me. “What do you think you’re doing, Dad?”
His smile slips, and his warm, open
(totally foreign to me) demeanor
ices over. Uh, we’re having dinner?
This is my son Matthew, Lori.
She turns concerned eyes my way.
They are the dark gray of summer
thunderheads. So good to meet you,
Matthew. Wow. You look like your dad.
“It’s Matt. And pretty much
everyone else says I resemble Mom,
who my father is still married to,
by the way.” I redirect my attention
to Dad. “Do you really think this
is appropriate? It was bad enough
having to listen to the two of you last
night. But a public display of affection?”
My voice has risen in intensity
and volume. Dad tries to counteract
that. Please sit down, Matt, so we can
discuss this using our inside voices.
The implication is clear—stop
acting like a child. The people
around us react nervously, and
so does the restaurant manager.
I Might Back Off
Except for the smug smile spread
across Dad’s face. He doesn’t give
a good goddamn about what anyone
thinks. Well, Dad, neither do I.
Anger blasts like a furnace, sears
my face. “You’re embarrassing
yourselves! How can you sit there
acting like this is okay?” The entire
restaurant is staring pointedly now.
I mean it, Matt. Sit down before
Paul over there kicks you out of here.
You’re the one who’s embarrassing
yourself, and us. He stands, comes
around the table, and takes my elbow.
Sit down or leave and we’ll talk at home.
“Excuse me, but I’ve got a dinner
reservation myself, so I don’t think
I’ll be leaving.” But my own smile
disappears when Dad nods
toward the front of the restaurant.
Pretty sure you’re leaving.
Your girlfriend just did.
I Catch Her
Several paces down
the sidewalk. “Wait!
Where are you going?”
She keeps moving
forward, in a quick, straight
line. Home. I don’t need this, Matt.
“Need what?”
To witness you being
a jerk. What is wrong
with you? I don’t know
who you are anymore.
I grab her hand, tug
her to a stop. “Look,
I’m sorry . . .” That fucking
word again. “It’s just I’m
having a hard time dealing
with my parents breaking up.”
She looks at me earnestly.
Why didn’t you tell me?
We never talk about what’s
important. All we ever do
is argue, and I’m tired of it.
I take her other hand, hold
her in place. “I’m tired of it,
too. How can we go back
to the way we used to be?”
She opens her mouth to say
something. Closes it again.
Shakes her head. “What?”
It’s just, I’m not sure we can
go back. You’ve changed
so much since . . . Her voice
dissolves into silence.
“Wait, wait, wait. You think
it’s me who’s changed?”
She nods. After Luke . . .
I mean, you’re so angry
and short-tempered.
You never used to go off
so easily, but now I never
know if you’ll be sweet
Matt or crazy Matt.
Sometimes you scare me.
Whoa
It’s like we’re living in parallel
but totally disconnected universes.
“Hold on. First of all, have I
ever threatened or hurt you?”
Not physically. But you’ve hurt
me with the things you’ve said—
“Like you haven’t? Hayden,
you’ve accused me of things
I didn’t do. . . .” At least, I hadn’t
at the time she accused me of it.
“You’ve basically called me
gay-like-my-brother. You’ve
talked crap behind my back.
You told me I’m going to hell.”
Hey. That was my dad, not me.
And I’ve already apologized.
“Yeah. Me too. So can’t we just
put all that behind us and move on?”
She looks down at our interlocked
hands. I don’t know. We’re such
different people, with different
friends, different goals, different
beliefs. I’m not sure we’ll ever be
able to reconcile those things.
She looks back up, into my eyes.
I don’t know if love is enough.
I lean forward, kiss her forehead.
“You’re saying you still love me?”
She hesitates, too long, steps back
just a little. Yes, I still love you.
But I love Jesus more, and I don’t
think you can ever accept that.
So it’s not Judah I should be
jealous of, it’s some guy who’s
been dead for two thousand years?
“What are you saying, Hayden?”
Our Hands Unlace
And I think our lives have, too,
and I just can’t let that happen.
I maneuver her back against
the building, place one hand
on each side of her face and
repeat, “What are you saying?”
(Sometimes you scare me.)
She looks scared now, but tips
her chin up, accepting the pierce
of my stare, and determination
glitters in her eyes. Determination
bordering on defiance. I almost
have to look away. But I hold fast.
And So Does She
This resolve is new, and
I can’t help but wonder
just where—or in whom—
she discovered it.
I’ve been thinking about this.
Today, when you kissed me,
it really did make me want
to do more, and that wasn’t
the first time. Next time I might
break down and say yes. And
I don’t want to do that. It’s
against everything God wants
from me. Being a virgin on my
wedding night is the best gift
I could ever give my husband.
“But—but—I’d never
force you to do anything
you didn’t want to do. And—
and I could wait—”
You don’t understand. I love
you, Matt. But I could never
marry someone who didn’t love
the Lord like I do. It wouldn’t work.
I Break Out
In bitter, anxious sweat.
“When did you decide all this?
You didn’t used to feel that way.”
Look. I’m getting stronger
in my faith journey. I didn’t used
to understand just how important
it was. Now I know for sure.
And now I know for sure, too.
“Because of getting involved
with your youth ministry.”
I purposely don’t say Judah.
Mostly, I guess. I learned ho
w
to listen, and now I can hear
God talking to me. His voice
fills me with awe. It’s amazing.
It’s schizophrenic. “So this
means we’re breaking up?”
She nods and I back away.
I think it’s for the best, don’t
you? She starts to unclasp
the angel pendant, and a slow
burn of anger prickles inside
my head. “Keep it. I bought it
because it’s perfect for you.
It belongs around your neck.”
Besides, what would I do with
it? “Let me ask you a question.
Jocelyn said you were going to
break up with me before what
happened with Luke. Is that
an accurate appraisal, or was she
just being her usual bitchy self?
Wow. She’ll be happy, won’t she?”
Now she can’t meet my eyes.
I guess I was thinking about
breaking up with you before.
We were starting to pull apart. . . .
“So instead, you played me
for months? Did you think
without my ‘loving girlfriend’
by my side to support me,
genetics would insist I put a rope
around my neck and step off
the chair, like my little brother?”
Intentional Strikes
That’s what the words
are. I want them to hit
her hard, and they do.
No—I—why
would you say that?
“I don’t know. Gay like
my brother, suicidal
like him, too?”
No. That’s not it at all.
Tears drip from her eyes
all the way to her cleavage.
Hope that angel knows
how to swim. “What, then?”
She tucks her chin, forcing
the angel to breaststroke. Guilt.
“Guilt?”
You were with me when
Luke did it. . . .
“So? That was my choice.”
Now She Is Sobbing
Every inhale is a tear-racked
wheeze. There’s more. I know
you always blamed Vince for
starting the rumors about Luke.
But you’re wrong. It was me.
“What the hell are you saying?”
I remember Vince’s denial,
so close to convincing, but I was
positive it had to be him. “Why?
You met Luke. I thought you liked him.”
I did like him! I didn’t mean for
anything bad to happen to him.
It’s a miserable little whine.
It was just a horrible accident.
“Accident? There was nothing
accidental about the abuse
Luke took. How could you?”
I’m sorry! Look, one day a few
of us were sitting around talking,
and the subject of gay marriage
came up. I said homosexuals were
abominations in the eyes of God.
Vince pulled me aside and warned
me never to say stuff like that if you
were around, and he told me why.
I made the mistake of confiding it
to Joce, and everything went wrong
from there. But as far as I know,
I’m the only one Vince told, and
only because he was worried about
my hurting you. I’m so, so sorry.
I’ve struggled with this ever since—
“You know Jocelyn has a big
mouth! Why would you tell
her? What did you say?”
Her eyes move past me to stare
at something across the street.
You and I had been together
for a while and you’d never tried
to have sex with me. I couldn’t figure
it out, so I asked Joce if you could
be gay. She wanted to know why I
thought it was possible and I told
her because Luke was. I swear,
it just slipped out. Please don’t hate me.
I Disconnect
From her.
From her confession.
From yet another way
I find myself responsible
for the choice my brother made.
“So, you’re saying you talked
to Jocelyn about my failures
as a boyfriend before Luke died,
and that conversation sparked
the bullshit that drove him toward
suicide? Look at me, would you?”
Her reluctant eyes find mine.
You don’t know how hard it’s been
to reconcile this, Matt. It’s the main
reason I’ve immersed myself so deeply
in my faith. I needed God to forgive me
so I can forgive myself. Judah says—
“Shut. Up.” Stay calm. Breathe in.
“Don’t you dare bring up his name
to me again. You don’t need God
to forgive you. Just crawl to your youth
minister for absolution. He’d love
to see you on your hands and knees.”
Everyone Has a Breaking Point
And she has just accessed mine.
“Earlier, you said you don’t know
who I am. All I can say is, I can’t
believe I had no clue what a vile,
despicable person you are. How
could you hide all that from me?”
Maintaining calmness. “How could
you let me lose a friend, allow me
to believe him capable of that kind
of treachery, when in reality all
he was trying to do was be supportive
of my little brother and me?”
And now, I wonder, “Did you ever
participate? Do you by any chance
know how to Photoshop porn?”
No!
Starting to lose it. “How did it feel
when you found out about Luke?
Did you run to Judah for a hug?”
Matt . . .
Anger escalates. “Oh yes, I can
see it now. He told you not to worry,
it wasn’t your fault. Luke was weak.
Maybe so, Hayden, maybe so.
But how did it feel, sitting beside me
at his funeral, holding my hand
while I broke down, acting as if you
gave a shit?” My hands clench, unclench.
“How could you pretend to love me?
How could you keep leading me on,
all this time, knowing this breakup
was inevitable? How—”
A hand falls on my shoulder.
That’s enough, son. I think
we’d better go on home now.
Thank you, Hayden says to Dad,
then she turns and flees, as fast
as she can go in ridiculous heels.
Dad Coaxes Me
Backward, toward the street.
Lorelei maintains a decent distance
between us, just in case I decide
to come away swinging, I guess.
Ten seconds ago, I just might have.
I wanted so badly to hurt Hayden.
Not to maim or scar her for life,
just make her beg for mercy a little.
Instead, I turn my back on her,
and I probably need to credit Dad
with saving me from lockup tonight.
You all right, now? he asks.
“Well, sure. Let’s see. The girl who
I’m in love with turns out to be
a bullshitting bitch. But that’s okay
because she just broke up
with me,
after confessing how she’s manipulated
me for over a year, not to mention
the fairly substantial part she played
in my brother stretching his own neck.
Before that, my father outed himself
quite publicly as a two-timing adulterer,
and the best part about that was when
I found his and his paramour’s respective
underwear having boxer-panty relations
on the bedroom floor. Don’t worry,
though, I didn’t sniff! Oh, yes, it’s been
quite a day, and not just any day,
but Valentine’s Day, one I’ll surely
remember. How was your dinner,
by the way? Looks like it’s frozen crap
for me, or maybe I’ll splurge on McD’s.”
You finished? Because self-pity sure
looks poor on you. Just so there are no
unpleasant surprises, Lori is staying
the weekend. I’ll take her home Monday.
Sounds Like a Great Reason
To get wasted
and stay that way
right through Monday
night. A red, white, and blue
way to celebrate dead presidents.
I climb into my truck,
try to ignore the empty
passenger seat, start down
the main drag, headed for home.
Maybe I can beat Dad, hit the booze
cupboard before
he can try to stop me.
But there on the sidewalk,
tottering in heels, is a nymph,
too splendid in emerald green, and
I’m ecstatic that she
has to walk a mile home
on her toes. And I’m leveled
to know I’ll never again pick her
up at that house, with her prick father
peeking out from behind
the window blinds, promising
my best can never, ever be enough.
I Arrive Home First
Pilfer a tumbler of Jack.
Dad will probably miss it
sooner or later, but I don’t give
a shit. What’s he gonna do,
make me give it back?
I go take a piss, hope
I don’t have to do it
again when Dad is grunting
over that woman. Lori.
Is that what he always
called her? Is that what
her husband called her?
Are three syllables
too difficult to deal with?
I swear, I’ll never call
Alexa “Lex” again.
In my room, I exchange
my good clothes
for comfortable flannels,