri’s fingers carded through Troy’s hair and between that and the death grip he had on Sweetie and the beauty of the hymns, something for sure he’d never heard over there, he relaxed just a little bit, taking one deep breath, holding it while he counted five and releasing. Just like he’d been practicing.
“Troy, baby. Are you okay?” he mother asked.
He exhaled loudly, opening his eyes fully. He looked up at Dmitri. Those worried blue eyes stared down at him, love and concern in them. And
he smiled.
“Yeah, Mom. I’m okay. And I’m gay.”
Davey brushed at his clothes as if he could wipe the gay cooties off of them. “I knew it. I always knew you were a fag. I told mom and dad, but they didn’t want to hear it. Not about the golden boy.”
“David Johnson! You watch your mouth.” Nonnie Jean stormed across the living room, reached up, and smacked him upside the back of his head.
“Ow! What are you hitting me for? I’m not the freak.”
“Don’t call him that.” Theresa stood at the bottom of the stairs. Even from across the room, Troy could see the tears in her eyes. “Don’t you call him that.”
“Are you sure?” Paulie asked hand clenched around a large glass of wine.
Troy fought back the urge to shoot a sarcastic answer. Almost four years older than Troy, Paulie had always been somewhat of a mystery to Troy. They weren’t close, but their relationship held none of the antagonism that his and Davey’s had since the beginning. Paulie looked and acted the most like their dad, his blond, stoic German genes overpowering the dark Italian side.
“Yeah, Paulie. I’m sure. Just figured it out recently, though. Took a while.” Troy smiled up at Dmitri. Dmitri offered Troy a hand up. Troy took it, keeping a tight hold on Dmitri’s hand even after he regained his footing.
“Are you okay with this?” Davey asked his parents incredulously.
“What do you want me to do, David?” his dad said. “Kick him out? It’s Christmas Eve.”
Theresa whirled on her husband. “We are not kicking anybody out of this house. Ever.”
“Thank, Mom.” Tears pricked at Troy’s eyes.
“Well, I’m not staying with the two fags.”
“Three.” Sean stood, pale-faced, near his mother.
Mary put her arm around her son, pulled his head down to hers. He hugged her back, burying his face into her shoulder with a choked off sob.
Davey shook his head. “I guess there was nothing better to do over in Iraq or wherever the hell you were than shoot towel-heads and screw around with your buddies.”
Now Troy was in full control of faculties, and he could beat Davey with the clear knowledge that he was doing it. And it would feel good. Only Dmitri’s hand on Troy’s arm kept him from launching himself at Davey again. “You shut the fuck up. You don’t know fucking anything about it, about what it was like to be over there. About who I am and what I saw and what I feel.”
Sweetie put her body between Davey and Troy, the same way Troy had put his body between death and his army brothers and sisters time and time again. She loved him, he knew that without a shadow of a doubt. And he loved her and needed her. He would die if anything ever happened to Sweetie. Tears slipped down his cheek as emotion warred in his chest. So much love, and so much pain.
“Yeah, I know I don’t know,” Davey said.
Troy barely listened. Whatever his brother had to say was irrelevant. He’d made his opinion clear. But Davey kept talking anyway.
“I’m not a big war hero like you. I’m a coward, I hate America because I don’t go. I didn’t play football, don’t have a million friends, don’t have straight A’s, didn’t join the army.” The look he gave Troy was so full of hate, Dmitri took a step back. “Well, at least I don’t suck dick.”
Paulie stood up and walked steadily but quickly over to his brother. He grabbed Davey by the back of his shirt collar. “We’re going. Mom, Dad, Nonnie, I love you. I’ll see you at church. Troy, give me a call.” He dragged Davey out the door, slamming it behind them.
The family stood there in stunned silence.
“His coat,” Theresa said, voice wavering. “It’s cold. It’s Christmas.”
“I’ll take it to him, Mrs. Johnson,” Tina offered. “I can throw it at him when we break up.” She surprised the heck out of Troy by stopping in front of him on her way to the designated coat bedroom. “I really don’t care,” she said. Troy froze as she gave him a quick hug. Face flaming red, she pulled away and hurried down the hall.
“I don’t care either,” Charlene said. “I kind of figured.”
“Worst kept secret in West Virginia,” Dmitri laughed.
Troy laughed with him, long and loud. Partially in relief. For better or for worse, whatever the fallout, it was done now. He was out. Out as gay, out as a PTSD sufferer. Just…out.
“So,” Troy’s dad said. “That’s some dog there. Was that –” He waved his hand, vaguely tracking the trajectory Troy had taken over the table to attack his brother. “ – was that some kind of like…” Words failed him.
So his dad wasn’t going to talk about the gay thing yet. That was fine. Troy could work with that. “Yeah, Dad. That was a PTSD attack.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
“Not like that,” Dmitri answered for him. “Not with the tackling and punching.”
“To be fair,” Mary interrupted, “Troy and Davey have gotten into it more than once in their lives.”
“And Davey was asking for it,” Sean added.
“But I wasn’t in control,” Troy said gently. “I could have really hurt him and not even been aware I was doing it. Sometimes I punch out in my sleep.”
Dmitri rubbed Troy’s back in a silent support and forgiveness for all past and future nighttime issues.
“So Sweetie helps with that?” Theresa sounded actually curious beneath the fear and worry.
“Yeah. Sometimes she’s aware before I am that I’m getting mad or upset. And she touches me or presses against me. Grounds me.”
“But why?” Paul sat down heavily at the table, reaching for Davey’s half-drunk glass of wine.
“Why do I get upset or why am I gay?”
Paul snorted, caught mid-sip.
“Joke.” Suddenly exhausted, Troy joined his dad at the table. “I spent so much time bouncing between bored and terrified, between expecting to be killed or to have to kill someone. I can’t just…shut it off. It’s going to take some time.”
He held out his arm for Dmitri, and Dmitri walked into the circle of his arm. With a sigh, Troy leaned his head against Dmitri’s side. It was probably a little much for his family to have to take right now, but they’d get over it. All he wanted to do was crawl into their bed in their home in Colorado where he didn’t have to explain anything to anybody.
“I know it’s hard,” he said to his family. “I know I gave you a lot to deal with tonight. And I’m sorry. I was going to tell you. I swear. Just not tonight and not like this. But I’m tired of being jumpy and afraid all the time. And to be afraid that my own family will hate me for what I am? I couldn’t live with it hanging over my head anymore. I’d rather face it head on.”
“But now I’m afraid for you again,” Theresa said. “I just got finished praying every day that you wouldn’t be killed. And now I have to start worrying again.” Theresa took the wine glass from her husband and downed it in one long swallow. She held the glass out for someone, anyone, to refill. Jean grabbed it from her and disappeared into the kitchen.
“Afraid of what, Mom?”
She waved her arms. “Afraid that you’re going to be beaten to death, like Leo.”
“If Leo had felt like it was okay for him to be gay, like he could be who he was, he might be alive today. But because of the way society makes gay people hate themselves, he felt like he had to hide. Now there are three kids without a dad and an innocent woman who is thinking that her whole life was a lie. I can’t do it. I can’t add to that.”
He pointed to Sean. “Do you know what Sean went through? Do you know what his dad did to your only grandson because of hate and fear?”
Theresa shook her head, covering her mouth with her hand. “Mary?”
Mary still held Sean against her. She shook her head over his shoulder. “We’ll talk later, Mom, okay?”
“Okay.”
Jean brought two bottles of wine and some clean glasses from the kitchen. She poured for all of them, including Sean, and waved Mary and Sean ov
er to the table.
“Thank you,” Troy said, as she placed a glass in front of him. “I can’t hide anymore, and I can’t hate myself for being born the way I was. And the way I feel with Dmitri? I can’t see the evil in it. It’s one of the shining things in my life. I don’t deserve it.”
“Grace,” Jean said. “That what it is, and all God’s children deserve it.”
“But, Mom, what about, well, what about his soul?” His mother’s expression was so pained.
Troy wasn’t surprised to hear his mother ask that. Theresa’s faith was important to her, a source of strength and hope. She had never been too showy about it and had yielded to his father’s desire that the kids be raised attending the Methodist and Catholic churches equally. She’d ended up with a mixed bag.
Davey had been confirmed in the Catholic Church and, as far as Troy knew, attended pretty regularly. He and Mary were confirmed Methodist but had stopped going as soon as Theresa had let them. He had no idea about Paulie. There was a lot he didn’t know about his brother.
“I don’t care what the Pope says.” Jean’s mouth twisted. “Me and the Church fathers haven’t seen eye to eye since they told me birth control was a sin and I told your grandfather if I got pregnant one more time, I was going to throw myself off a bridge.”
Dmitri laughed, covering it by staring into his wine glass. Troy had a feeling Dmitri and his grandmother were going to get along great.
Jean was on a roll. “Besides, I read the papers. I know what those Priests were doing up there in Boston. I’m not naïve enough to think it was some kind of anomaly. I never trusted a bunch of virgins to know their asses from their elbows when it came to sex.”
Dmitri laughed through a mouthful of wine and started choking, wine sputtering everywhere. Troy laughed helplessly as he pounded Dmitri on the back.
“Paul? What do you think?” Theresa turned to her husband.
Paul frowned, spinning his wine glass in his hands. “I don’t know, Theresa. I don’t pretend to know what God thinks about it. I think each person’s relationship with God is personal and we each have to answer for our lives and our choices.” He wrinkled his nose, frowning. “I can’t say I’m thrilled with the idea of –” he shrugged his shoulders. “You know.”
