5 years ago

Marcus

“I’m just saying, it’s something to consider,” I state, eating a forkful of the delicious chicken parmesan Alex made. We’ve been living together in Gainesville for about a year now. It was a bit of a rocky start at first. I’m a messy person in general, (art isn’t exactly the cleanest profession), and with Alex being a clean freak we’ve definitely had our fair share of disagreements. But, we worked through it. I have my designated “Art Arena” as Alex calls it where I sculpt and paint on the weekends. I don’t have time during the week since I’m busy working a 9:00-5:00 job. Since Alex’s parents cover the rent, his phone bills, and his tuition, he doesn’t have a job. I wouldn’t really expect him to either. Law school is so time consuming that we barely have time together anymore. Despite that, we always make sure to have dinner together at least once a week, to give us a little sense of home.

“I don’t know Marcus...you know how homophobic my parents are. I don’t know if I’ll ever come out to them,” Alex replies. I can see how much the topic bugs him by how his shoulders hunch and how he retreats into himself like a turtle.

“I know babe, I know. But I also know that lying to your parents about who you are, and about us, is eating you up inside,” I reason. He looks up at me, and I can see the defeat in his eyes. He knows I’m right. He may not want to, but he needs to come out to his parents for his own good. He feels so guilty about telling them that we’re just friends. The stress of law school and lack of sleep is fueling his already high anxiety.

I know lying about us literally keeps him up at night. He tosses and turns for about an hour before he can fall asleep. But most nights I find him on the balcony around 2am, smoking. When I confronted him about it, he told me that he always smoked (which I know is not true). I don’t blame him for starting though. If I was that high-strung, I’d smoke to destress too. Living like this isn’t healthy, and he knows it

“I guess you’re right. But what if they hate me Marcus?” Alex asks, voice filled with worry, “I couldn’t- can’t - deal with that…” he stutters. He places his fork on his plate, and stares blankly at his food. I can tell that he’s about to cry. I reach across the table and intertwine my fingers with his.

“Hey,” I whisper, silently urging him to meet my eyes. He does, and I can already see a few tears slipping down his cheeks.

“It’s okay Alex. It’s all okay. I know you’re afraid, but you need to tell your parents. You can’t keep living like this,” I urge, tightening my grip on his hand, “Nothing bad will happen. They’re your parents. They love you. They’ll still accept you. I promise,” I reassure him. He nods, and I can tell that he’s accepted that it’s for his own good.

“Okay?” I ask.

“Okay.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Alex

I take a deep breath. It’s okay. It’s all okay. It’s been a week since I had that conversation with Marcus and within that time, I called my parents, and asked if I could have dinner at their house. A family dinner, like we used to have before I went off to college. Marcus offered to come along, but I declined. This was something I have to do myself.

Nothing bad will happen, right?

Right.

I ring the doorbell and the door flies open not even two seconds later.

“Alex!” my mom shouts, pulling me into a tight hug that practically chokes me to death. “Come on in honey! Oh, I’ve missed you so much!” she exclaims, shutting the front door behind her. I lead the way into the dining room, with my mom close behind. She keeps gushing about how the house feels empty now that I’m gone, how I get more handsome every time she sees me, and how much my dad has missed me.

“Isn’t that right Earl?” she asks pointedly at my father who’s sitting at the head of the table, reading a newspaper. He huffs and snaps the pages closed. I roll my eyes, knowing the bear hug that’s about to come next. He stands and his face breaks into a warm smile.

“Get over here,” he calls happily, like one of those cowboys that you’d see in old-timey westerns.

“Daad,” I complain as he hugs me. It’s a big bear hug, just like my mother’s. He tousles my hair, and I can’t help but feel like I’m six again. Finally, he lets me go, and starts badgering me with questions like my mother did.

“Sit down, sit down!” he urges, a grin plastered from ear to ear. I can’t remember the last I’d seen him this happy. I take a seat across from my dad at the other end of the table. I hear my mom call out from the kitchen,

“I made your favorite, honey! Steak and potatoes!”

My stomach growls at that. I may be able to cook well, but nothing can beat my mom’s steak and potatoes.

“Thanks mom!” I shout back. I see my father scrutinizing me out of the corner of my eye, and it makes me squirm a little in my seat. I decide to drink some of the water sitting in front of me.

“So…” he starts, hands folded on top of the table, “How’s Marcus?”

The question catches me off-guard, and I jolt, almost getting water up my nose. Luckily, my dad doesn’t seem to notice.

“Good. Marcus is good. Still doing that art thing,” I say lamely.

Good one Alex. Good one.

“Glad to hear it. How are your grades?”

The conversation continues on like this for about 10 minutes. My dad asks a mundane question, and I give him back a mundane answer. It starts to feel like old times. Until he asks,

“Do you have a girlfriend?”

This is it. Now’s the time to do it.

“Um, that’s actually the main reason why I came here tonight,” I start, ignoring how hard my heart is pounding.

“Ooo really?” my mom interjects, setting a dish on the table. She returns to the kitchen to get another.

“What’s her name?” my dad asks, interest piqued.

“Marcus. His name is Marcus,” I announce, ignoring the way my voice wavers.

From the narrow hallway to the kitchen, I see my mom’s shocked expression a split second before I hear the plates in her hand shatter as they hit the ground. She doesn’t even flinch.

My eyes flit to my dad. His jaw is almost hitting the floor, and his eyes look like they're about to pop right out of his head.

It’s dead silent. No one moves.

I’ve never been more scared in my entire life.

“WHAT DID YOU JUST SAY?!?” my dad bellows, shattering the delicate silence that had overcome the three of us.

“I-its Ma-ma-marcus, D-d-ad,” I stutter, my voice as quiet as a mouse. He bangs his fist on the table. The silverware jumps and my water spills over.

“How could you do this to us?” my mother wails, entering the dining room, “To me? What did I do to deserve this?” She starts sobbing, and I don’t think I’ve ever felt more betrayed in my life.

“Go upstairs Verna,” my Father orders. My mom simply nods and complies, unable to make eye contact with me, like she just found out that I killed her son. Maybe I just did.

Once she leaves the room, my dad continues yelling at me.

“Why would you throw yourself in with the fags?” he exclaims, acting as if I had any choice in my sexuality, and that being gay was a bad thing.

“I-I didn’t ch-choose to be this w-way, Dad!” I retort. My voice is still shaky, choking on tears that I’m holding back. I manage to get the sentence out without whispering it.

“But, but, we can fix you Alex. You don’t have to be this way,” he pleads, and for a moment I see a flash of the dad who loves me, who was always there to pick me back up if I fell off my bike.

“Dad. I-I’m gay. And there’s nothing I can d-do about it. And there’s nothing you can do abou-about it either!” I assure, regaining some of my confidence. He shakes his head.

“No...no, no, no!” He hits the table again, and this time I flinch, adrenaline flooding my body.

“You...you chose to be this way! To-to spite me! To spite God!” he screams, spitting each word out like venom.

“But-but-” I stutter, my words failing me again.

“Shut. up. Faggot. ” he growls. At that last slur, I burst into tears, unable to stop them from flowing anymore.

“Now, you listen to me. I will not be funding your sinful lifestyle anymore. Until you prove that you can get your act together, I won’t be paying for your phone, your apartment, OR your tuition,” he lists, ticking each item off on fat fingers.

“I hope you can eventually come to your senses and realize that you’re damming your soul to Hell. And that I’m doing this for your own good.”

He stands, and roughly pushes in his chair. He starts to walk out of the room, towards the stairs. I know I shouldn’t, but I call out,

“Dad! W-wait! S-s-st-op! P-please!”

He stops and turns around.

“What?” he asks flatly, making it sound more like a statement than a question.

“I-I th-thought...I thought, th-that as y-your s-son...you’d accept me,” I choke out, wondering if I should have even said that out loud.

“I have no son,” he replies.

Nothing bad will happen, right?

Wrong.

*********************************************************************

Marcus

I hear the keys jiggle in the front door lock. I put down my paint brush, and wipe my hands on my smock. I’ve been working on this canvas all night. It’s a heart with a nature scene behind it, and I made it to celebrate my love for Alex, and to celebrate everything going well with his parents.

The door swings open, and I quickly flip the painting around so that Alex can’t see it.

“Hi babe!” I greet, putting the painting down and rushing over to give Alex a hug. Before I can wrap my arms around him, he pushes me away, and kicks the door closed behind him. I’m a little unnerved by this, but I just assume it’s because I have paint all over my smock and that he doesn’t want to get paint on his nice clothes.

“How’d it go? Was everything fine, just like I said it’d be?” I ask, rushing to show him the painting. I hold it up.

“Do you like it? I made it to celebrate y-”

He rips the canvas from my hands, and throws it on the floor. I back away from Alex, suddenly wary of him.

“Why...why did you do that?” I question, my voice small and meek.

“Because, there’s nothing to celebrate!” He yells, fists clenched at his sides. I reach out to take his hand but he snatches it away before I can, like my touch burns him.

“Don’t talk to me,” he growls, “And don’t you dare touch me.”

His voice is hoarse and scratchy, like he overused it. I wait for him to continue, not daring to say another word. Soon, tears start streaming down his face. His stony facade crumbles, and all that is left is betrayal and hopelessness.

“They...they fucking DISOWNED ME!” he screams, and suddenly I understand why he’s acting like the world is falling apart at its seams.

“I-I came out, like you said to, and...they hate me. My dad called me a faggot, and my mom asked how I could’ve done this to her. Like I have a choice in being gay!” He stops for a second, and takes a deep breath.

“Alex, I-”

“And you know what’s worst of all? I trusted you. You said, ‘Nothing bad will happen Alex. It’s all gonna be okay.’ But you know what? It’s not okay! Because I’m broke. We’re broke,” he gestures back and forth, pointing at both of us, “I have no tuition, no rent, and no phone service. Nothing. All because I listened to you, and your bullshit.”

“I-I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. I thought it’d help you, but it only made things worse,” I apologize, all of the guilt in the world crashing down on me in a single moment. Alex turns away from me, still fuming. I try to lighten the mood.

“But...at least you got it off your chest,” I point out, trying to find the bright side, “Does that at least make you feel a little bit better?” Alex rounds on me in a second, hand holding my shirt collar in a death grip.

“Better?” he rasps, eyes flickering rapidly, searching my face for something, “you think I’d feel better after what I just went through?” I can smell the pungent scent of alcohol in his breath.

“Have you been drinking?” I ask, somehow even more concerned for him than I was originally, “You know how that affects you Alex...and how the hell did you even get alcohol anyway? That’s illegal! You’re only 18 and I-”

He cuts me off by tightening his grip on my collar.

“I swear to God, if you don’t shut up, I’m going to kill you.”

I’m scared. This is not the man I know and love. This is some monster that’s replaced him.

“Alex, I think we should calm down. Just take a break, y-”

“What?!?” he screams, “You want to take a break? You want to break up?!”

“N-n-n-noooo, no, that’s not what I meant,” I exclaim, trying to take my poor choice of words back.

“Fine!” Alex yells, storming off to our bedroom. I can hear him yanking clothes off their hangers, flinging open droors and emptying their contents on the floor. He emerges with a suitcase, haphazardly zipped shut with clothes sticking out in a corner.

“Here,” he shouts, and he kicks it to me. It slides across the floor and lands at my feet. I look at it in awe. Marveled by how my life crumbled so easily, all in a matter of hours.

“Are...are you sure you want to do this?” I ask Alex, tears blurring my vision.

“Yes. I'm sure. Get out,” he says.

I open the door, and step over the threshold. Our threshold.

Well, it's not ours anymore.

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