Hawthorne Heights [Editing]

ten [edited]

Warren Greene Joseph

     "Stop rolling your eyes, son," My father scolded me. "It makes you look gay."

The transparent curtains in the dining room wavered from the heat blasting through the vents. My parents scheduled seven o'clock every night for family dinnertime. After they visited their marriage counselor a few months ago, they decided to take his advice and allocate their time to spend as a family. So every Sunday we went to church for over three hours because it seemed like church for black people takes up the entire day. For over three hours, I listened to a man preach about forgiveness and being accepting of others, but knowing that I sat next to a man that wouldn't accept my sexuality didn't sit right under my skin.

I forked at my macaroni while avoiding eye-contact with my mother. I knew that she wouldn't throw me under the bus, but the fact that she could is what made me anxious.

I forced a smile at my dad while laughing, "You're right. I was playin' basketball wit my boys and they was actin' kinda off, you know? Like some Froot-Loops, Pops. I startin' itchin like a mofo."

My dad, Isaiah Joseph, chuckled under his breath and shoveled a mouthful of green beans into his mouth, completely oblivious to the tapping of my foot under the table.

     "Aye, when you go in the locker rooms don't drop the soap." Isaiah held his bloated gut and loosened his blue tie. "I remember back in my day when we'd towel whip this one gay boy in our gym class. He would always go change in the corner, but we all knew that he was watching us."

Isaiah's wife, Isabel, lifted the corners of her lips and shot an apologetic look over to me. The orange light from the chandelier caught on her glossy eyes.

I clenched my cold metal fork and waited to see if she would do something. She sipped her water and looked down at the ring on her finger. What would she even do? What could she do?

A few minutes after Isaiah finally went to bed, his wife snuck into my bedroom for a talk. According to her text message a few minutes ago, she had no idea what she wanted to say, but she felt that this had been put on hold for too long.

     "Warren, wake up." She repeatedly tapped my warm cheeks to wake me up from my fake sleep.

     "Hey, wassup?" I wiped the sleep from my eyes before stretching out my arms.

Isabel daintily rested her palms on her lap while staring at the royal blue wall across from us. I laid back down on my side and rested my forearms on the mattress, staring at her back. She looked down at her hands and then back up as if the words that she had previously formulated seemed to dissipate at the sight of her son.

She mumbled, "I'm here to talk about you. Give me your honest thoughts about this."

     "My sexuality isn't something that I want to talk about right now, but since you want to talk then we can." I sat up again the headboard. "I don't feel safe at home. I haven't ever since I was thirteen. I feel safer at Milo's house than in my own."