"what did i do wrong?"
stanley looked up from the dinner he wasn't eating. moving the roasted broccoli from one edge of the plate to the other with his fork, stanley blinked a couple times. the question had come out of nowhere. thirty seconds ago, his mother had been begrudgingly talking about the newest news story, or something. stanley wasn't really paying attention.
on saturday, stanley and richie were going to go to the fair for their five months, and stanley was genuinely considering telling richie he loved him.
"what?" stanley asked.
"what did i do wrong, stanley? i've tried so hard." she continued. she sounded disappointed. stanley tensed up, expecting a long winded rant about how his grades were dropping. except they weren't, so stanley was a little confused.
"what are you talking about?" he bounced his knee under the table, putting the fork down. it made a clink as it landed on the plate, glittering under the kitchen light.
his mother inhaled deeply only to sigh, "i've been caring, i've supported you through everything, i've let you go places and i've trusted you. you were a smart kid. did i make a mistake? should i have been more careful? how did this happen?" she said.
"mom, wh-" stanley tried to ask again what she meant, but she interrupted.
"one of the men from temple saw you with richie."
stanley went sheet white.
"i liked richie. i'd heard the rumours, undoubtedly, but he was a nice kid, stanley. was that a mistake? did he do this to you? you're not gay, stanley, you're a good kid. you were, a good kid, anyway." his mother went on.
stanley felt sick. suddenly, his head hurt, and he tried to pretend like he wasn't the one sitting at that table talking to his mother. in a matter of milliseconds, his brain began to feel as though maybe he wasn't there after all. his hearing fuzzed.
he coughed, "mom, i don't know what you heard, but i'm not gay," he said. stanley pushed his plate forward and put his hands on his knees, both of which were now shaking up and down.
"he saw richie kiss you on the lips before you walked into his house. i don't even want to know what shit went on in that house. i can't imagine." fuck, this was all his fucking fault, he just wanted to be affectionate with richie in a semblance of a public setting and he fucked all of it up.
"mom," stanley was going to cry, and he really did not want to fucking cry.
"i'm your mother, not your mom. you won't be seeing him again, obviously. or any of your friends, as i'm sure they're encouraging it. i'm taking your phone and i've already contacted the school to switch your classes,"
oh jesus christ. stanley was going to go upstairs, find a revolver, and blow a bullet straight through his brains. he just wanted to be happy with richie. was it so much to ask god for him to love richie and for richie to love him back?
"mom i'm still me, please, i'm still your son,"
"and yet i don't recognize the person you've become. go upstairs."
stanley squeaked the chair against the wooden floor as he got up, and his socks made soft patters as he escaped up the stairs. he got to his room only to find his phone, previously on the dresser, missing.
he wasn't here. he wasn't here. he'd see richie tomorrow. it'd be fine.
