But You Still Hope
Disclaimer: I don't own Queer as Folk. What a shame.
It's time, you think as you walk in through the front door, setting your backpack down at the side. It's been a long day at school and all you really want to do is sleep. But you've been thinking, and you think that maybe, just maybe, this is the time to tell your parents. To tell your parents what the rest of the world already seems to know. Or, at least, the entire school knows. You're pretty sure the rest of the world doesn't even know who you are or care about you.
Regardless of who knows and who doesn't, it is time to formally come out to your parents. You just don't really know how. And it eats at you. You hope that they won't care, that they'll accept you despite who you sexually desire. But you've heard horror stories. You know that some people are rejected, disowned, that some families refuse to accept the truth, that some families completely ignore, alienate their child to prevent hearing what they don't want to.
And you know that this will hurt more than any of the punches the kids at school throw at you. But you still hope.
So you simply stand there, in the hallway, contemplating your next course of action. But you're drawing a blank. You'd like to pretend that your parents will love you no matter what, come what may, rain or shine. But you're a realist. You know that your parents have always been fixated on creating a fantasy world of perfection. You smile grimly. You have a feeling that homosexuality doesn't exactly fit into their perfect world. But you still hope.
And despite the fact that you're a realist, you also have faith in humanity. You believe that humanity will better itself...eventually. You hope that, in the face of differing views, your parents will be able to still accept you as a human being. As their son. Because, at the end of the day, you believe that most people chose the right things in their heart, but act on what society is telling them. This is what you believe in. This is what you have put your faith in. For, without faith in something, you feel lost. So you grab onto your faith in people and take the first steps into the living room, where you find your mom and dad.
They're sitting on the couch, your mother reading and your father watching the 5 o'clock news. You glance at it and sigh, not really knowing why you bother. It's another story about how some small child was killed in his neighborhood. It seems like there truly is no good left in mankind, but you still hope.
"Mom...Dad," you begin, your voice sounding small and timid. You feel like a small child who had just been caught pulling Mary-Anne's pigtails.
Your mother immediately looks up at you, concern in her face as she sets her book aside. Your father stares a the television for a moment more before putting it on mute, giving you his seemingly undivided attention. But you know that his eyes will occasionally flit towards the screen during the conversation, and you inwardly sigh. But you still hope.
"Is something wrong?" your mother asks, sounding as concerned as she looks. You feel a rush of gratitude towards her, with indescribable affection.
"Well, no," you stumble and take a deep breath to steady your nerves. For a moment you have second thoughts. After all, tomorrow is just as good a time to tell them. In fact it might be better. It would give you more time to prepare...
But you know that you're just lying to yourself, and badly. You know that you could spend years trying to find the correct way to tell your parents. And you know that you would end up in the same exact position that you're in now. Scared, uncertain, and lonely. Oh god, you feel so lonely.
"But I do have something to tell you," you finish, looking down at the floor, examining your shoes. You need new ones. You've had these shoes for years, and they're dirty and falling apart. Then you remember why you're standing here to begin with.
With effort, you tear your eyes away from your shoes and meet your mom's eyes, and then turn to meet your dad's eyes.
"What's wrong?" your mom's gentle voice breaks through your worries and you smile slightly in her direction. Your father is merely staring at you coldly, trying to read you.
"Nothing is wrong, it's just..." It's just what? You're gay? You like men? You want to be with men, to kiss men, to sleep with men?
You begin to shrink back from your parents just slightly. Your father's all but glaring at you now and you suddenly know. No matter what you say, he won't understand. No matter what your mother says, he won't care. No matter how much it hurts, no matter how wrong it is, you'll be homeless in a few hours. You can see it written all over his face. He knows what you're going to say, and he simply doesn't care.
But you still hope.
"Well, I was thinking...a lot. About myself that is." You pause. You could end this now. Avoid the alienation, the pain. You could leave now, forget this crazy idea. There's nothing stopping you. Except for the immense disappointment that you know you would feel if you don't tell them. Not disappointment in them, no, disappointment in yourself. So you continue, "I was wondering why all of my friends would be interested in girls already, and I didn't care about them at all. And I thought about it, and have been thinking about it...Mom, Dad...I'm gay."
Silence.
Time stands still. You're still there standing, and your parents remain seated. You shift nervously. Your mother and father stare at you for a moment, as if they didn't hear you. Then the realization of your words seem to hit them as their faces turn from one of blank surprise to one of mild horror and disbelief. You grimace slightly and suppress the urge to flinch, as if hit. You realize that your worst case scenario has indeed occurred and you brace yourself for the fight. But you still hope.
Then, in an instant, your dad is standing and pacing around the room, waving his arms to emphasize his point. You don't hear all that he's screaming about, but choice words stick out to you.
Faggot.
Useless.
Damn it
Hate
Disgusting.
You hear it all and close your eyes against the tirade that is being hurled at you. But that doesn't block out the words that hit you like blows with a baseball bat.
Opening your eyes, you gaze around the room anxiously, trying to find a friendly eye. But your father doesn't even look at you- he's too ashamed- and your mother seems to be comatose. So you stand there, bearing the brunt of the verbal attack. A verbal attack that was provoked by mere honesty.
And you find it almost funny. A blind man isn't rejected by his family because he can't see. It isn't his fault. A mentally challenged child isn't anything less than fantastic to the eyes of a parent. It isn't the child's fault. A black woman isn't shunned by her loved ones. It isn't her fault.
Yet, you stand here and endure abuse for being who you are. For being someone that they don't want you to be. For being something that you can't help but be. So you're gay...it's not your fault.
Eventually the yelling stops and now all you can hear is the ringing silence, and occasional sniffles from your mother. She's crying, but you don't know why. You finally dare to look back up at your father, who is staring back at you- no, over your shoulder- with blind hatred on his face. Unwillingly, you cringe back from it, not saying anything. But you still hope.
You still fucking hope.
Even when your father points toward the door, growling "GO", you still hope that he'll call you back and apologize.
You shoot one last glance at your mother, hoping that she'll look up, but she doesn't. You walk to the door, looking back, hoping to see remorse on your dad's face, but you don't. So with your head bowed, you walk up the stairs to gather some of your things.
You don't know where you're going and you don't really care. You just throw clothing and a sketchpad into a backpack and sling it over your shoulder and quickly walk back down the stairs to leave.
For some odd reason, though, you pause in the doorway of the living room.
They're sitting on the couch, your mother reading and your father watching the 7 o'clock news. It's like you had never had the conversation. But you know you're not welcome. But you can't help yourself when you step in and mutter a soft "good bye". You know that your father will ignore you and that your mother simply burst into tears again. They won't ask you stay. They won't reconsider their stance. But you still hope.
So you leave their house and make your way to Liberty Ave. You know you could leave for good and you momentarily consider New York. But the idea is quickly dismissed. No, you'll stay close. This is your home. Because a home was never four walls and roof, but it was more. It was a place of comfort and love, of trust and hope. No, you won't stray far from Pitsburgh. You need to stay close, just in case. After all, people change and you're not willing to give up on humanity just yet. And you still hope.