Freaks and Revelations (6 page)

Early 1978

TWO YEARS BEFORE

SAN FRANCISCO BAY AREA

{1}

Sometimes on Sundays, I pretend to have a headache so I won’t have to go to church. Marianne knows I’m faking, but doesn’t say anything. We take care of each other.

Today, I lounge in the old iron chair on the front porch; it’s got a big round spring so you can rock back and forth, side to side, or even in a circle. I like how it creaks. I think about my family. I wonder about my dad, if he’s out in the garage doing a sign. I wonder if Paul’s okay. When he turned eighteen, he got out of Juvie and decided not to come back home.

“Your brother broke my heart,” Mom said when she found out. “Every time the phone rings at night, I know it will be something bad. I couldn’t live if anything happened to one of you kids.”

I wonder if that’s true.

I creak the chair around. I like how it feels. I like being where I’m not supposed to be. I start counting the cars that whiz by, trying to keep track of how many I see of each color. The street’s busy this morning—it adds up fast.

A bright yellow van goes by, the color of a school bus. It’s number three on yellows. A baby blue Bug is twelve, or maybe thirteen of blues. Another red car is twenty-one. One more yellow van—no, wait, it’s the same one. Should I count it twice? Why not? Four yellows. Five minutes later, it comes by again. I sit up. The guy driving pulls over to the curb and beckons me over.

“I’m afraid I’m lost,” he calls out, smiling, very friendly. I walk down the sidewalk to his car. He’s a teenager and
really
cute; even Marianne would think so. He’s in brown cords and a white T-shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The car behind him honks and he waves it by. He’s got nice white teeth and smells of good cologne. “I thought there was a store nearby?”

I like how he looks, brown eyes and dark hair in a short do. I’m starting to get a little tingle. I point to the right. “Yeah, 7-Eleven. Three blocks, at the corner of Wesley.”

“Well, I’m dense,” he laughs, “because I can’t find it. I’ve gone by there twenty times.”

He smiles and I blush. I tip my head down and look up at him. I shrug.

“You think maybe you’d show me?” he asks, reaching over to open the passenger door.
Click.

Tingles for sure now, but I shake my head no. “I have to stay here.”

“Oh, okay. I understand,” he says, but doesn’t shut the door. “Thanks anyway.” He looks sad. “You’re very nice.”

On an impulse, I get in the car.

“Go straight,” I say, pointing. I can feel my cheeks get warm. What the hell am I doing? What if my mother comes home, or one of our nosy neighbors sees me and tells? I don’t even know this boy. Why am I not scared?

At 7-Eleven, we pull into a back space, away from other cars. He is soooo cute! Without saying a word, he helps me into the back. He’s got a twin mattress there and three huge red and black pillows, like something out of a ’60s movie. He kisses me. We fool around and when I stop him, it’s fine. He understands, leans back, smiles. It’s very romantic. His breath smells faintly of menthol and cigarettes.

He kisses me again and this time, we go further.

After, he lights a cigarette and offers me one. I take it but I don’t inhale; the smoke makes me cough.

“You’re really beautiful,” he says and I smile. “How old are you?”

“Almost fifteen.” I lie. I’ll be thirteen in August.

“Can I see you again?”

“I don’t know.”

“Just in case, here’s my phone number,” he scribbles on the back of an envelope. “If you call, I’ll pick you up. Anywhere you say.” We kiss and he cups my face in his hand, just like Jonathan did. “I love your green eyes.”

I smile as I walk home after. I wish I could tell Davy about him, or at least Marianne. “His name is Charles,” I’d say. “He just turned seventeen. Very handsome. He wants me to call him. You’d like him. He thinks I’m beautiful.”

I get home just in time to climb into my bed before Mom and them get back. I really am flushed now and don’t have to pretend at all.

I see Charles three more times. I tell Mom I’m working with a teacher after school, then meet him out back behind the field. We drive somewhere we can park without getting hassled. We don’t talk a lot, but it’s okay. He’s sweet. He makes me feel important.

Usually, when he drops me back off, I scramble out of the van, but this time, I sneak one last kiss. My luck—it’s just as Hugo Leone and Fat Ralph are coming out of soccer practice. Charles drives off, but I can tell by their faces that they saw everything.

“Sicko!” Hugo growls, him and Fat Ralph coming up close behind me as I hurry toward the street to get home. They can’t do anything—the coach and rest of the team are around—but still they surround me, keep me from moving.

“Who should we tell first?” Ralph says. “Marianne?”

“Hell, no, we got to tell Sister Mary Margaret. Or maybe Mother Superior.”

“Leave me alone,” I mutter.

“That’s a sin against God, you know,” Hugo says, and they both laugh. “You’ll be expelled.”

“Maybe even tomorrow,” Ralph says, and they high-five each other, then abruptly turn the other way.

I never call Charles again. I’m scared to. I watch Sister Mary Margaret. Nothing. Marianne doesn’t seem any different, either. Only me. Now I try get to school just as class starts and leave immediately after. Still, it feels like they’re always watching.

*   *   *

It’s late summer when I have my revelation. I’m finally thirteen. Mom makes me a birthday cake and fixes pot roast and potatoes for dinner, my favorite. She gives me a pullover sweater the exact same green as my eyes. And hers. I try it on. She smiles and leans in to give me a little kiss on my cheek.

“Makes up for last year, huh?” she whispers.

Last year Elvis Presley died—on my birthday. When Mom heard, she dropped my cake, then locked herself in her room and didn’t come out for three days. Nobody knew what to do, not even Dad.

All of this rambles around my head as Davy and I ride BART home from class. I’m wearing my new sweater. It’s still light out even though we have late classes in summer. I think about last year, how weird it was that no one but Marianne told me Happy Birthday. Everybody worried about Mom instead. I can’t remember what I thought, if I put it together about Elvis. We never talked about it.

We never talked about Dad or the divorce, either. Or Paul. Or Grandma, for that matter—or even Uncle Bobby. This makes my stomach hurt. Which makes me take a deep breath. Which brings me to a brand-new thought.

I know what’s wrong with our family.

I sit straight up, blink my eyes.

It’s so simple.

It’s the secrets. They weigh us down. They keep us from knowing things clearly; they cover our lives like those shrouds on the mummies in the museum. We can’t hold them all, so we pretend they aren’t there. Except that makes everything worse, like when my finger got infected and the doctor had to lance it open, so the pus could all come out. It had nowhere else to go.

Across the aisle, Davy nods his head and twitches his feet, lost in his music. What’s
his
secret? Is he sleeping with Isabelle? How about Marianne? She knows the most about our family. What does she not tell? What happened with Dad and Paul? I know Kaitlyn has secrets, she must, she never talks to anybody anymore. Sometimes I catch her standing in the living room, staring at the statue of Mother Mary.

Secrets can make you crazy. Look at Grandma.

I can’t believe I didn’t think of this before.

It will change everything. I don’t have to be the kid in the corner, the one who doesn’t fit in. I can be the one who makes everything better.

“What’s wrong with you?” Davy asks, as the train pulls in and we stand and wait to file off.

“Nothing.”

“Then why are you smiling?”

“You’ll find out,” I say.

He shakes his head at me. “Weirdo.”

{2}

The family meeting’s called a week from Friday; I can think of nothing else. I know Mom won’t give me another chance. She surprised me by agreeing in the first place.

“But why your father and Paul?” she said, when I asked her. We were in the living room, standing near Jesus.

“Because I have something I need to tell everyone. It’s really, really important.”

“All right then.” She gives me a look like she knows what I’m going to say, and I feel like smiling. “I’ll do what I can.”

Still, I’m kinda scared. Each day, I consider the words. They’ve got to be perfect, exactly right, so we can be a family again. So the secrets will stop. I’m thinking on this so hard after school on Tuesday, I don’t see Hugo Leone and Fat Ralph Conifer until I practically bump into them. They stand there grinning like a couple of cartoon hyenas.

“What?”
I say with such force, it surprises me as much as it does them. For a second they don’t talk.

“You know what,” says Fat Ralph.

“Time to put the trash in the garbage can…” they sing-song together, with those stupid expressions.

“Oh, fucking grow up, would you?”

Ralph’s mouth drops open, which makes me laugh. They step away; I take this as a sign. The family meeting is right. Things do change, standing up for myself is necessary. This is the proof I need. I smile all the way home.

Friday morning finally arrives. School goes on forever and dinner’s baked chicken, but I can’t make myself eat a thing. Mom says nothing. After, we pray as usual. Still, nothing. Did she forget? Change her mind?

Then the doorbell rings and like magic, my father’s here. Nobody knows what to say. He comes in, nods at Mom, tries to smile. He checks out the shrine. I remember that he’s never been here before; I wonder if Jesus makes him uncomfortable too. I smile. He winks back. Then Paul knocks. He doesn’t smile. He sees Dad and starts to back out. Marianne goes to him and the two talk, quietly. More silence. Paul sees Jesus and rolls his eyes.

“Shall we start?” Mom asks, and I nod.

“Start what?” Davy asks. “What’s going on?”

“Would you all please sit on the sofa?” I say.

“What are they doing here?” Davy continues.

“Be still and sit down,” Mom answers, looking at me. “We’re having a family meeting.”

“About time,” Paul mutters. His voice is deeper than I remember. His eyes shift back and forth; he stays far away from Dad.

Mom sits in the center. I stand by the shrine. My family settles. I’m conscious of Jesus to one side, Mother Mary to the other. I suddenly feel very young. What am I doing? Who do I think I am? I push the questions away. This is right. It needs to be done. A second later, I begin. I’m not even nervous.

“I have something important I want to say.”

My voice rings out clear and almost loud. Davy rolls his eyes. Mom sits straight up, motionless. I take my dramatic pause, exactly like I practiced. They lean into it, just slightly, into me, waiting. I hear the traffic, the clock ticking, Kaitlyn breathing raspily through her mouth.

“For Christ’s sake,” blurts my dad, “get on with it!”

Mom shoots him a look.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” he says again, but sits back. Paul sighs. I don’t let it ruin the moment; I start again.

“I have something important I want to say. I couldn’t say it before, but now I can. I don’t have to keep it secret anymore.” I smile.

Mom smiles back.

“Shit, Jason, don’t—” Marianne says.

“I’m gay.”

When you flip on a lightbulb and then turn it off again, the image hangs there, in front of your eyes, like the smiles on the faces of my family do now. That’s okay. I know what’s coming. I grin even harder. Any second, they’ll be up and hugging me, jumping around and happy, like Davy getting Fritz. My mother will have one less thing to worry about. One less family secret.

That image fades. All eyes turn blurry, like when Grandma’s old dog died; the light in them disappears, pulled back.

I still smile. I can’t seem to stop.

In the room, absolute stillness, except the pounding of my heart. Finally, my dad stands and my heart slows a bit—he’ll fix it. He can fix anything. He’s my dad. He has a chair set up in the garage, just for me.

“Well, son,” his voice is low. He blows air out of pursed lips. He doesn’t look at me. “I guess it’s between you and your mother now.”

“Dad?” My voice is tiny.

He won’t turn. He doesn’t say good-bye. He won’t look at me, Mom, Paul, anyone. He lifts his coat from the rack, opens the front door, and disappears.

“That was stupid,” Paul says to me, close up by my face so only I hear. “Really stupid.” Marianne takes his arm and they head for the front door too. Davy’s mouth hangs open. Kaitlyn looks at Jesus, crosses herself. My mother’s a statue. I become one too. The door closes behind Paul; Marianne looks back into the room. Finally, Mom speaks.

“Go to your rooms. Pray for your brother.”

“Look, Mom—” Marianne starts.

“NOW.”

They leave without another sound. Marianne catches my eyes and sends a kiss with her lips. It almost looks like she’s crying.