Whispers In The Dark

Reximus

Reximus

Every year, my grandparents on my mom’s side, Grandma and Grandpa Lenowski, went to my aunt’s house. My grandmother on my dad’s side, Grandma Williams, came to our house.

When I was little, Grandma and Grandpa Lenowski would stop by on Christmas Eve on their way to Aunt Alexa’s house with presents, cookies, and hugs. When I was twelve, they stopped coming. They always called on Christmas day and promised to stop by later in the week, but I could tell my mom was still upset about it. I was, too.

Don’t get me wrong, I loved Grandma Williams. Up until I was fourteen, she stopped by the house constantly, even more so after Grandpa Williams died of pancreatic cancer.

But then I came out as gay.

I wasn’t immediately plunged into a pool of ignorance and homophobia. No. My dad spent the first few months after I told him in denial. He didn’t tell anybody, didn’t speak of it, especially to me. If I dared to bring it up, he became frustrated and told me, “No. You’re not gay. My son is not gay.” As days turned into weeks, however, and weeks into months, he finally realized that I wasn’t joking. I was being completely serious.

Then, he never spoke to me unless to say things like, “Take out the garbage,” and “Get out,” Or his all time favorite, “Faggot.”

My mom was much better about it. As long as I was happy, she’d said. She had been the one to explain my dad’s reaction to me.

“It isn’t like he just one day to decided to hate gay people. His mother raised him that way. She was very strict about everything when he was growing up; the way he dressed, spoke, thought. It’s easy to mess with a child’s mind. You can make them believe anything. Just give him time. He might come through.”

I’ve given him two years, but there really wasn’t much I could do.

Grandma Williams had heard about my coming out from my dad. There wasn’t much I could do about that, either.

Christmas dinner was tense. My grandmother spoke to my dad and my mom, but never to me. She always had believed in ignoring the problem until it went away.

My mom tried several times to include me in the conversation, but I answered with the shortest responses possible and spent most of dinner with my eyes to my plate. Eventually, even she gave up, but my neck still burned with her gaze every few minutes.

They wouldn’t even realize if I wasn’t here, I realized. I could go to the bathroom, right now, kill myself, and they wouldn’t notice for days. It could be so easy. I stood and excused myself to the bathroom. My mom was the only one who acknowledged me, a sad nod sent my way. My dad reached across the table and grabbed her hand affectionately. He never batted an eye towards me.

I went to the bathroom. After five minutes of hyperventilating and trying not to cry, I walked back out. There was always tomorrow.