Yes, I Am

Chapter Ten.

"Oh god, why?" I groaned, subtly wiping away a tear. My method of coping with any situation was basically like a computer; gathering as much information as possible. Like a normal human being, I couldn't let stuff go and Caleb knew that very well. For the past couple of days, he had been making me watch any movie he could find on LGBT, coming out and similar struggles. At least movies like Brokeback Mountain and the Normal Heart had highly attractive male specimens like Jake Gyllenhaal, Heath Ledger and Matt Bomer as distractions. But then he brought Prayers For Bobby and nothing could save me from the heartbreaking storyline.

"Aw, are you crying, sweetheart?" he fake-crooned, pressing a kiss to my temple.

"No," I scoffed. "I just sweat a lot. From my eyes," I added.

He ran his thumb below my eyes and looked at the moisture collected there pointedly. "Huh."

"Fine, I'm a little baby. But that was bloody torturous. How can someone not cry? How did you not cry?" I gasped dramatically and jabbed an accusing finger in his chest. "You're dead inside."

"I've seen it before. Can't cry at the same thing twice," he said.

"Dude. The guy committed suicide because his mother couldn't accept him. That's legit stuff," I elaborated as an argument.

"Matthew, that doesn't happen to everyone," he said softly. Translation: it won't happen to you.

"It happens to enough people that the rest falling in the same category have to be scared," I said. Translation: you don't know that.

"The fright is overrated. Trust me, the light at the end of the tunnel is an actual light. We build it up so much in our heads but reality is way too tame compared to that." Translation: stop being a pussy.

I went silent for a few seconds as I processed his words. Memories of being called too effeminate or gay (and not in a good way), sometimes from my own father, frightened me every time I thought of how my coming out would go like. I couldn't see it going anywhere but southwards. Under the ground southwards. Six feet deep under the ground southwards.

"How did your parents react when you told them you're gay?" I asked. Translation: I bet you weren't any better.

"They hugged me, we cried, my mom made me apple pie," he said. Translation: Ha, I was.

"Apple pie?" I repeated dumbly.

"It's a family ritual kinda thing. Whenever anyone is upset, my mom bakes them an apple pie. She thinks apple pies will solve every problem. Apple pie, according to her, is the solution to world peace." He grinned wistfully as he always did at the mention of his family. He had spent way too much time away from the people he loved the most. I couldn't imagine what that would feel like.

I matched his grin with one of my own. "That's so sweet."

"It's too sweet. Anyway, turned out they knew already. They were just waiting for me to tell them in my own time. And I had been thinking that they would throw a fit because as nice as they are as people, they're also old and kind of set in their ways. I didn't expect them to be so...okay with it," he shrugged, an easy smile on his face.

Sometimes when I looked at him, I wanted to swaddle him in a furry blanket and tuck him away from the world. He was so innocent and sweet and optimistic. His first instinct was to think people were good by heart. But I had known my parents since forever. I remembered how they were too embarrassed to come to the Nutcracker production in school to see me play the lead role because it disgusted them that their son was doing musicals instead of playing football. I remembered the time my father tore up some of my shirts because he hated that I didn't wear more 'manly' colors. I remembered the time he told me he was finally done with me for good and would drink poison instead of calling me his son. I remembered the time he made it official by removing me from his will and having me sign papers to drop his last name. The fact that I was called Matthew Westbrook, my mother's maiden surname which she had graciously lent me like she was doing me a big favor, instead of Matthew Taylor wasn't a preference or personal whim. Since then, it was like I had been in an eternal debt of her and she threatened to follow her husband's footsteps at any chance she got.