The Last Flameling of Solnis

Speak

"What's wrong Shi?" Dustin asks as he leans into the frame of the bathroom doorway. His loose, high faded curls fold over his accusing eyebrows. "You never had a problem wit me showin' up unannounced before."

"I ain't in the mood for company," I tell him as I fall back on my bed staring up at a luxe wood canopy. I watch the swirling knots in the wood like clouds in the sky as my imagination turns them into distracting figures that draw me from this conversation.

"Yeah, I guess not," he says as he sits in my red gaming chair. He leans forward with one hand holding his clenched fist. "But I'm not just company. I'm not just some friend from school. We've known each other all our lives. We're practically brothers. So you could at least tell me what the hell is going on? Why did Tory and I have to find out you're a fag on the internet?"

"I'm not a faggot!" I bite back as anger forces me from my bed and in his face.

"Then what the hell are you?" Dustin demands, his breathe on the bridge of my nose. I push past him and rush to the bathroom as a red fire begins to glow in my palms. I grab the cool marble countertop and run cold water in the porcelain bowl. I submerge my hands inside the cooling liquid, but my flame just steams the room.

I can almost hear Keon in my head cryptically telling me to breathe, and zen, and make my feelings real as my face disappears in the fog of the mirror and the world around me is painted with flames of paling blue.

I've tried to make this real before. With Dustin, with Tory, with the girls I've dated, with my parents. But fear is paralyzing and every time I dredge up my feelings, I feel like a child being scolded by my father—simmering in anger and sadness with words that can't be spoken aloud for fear of the consequences.

In fact, dad has a harsh way of speaking when he's angry that reminds me of Dustin. And dad's voice isn't just harsh, it's demanding. Dad's personality is abrasive and it just expects without asking. So when he comes home the first time I ever have the nerve to utter an inkling of my sexuality to my parents, his very existence demands that I go back into the closet.

It feels like the right time. I've been dating Keon for two months. It's the first Friday night where mom isn't buried in paperwork from her private law firm, Dad isn't in some new state or country giving all his time and energy to fight fires, and I've convinced myself that the best and worst thing that will happen after telling my truth is that everyone will go back to business as usual. We'll all be so securely tucked into our busy worlds again that they won't have the time to seethe in hatred or disappointment for me.

"Shi, your father should be home anytime now to hear your announcement, but it's gettin' late and your food is gettin' cold. If you want to talk now, we can, and I'll just fill him in later," she says after taking another generous sip of her red wine. Her offer seems like a way out of a nervous tingle that feels like metal spikes piercing my skin the closer I get to speaking the truth. Maybe it's better this way.

"Well the thing is I—" I start, but I'm interrupted by the boxer engine of dad's BMW motorcycle speeding up the long driveway. His hastened footsteps echo from the hall between the garage and the kitchen.

"Morgan," dad calls from the great room.

"In here!" Mom returns. She looks at me and laughs as she begins swirling masterfully plated rosemary and garlic mashed potatoes with her fork. "Now we can finally eat."

"Morgan we need to talk, now," he orders as he walks into the dining room with no consideration for the food mom prepared. Mom rolls her eyes with exasperation just as the first bite of food nears her mouth. Dad just walks past her and towards their room as if she's already up and following behind him.