Authors: Michael Thomas Ford
Suicide Notes (18 page)
“I’m pretty sure I’m gay, and I’d like to find out more about what that means.”
My dad was really quiet for a while. Then he said, “You’re too young to know something like that.”
Only it wasn’t my dad. It was Cat Poop. Today I had my dress rehearsal with him. My dress rehearsal for telling my parents about myself. I decided last night that I would do it. I mean, if I’m going to go to all the trouble of being gay and everything, I might as well tell people.
Cat Poop offered to be both my dad and my mom, but the idea of my mom needing to shave really didn’t work for me, so I told him we could stick to my dad. Besides, I think my father will be the hard one to deal with, anyway. Dads usually are.
So he sits in the chair across from me and I try to start. Only I can’t think of anything that doesn’t sound dumb. “I have something to tell you” just sounds like bad soap opera dialogue. “There’s something you need to know about me” is even worse, like you’re about to announce that you have leukemia or are a secret agent or something. Really, everything sounds way too dramatic.
I finally said, “I want to talk to you about why I hurt myself.” Then I explained about Allie and Burke and how I was afraid of the feelings I had for Burke and about how Allie had stopped being my friend because of it.
That’s when my “dad” said the thing about me being too young to know what I want. I was a little shocked at how hostile he sounded. Then I remembered that Cat Poop was playing a part. He didn’t know how my father would really respond, so he was trying one possible way to see what I did.
“I know I’m young,” I said. “But I also know how strong these feelings are, and I think I need to see what they mean.” It didn’t sound like me at all, but it was true. Besides, parents like it when you talk like that. It makes you sound more like them. Although now that I think about it, maybe that will just scare them more.
“You just need to see a shrink,” said Cat Poop Dad. “That will fix you.”
I wanted to laugh, but the doc looked really serious. I tried to imagine my dad really saying that. I don’t think he ever would, but it scared me to think that he
could
. I said, “I
have
been seeing a shrink, and he’s helped me understand a lot of things about myself. I’d like to keep talking to him if it’s okay with you, but I don’t think I need to be fixed. I just need to talk about some stuff.”
“What am I going to tell your grandmother?” asked Cat Poop. “What am I supposed to tell people?”
I took a deep breath and faced him. “Tell them the truth,” I said. “I’m not ashamed of myself. If you are, I’m sorry. But I don’t think there’s anything for you to be ashamed of.”
Cat Poop nodded. “Not bad,” he said. “Shall we try a different reaction?”
We went through some more scenes, or whatever you’d call them. Sometimes my dad was okay with what I had to say, and other times he was angry. By the time we were done I was exhausted. I don’t know how movie stars do the same scene over and over like that. It takes a lot out of you.
Cat Poop asked me how the different reactions made me feel. I told him that, obviously, the ones where my dad wasn’t upset were the best. Then he asked me which one I thought was most likely to happen.
I wish I knew. I really do. But I don’t. You’d think that after living with these people for fifteen years I’d know a little something about them. But right now I feel like I don’t know my parents at all. I guess when you get down to it, I’ve never really thought about them as
people
. They’ve always been my parents. Now I have to think about them as people with feelings. What a pain.
The funny thing is, I bet they feel the same way. I bet they sit around at home wondering how to talk to this kid who looks like their son but acts like someone they’ve never met in their lives. In a way, that makes me feel a little bit better. It’s like we’re all going to find out who we are. But it’s still scary. I’m still worried that there’s a tiny, tiny chance that they’ll completely flip out and disown me.
We’ll find out on Sunday.
Someone new arrived today, so apparently our nuthouse is still the hottest club in town after all. He says his name is Squirrel. I can’t imagine anyone would name a kid that, but it’s what he wants to be called. And it sort of fits him. He’s really skinny, and he darts his eyes all over the place when he’s talking, like he’s afraid that if he looks right at you, you’ll explode.
We met him in group today. As the rest of us introduced ourselves, I couldn’t help thinking about my first day. Did I look as freaked out as Squirrel did? Probably. Then again, I had Bone, Alice, and Sadie in my group. That would freak anyone out. Squirrel just has me, Juliet, and Martha. I don’t think any of us are all that scary. Well, maybe Juliet is, but only once you get to know her. Even then, she’s not so bad.
I don’t know what Squirrel’s problem is. He didn’t say. But if I had to take a guess, I’d say he’s probably got a couple of things going on. Maybe drugs. Maybe depression. Maybe both. You kind of start to catch on to this stuff when you’ve been here a while. It’s almost like every problem has a different smell. Squirrel smells like a combination of cigarette ashes and cotton candy. It’s not pretty.
I wonder if everyone knew right off that I’d tried to kill myself. I mean, I did have bandages on my wrists, so it wasn’t like it was a total mystery. They didn’t know about the gay thing, though. They couldn’t see that.
Except maybe Rankin. Maybe he knew. Why else would he have done what he did? Sure, I was the only other guy here. But would he have done that with Bone?
Did
he do that with Bone? I think he probably would have if he’d had the chance. It’s not like he was in love with me or anything. It was just something he did. I didn’t mean anything to him. Then again, he didn’t really mean anything to me either, so I guess that makes us even.
Funny, I’ve fooled around with a guy I didn’t care about, and the one guy I
have
cared about would never even think about touching me. Sometimes I wonder if Burke does ever think about me. I mean, he and Allie must have talked about what happened. I wonder if he ever imagines what it would be like if we did do anything. I mean, I’ve wondered about what it would be like with Allie even though she’s a girl. And since Burke knows I like him, wouldn’t he
have
to think about it? Or is the idea of it so disgusting that he can’t even imagine it?
I wonder if Allie thinks about what it would be like to have sex with me. That’s a little harder to imagine. But I know Allie. She dwells on stuff. Forever. “Letting go” is a foreign concept to her. Three years ago, Meg Crenshaw made a comment about how a sweater Allie wore made her look like a Sunday School teacher. Allie
still
hasn’t forgotten it.
I honestly don’t know what I’m going to do about that. Not about the sweater. About how Allie feels. Not that it’s totally up to me. Allie has a say in it, too. So does Burke, I guess. It sounds weird, but I really don’t think I care what he thinks of me anymore. Allie is more important to me than he is. But am I more important to her than Burke? I guess I wouldn’t blame her if she picked her boyfriend over me. I’d be really pissed off, though.
Anyway, back to Squirrel. I talked to him a little bit this afternoon. He’s still on the Wonder Drug, so I don’t think it’s quite sunk in yet that he’s in a psych ward. Part of me wanted to tell him. Then I remembered how cool it was to fly around in space smelling clean air, and I decided not to.
Instead, we played Monopoly. I know, it’s the most boring game in existence. But it’s good for killing time, and you don’t have to think too much about it. Juliet and Martha played, too. Juliet was the top hat, Martha was the little dog, I was the shoe, and Squirrel was the race car.
Martha won. She bought up all the red properties and set up hotels there, and that wiped the rest of us out. For someone who barely says anything, that girl is one tough landlord. When I couldn’t pay the rent on Indiana Avenue, she made me give her Marvin Gardens
and
the Reading Railroad. She’s like a little Donald Trump, only with better hair.
Afterward, the four of us sat there watching the snow fall outside. For some reason, I counted, and I realized that I’m getting out of here on Valentine’s Day. That’s kind of ironic, don’t you think? I mean, I ended up here because I was all heartbroken over Burke. Now I’m getting out on the most romantic day of the year.
Maybe I should make Burke a valentine. Just kidding. I’m so over him. Sure, he’s cute. And nice. And funny. Okay, so maybe I’m not
totally
over him. But there’s that whole being straight thing. That’s kind of a problem as far as he and I being boyfriends go.
Besides, I don’t think it was really him I wanted. It was the idea of him. I saw how happy he made Allie.
Makes
Allie. Present tense. At least, I assume they’re still together.
Maybe someday I’ll have a boyfriend to give a valentine to. Thinking about that kind of makes me sick, actually. I’m not exactly romantic, you know? And did you know that Valentine’s Day originally started when this emperor like a million years ago made marriage illegal because he thought it made soldiers weak? This priest—Valentine—married people in secret anyway, and he ended up having his head cut off because of it. So the first Valentine was some guy’s head. There’s some history for you.
It’s sort of perfect, when you think about it. Isn’t falling in love a lot like losing your head?
If you ever have to tell your parents you’re gay, there’s only one thing I can promise you: However you think they’ll react, they won’t.
I tried not to think about it too much, but I was awake almost all night doing exactly that. I kept running through the different scenarios that I’d rehearsed the other day with Cat Poop.
What actually happened wasn’t like anything we did, though. Well, it was and it wasn’t. It was more like a little bit of everything we did.
Things started off kind of badly because my parents were late. I don’t know why, but they were arguing about it when they got here. Something about my mother not being ready on time or my father having to stop for gas. It doesn’t matter. It’s just that they were already in a weird mood. Oh, and they brought Amanda with them, which was actually kind of good, because I wanted her to hear what I had to say, too.
So my parents were kind of bickering, not really fighting but being snappy with each other. Amanda was sitting there rolling her eyes the way she does when she’s completely embarrassed for people to know that she’s related to our mom and dad. And I was trying not to throw up.
Cat Poop started things off by reminding my parents that I would be coming home soon. As in two days. That snapped them out of their moods a little bit. My mother got all smiley and my father kept nodding, like someone had asked him a question and he was answering yes. Amanda hunched down in her seat, chewed on the ends of her hair, and tried to disappear. I think she’s about at the end of her patience with my parents. It’s good that I’m coming home to distract them.
Then Cat Poop started talking about how well I’ve been doing in the hospital and how much progress we’ve made. It was all doctor crap, and I knew he was saying it to make me look healthy and not crazy before I dropped the big bomb on everyone. I was glad he did it, because my parents are really into what doctors have to say about stuff. One could tell them their heads were made out of blue cheese and they’d probably buy it.
Once we’d established the fact that I wasn’t going to go all
Amityville Horror
on them and kill them in their sleep when I got home, Cat Poop asked me if there was anything I wanted to tell them. That was my cue to spill the news. Only I couldn’t even remember my name right then. It was like everything had gone blank inside my head. I turned into my dad and just started nodding, like I was agreeing with something he had said. I was like this giant bobble-head doll sitting there in the chair nodding, nodding, nodding.
Because I wasn’t saying anything, my mother started talking. She talked about the new curtains she’d put up in my room, and about how much the dog missed me, and how my grandmother was making cookies—chocolate chip cookies—and was going to bring them over when I came home. I sat there and watched her mouth open and close, wondering how she could talk so fast and still breathe.
Then my father started talking, too, saying stuff to my mother like, “Marjorie, Jeff doesn’t care about the curtains” and, to me, “How’d you like to go skiing next weekend?”
They were both talking at once. Cat Poop was trying to interrupt them, but they were ignoring him. The only one
not
talking besides me was Amanda, so I looked at her and said, “How would you like to have a gay brother?”
Then
everyone stopped talking and stared at me. Amanda stopped chewing her hair and sat up. “That would be okay with me,” she said. “Why?”
“Because you do,” I told her.
My mother gave a little gasp. Amanda sat there with her mouth open. My father said, “Sweet Jesus Christ on a biscuit.” I swear to God that’s what he said.
Sweet Jesus Christ on a biscuit
.
“You’re
gay
?” Amanda said, really emphasizing the gay part so that it sounded like the longest word anyone had every said. “As in
gay
?”
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m pretty sure I am.”
My father said the thing about Jesus on a biscuit again and my mother said, “Eric,” like he was five years old. Then she shook her head and said, “I don’t understand. What do you mean you’re gay?”
I thought for a second I was going to have to explain to her what gay meant. Then I realized she thought I was joking, or confused, or maybe both. I guess she thought maybe
I
didn’t know what gay meant.
“I’m gay,” I said, not sure how else to say it.
“You’re fifteen,” she said. “You can’t be gay.”
“Sure he can,” Amanda said. She sounded all excited, like this was her big chance to show off something she knew that my mother didn’t. “My friend Katrina from dance class’s brother is gay and he’s fifteen.” She looked at me. “Hey, maybe I can set you guys up. Evan is really cute.”
“Jeff,” my mother said, using the tone she gets when she’s about to explain something to you, “you’re too young to know if you’re gay or not.”
“Do you care if I am?” I asked her.
“Of course I care,” she said. “I mean, I don’t
care
, but I care about you, and if you
were
gay, then I’d be okay with it.”
“Well, I am,” I said. “So I hope you’re really okay with it and not just saying that.”
My father still hadn’t said anything. He had this look on his face like he was trying to figure out a joke someone had told him and that he knew should be funny but didn’t understand why.
“Dad?” I said. “Are you all right?”
“What?” he said. Then he shook his head, like he was trying to clear it. “So, this gay thing,” he said. “Is that why you, well, you know.” He waved his hands in the air, like he couldn’t think of the words he needed.
I shook my head. “Not really,” I said. “It’s part of it, but it’s not everything.”
“I think we have a lot to talk about,” Cat Poop said, saving me. “I know you all probably have questions for Jeff, and I know there are things he wants to tell you. So let’s just start at the beginning and go from there.”
And that’s what we did. For about four hours. I can’t even remember everything we talked about. There was some yelling, a little crying, and finally a big family hug, which is a miracle all on its own. By the time my parents left, I think they were starting to understand that this isn’t just some phase I’m going through or something I’m doing to get back at them. They don’t get it all yet. Then again, neither do I.
