Writers for the most part draw from experience. If not in plot or detail then at least emotionally. This story is no different, though of course facts bend to the needs of the story. My family is nowhere near as conservative as I portray them in this case, and I am sure almost all of them would be welcoming, if a bit awkward around someone different than their experience. But this story to me is less about prejudice and more about uncertainty. When you are young (I was young enough that I wasn't drinking beer in reality, another artistic change) you don't want to upset anyone or draw attention to yourself. With a generally conservative family, bringing an LGBTQ friend to a barbecue will probably be perfectly fine. Probably. But I had never asked that question before. I was afraid to upset my family, and in doing so I insulted them. I didn't give them a chance to show the kindness I know they are capable of. And my father gently showed me that I was acting cowardly.
~~~
“I like when the fire burns low like this, you know? When the fire is big enough the coals will burn all night.”
My father’s voice boomed into the night, unchained from his burdens by the beer and the cool summer breeze.
“Yeah,” I reply. “It’s not often that we have such a big fire.” I finished my beer and put it down on the grass with the other empty cans. As late as it is, I know my father will be out here by dawn cleaning the refuse from the party. But tonight it’s just us and the breeze and the coals, and I try hard to forget my troubled emotions and enjoy this time. At least in the light of the coals he doesn’t look so worn down.
“Your friends haven’t been around in a while, everything still good?”
I winced at the abruptness. It may seem disjointed, but we’ve always been this way. I must have seemed not myself.
“Yeah Dad, they’re all fine. I just thought this could be a family thing.”
I wanted the quiet to swallow us. But even on these rare occasions when he was on his way to being drunk he saw more than anyone else.
“What’s wrong?” He growled with eyebrows drawn down. He lit a cigarette.
“Nothing, really.”
“You’re still friends with Sarah? Will?”
“Yeah of course.”
I looked back to the coals; they were easier than my father’s grave eyebrows.
“Jack?”
He could tell as soon as he said it. It’s always been that way, I’m closed off, unreadable; to everyone except him. And I always cracked immediately. So would you if you met his gaze.
“Yeah we’re still friends. It’s just that now Jack goes by Jacquelyn.”
He rocked back, nodding slowly as he turned to look at the fire.
“I see.”
“Yeah, I thought it might not be a great idea, I mean with the family.”
He knew what I meant. The good Christian conservative family. The family that never says anything, but when they walk past someone who doesn’t live up to their standard of decency they give each other a look. He probably knew that I meant him too. I had never seen the judgement so present in the others’ eyes in him, but he grew up in rural Mississippi and was steadfast conservative. I had no idea how he would react. He was quiet long enough for me to grab another beer and let it grow warm in my hand, unopened.
“You know when I was growing up I was the jock type, played baseball and basketball and was as dumb as a stump.”
“Ah, okay.” His voice was quieter now, and I was left in his wake struggling to follow.
“But I didn’t care about what people thought. If you saw me you would’ve called me a dumb jock, and you’d be right, but I was friends with whoever I wanted to be, I didn’t care who. There was this kid my age who I don’t think said a single word to anyone in the whole county. I had a locker next to him, and I decided that we were friends. I had to win him over, but for a few years towards the end of high school we were friends, and I’m sure I was his only friend, at least in the school.” He flicked his butt into the fire and drew another cigarette but didn’t light it.
“I didn’t know much, but I knew he had problems with his home. He didn’t get along with his old man. But it was after graduation when we found out. News spread fast in a small town, so I heard from someone the day after. He had already planned to leave, and the last thing he did was come out. He was gay.” Here my dad glanced at me.
“It seems like he came out, and then immediately cut ties. Got a one-way bus ticket out of town, told his parents to shove it, and left without a word to anyone else. And I get it. That town, in the seventies, I get why he kept it a secret.” He rolls his eyes.
“I heard later that he went to California with no real destination. He was smart enough to know the reaction he would get from the town, and he probably figured it was better to cut all ties and never look back.” My father still held the unlit cigarette. He raised it half-way to his lips and dropped it again, still dark. He looked at me and his gaze terrified me.
“I don’t know if he thought I would care. I hope he knew that it never mattered to me, never would have mattered. He was my friend. I hope he knew I was still his friend, but I never got a chance to tell him. I heard a few years later that he died. I’ll never know what he thought, but I’d guess he just thought of me as one of the dumb rednecks. That’s something I’ll have to live with.” In an instant my father looked as old as I’ve ever seen him. I didn’t know what to say. The quiet lay over us like a shroud. After a time, he roused and lit the cigarette.
“I’m beat. Make sure you put the coals out before going in.”
“Yeah Dad, I will.”
“You should bring your friends around more.”
He turned and walked back to the house in darkness. I’m sure he was using the cover of darkness to wipe his eyes, just like I was sure in the morning he would remember this but not say anything about it. There was no point in him turning away; I was the one who should be ashamed. I pick up the last of his beer and poured it over the embers, sending up a cloud of black smoke with a hiss.
~~~~~
Bad Poem of The Week:
Bleed
I walked my path even as it narrowed beneath my feet.
Others turned away, pushed away from the trail.
I followed the inevitability of my own
stubbornness until I found I
could walk no further
The path I stood on
had become a
blade's edge.
I was left
2 choices:
Fall
Or
Bleed.
