Follow Carmen, a young and deeply closeted gay teenager as he navigates the 1980's and 1990's yearning for love and trying to find where he fits in.
This story is rated M because it contains elements of death (including children), homophobia, religi...
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It was as if every capillary in my body ruptured at once. The entire world had just came to a screeching halt. I could not hear anything, I could not see anything. The loons and frogs seemed to go silent, and I only had eyes for the hideous creature in front of me, just a few seconds ago the answer to all of my dreams, but now worth nothing but contempt. I wouldn't have thought it possible for somebody to go from heavenly bliss to raging anger in a split second like that, but there I was. I threw his hands away from me.
"I'm sorry. Your WHAT?" I asked through gritted teeth.
In the moonlight he suddenly looked about 20 years older. He was white as a sheet and resembled a vampire. He was scared, and he had good reason to be. He reached for my hands again, I lurched away from him.
"Carmen, I..."
"Don't you fucking DARE touch me. Your fucking WIFE??? You're MARRIED????"
"I was going to tell you! It's OK though. She..."
"You were going to tell me? When? Tell me what? That everything you said yesterday was a fucking lie? When were you planning on dropping that bomb, Bruce? When?"
I was trying so hard to keep my composure that I was starting to hyperventilate. I was panting like a dog on a hot day.
"It wasn't a lie! If you'd just calm down and listen to me..."
"No! Don't you tell me to calm down! This is me being calm! I'm not listening to your bullshit! You had me fooled, you son of a bitch, I'll give you that, but not anymore. I was willing to give you a chance even though you were dishonest about your age. I even overlooked your being bi because you gave me that bullshit story of yours and convinced me that it would still work. But married? This is strike three, buddy. You're fucking out."
I started walking away. He grabbed my left arm and spun me around, and said "Carmen, would you just wait? You've got to listen to me!"
Grabbing my arm was a big mistake. Once he grabbed me any hopes of keeping my composure evaporated. In a single, swift movement I shook his hand off the left arm and cocked the right back. I let fly and gave him a right hook. It was an automatic reaction, I didn't even think about doing it. He went down. I was standing over him, shaking my hand, trying to get myself back under control. In the moonlight I could see him lying on his back, his face covered in blood, looking up at me. Finally I felt like I could talk without losing control again.
Very calmly, almost with an air of serenity, I said:
"I told you not to touch me, and you definitely shouldn't have grabbeed me! Don't you dare get back up, I'm only warning you this once! If you get back up I will beat you into the ground, and as mad as I am there is no force on Earth that would stop me. Now I'm telling you not to talk to me. Ever. We're done, Bruce. It's fucking over."
With that I turned my back on him and started walking back to the car. I could hear him sobbing back there behind me. I wanted to put some distance between him and me, so I broke into a run. Years of hanging around the lake and collecting bottles had paid off: I knew every rock, every stump, every root, and I glided through those woods like a very angry wolf. When I got back to my car I got in and started it, but left it in park and collapsed on the steering wheel. My anger had finally subsided enough to let the tears start flowing.
