Avoiding my uncle after breakfast was pretty impossible. It was like he was guarding the door, just waiting to drive me somewhere or interrogate me. I tried hiding in my room, but I was too restless. Normally I could spend hours in there alone, checking the forums and reading the latest ideas about matches, or, if my phone was dead, using the old textbooks I had to increase my ASL vocabulary. Spelling things out got tiresome, so I tried to find the words the instructors had skipped.
But with my uncle watching I was a trapped mouse waiting for the cat to pounce. The walls were too close, the air too stuffy.
I waited until I knew the girls were gone, but that itch under my skin wouldn’t wait any longer. Uncle was by the front door, waiting, just as I thought.
“Sit down,” he said, pointing to the kitchen. I would have preferred the couch, where I wouldn’t be trapped between the chair and the table, but I went where he directed. He already had a pen and paper laid out for me. His idea of compromise.
“It’s time to stop fucking around,” he started, and I winced. “You are a grown-ass man and you shouldn’t be acting like such a child. I’ve put up with it for too long. Now you’ve gone and made me look like a fool to the hiring manager of the club, you’ve not spoken to me for over 20 years, and you’re getting yourself mixed up with matches - the one thing you know I absolutely will not tolerate in this house.”
There was actually a lot he didn’t tolerate, but this seemed like a bad time to bring it up.
“It’s time you moved out. Immediately.”
I stood on instinct, my jaw dropping. Immediately? There was no way - I could never find a place to live by tonight. I didn’t have much money either, certainly not enough for a hotel. He couldn’t mean - he just couldn’t. Right?
My hands flew for the pen and paper. “I don’t have enough $ for a deposit on an apt,” I wrote, my hands shaking as they scribbled as fast as they could. “And I need time to find one I can afford, and get an application approved.” I was ripping off pages and sliding them to him as soon as a thought was completed, not waiting for him to read them before I was starting on the next one. “Time to pack-”
“Not my problem,” Uncle scoffed when he read the first sheets. “You should have thought of that before walking out on your job last night.”
“Please - I just need some time. I can apply and find a place quickly if I get my job @ Redbird’s back.” Scribbled on the bottom of the most recent sheet and handed over as my eyes got wet. I refused to cry, but I wanted to beg. I wanted to plead. I wanted him to, just once, understand.
His eyes narrowed. “You’ve had plenty of time. Either you start speaking to me and burn those words off your wrist - or you pack a bag and leave now.”
For a few moments, I simply could not think. It was like I blinked and I was in my room, staring blankly ahead in what I think was shock. What he wanted wasn’t possible. Knowing I had a soulmate out there was like air. I couldn’t live without proof of that. I knew even if I wasn’t wanted, even if I had to reject them or if they rejected me, they existed. And I couldn’t speak to tell Uncle that anymore. I couldn’t say how important my soulmate was, even knowing he would reject me. Couldn’t say that burning my words would break my heart.
In a way, Uncle was right: I’d never grown up. I was in the same room I’d been in since I was eight and crying my eyes out because my parents were gone. I paid Uncle a small amount for room and board, but not nearly what it cost to rent an apartment and pay for groceries. And, like a child, I’d always done what he’d said. I’d always followed his fake names and job changes and pretended I was sick instead of -
Mute. I was mute.
And not once had I actually said that to Uncle. I’d never stood up to him, confronted him, made him read it and accept it.
“Get in there and start packing,” Uncle said, shoving me into the room harshly.
I don’t know how long I stood there before he forced me into movement. I was having a hard time because I just didn’t understand. Uncle was rarely physical, and he’d never been so strict and uncompromising before. So rash. Had something happened? Was it because Mr. Prince had said my words?
In the end Uncle got impatient. I had a backpack half filled with paper, pens, and few clothes from a drawer. I didn’t even know if I had a complete set of clothes, but the way he grabbed my arm said he was done. I couldn’t move fast enough for him, even just walking to the door, and when he shoved me outside I tripped on the steps. It was a short fall onto the concrete, and it scraped up my palms. I felt my wrist - grabbed too many times recently, though this time he’d grabbed my arm - give a very unhealthy twinge.
When I looked back at Uncle - no, John. I shouldn’t call him Uncle anymore. When I looked back at John he had a look of shock on his face, like he couldn’t believe I’d dared to fall. Over 30 and still tripping over my own feet, he’d usually joke. But this time the shock turned to disgust and he turned away.
I stood and dusted myself off, grateful to see there wasn’t anyone on the street watching me. It was a bit of a walk to the bus stop, and then I could go to the club and get my duffel. With my phone things would be better. And I could return that useless, pathetic tux.
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