The Lies We Tell Ourselves
The sandpaper colored walls threatened to turn a brighter hue as the sun playfully poked its rays through the cracked blinds. Tiny glimmers of sunlight spilled from the windowsill, onto the floor and quietly made their way to the bed in the center of the room. In less than fifteen minutes, one half of the room would be completely covered by the uninvited light. In less than fifteen minutes, the symbol that a new day was actually starting would become an unmistakable reality. In less than fifteen minutes, the lies would start again.
The large king sized bed, rested untouched in the center of the room. The creamy down comforter was still perfectly folded at the foot of the bed and the Egyptian cotton sheets still showed off their perfect hospital corners. The pillows, eight of them, where neatly stacked in two piles on both sides, just begging for a tired soul to rest their weary head upon them.
The room itself was relatively quiet, save for the gentle hum of the ceiling fan from above. As the wooden blades spun round and round, the golden chain dangling from the center rocked back and forth slowly. It was hypnotizing. The ceiling fan alone was like a Syringe's lure, beckoning any and all that stepped into the room to watch it, feel their eyelids grow heavy and take relaxation in the bed below. That was the room's selling point; that is how it always got them. No one could resist the tranquility of the room. No one that is, except him.
Dave Batista sat quietly in the darkened corner of the room, watching the sun slowly creep across half of the bed. At that very point in time, his baby brown eyes watched as nature divided the room into halves. Half was light, illuminated by the sun. That half was the good, showing it was truly touched by divinity. It was warm and inviting. It made everyone want to be where it landed. The other half of the room was cloaked in darkness. Dark was where evil happened, where souls were corrupted and torments grew. Darkness was good for hiding and dying. Darkness is where Dave Batista found himself sitting.
The gentle flicker from the muted television did little to brighten the dark half of the room. The gentle color wheel of red, green and blue danced softly off of the shadowed wall and bounced toward the oversized cushioned chair in the corner. His eyes were in a straight line with the images on the screen, yet his brain could not process anything he was seeing. Absently, the gentle brown orbs moved as flashes of colored pixels gather together at precise points to create moving pictures. Only the occasional blink disrupted the view and forced the eyes to refocus within milliseconds.
Breathing evenly, he also hadn't noticed that his hand played with the Buddhist beads adorning his right wrist. His large manicured hand gently rolled each bead separately, starting at the tip of the pads of his fingers and descending down to the first joint. Each bead relaxed the tension in his hand that would otherwise be clinched into a fist.
Without fail the gentle vibrating from the table next to the bed forced Dave to close his eyes and breathe deeply. Taking an audible gasp from his mouth and exhaling it through his nose, Dave felt his lungs cleanse and the uneasiness of his stomach started to dissipate. He slowly let his eyes drag over to the table and watched as the cellular phone moved merrily around with each buzz of the ringer. The blue LCD screen brought more light to the dark side of the room. Light that he was not yet ready to deal with.
His bare feet dug into the plush carpet as he stood. A man of statuesque proportions in height, build and sexual prowess, should never be this afraid of a ringing telephone. His body was sculpted to perfection. Each muscle and striation from his neck down to his feet, showed years of patience and hard work. His stature and demeanor put fear in the hearts of men and small children, while his gentle brown eyes melted the hearts of women from shore to shore. Dave Batista was a god among men, but he knew what was on the other end of that phone had the power to revert him back into a little boy by just saying hello.
Feeling the cool air from the ceiling fan circulating on his bare skin, Dave shuttered from the chill. Whether it was the chill of the room or the dread of answering the phone, he still did not know. Stuffing his hand into the pocket of his blue dress pants, he took the three steps toward the nightstand, paying particular attention to way his unfastened belt jingled with each shift of his weight.
He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly before letting his hand touch the object that he feared. With a sigh and a rapid heartbeat, he did the deed of answering the call. "Hey." His deep baritone vibrated in his throat as he spoke. It use to be so easy to pretend, but he found it getting harder. Hearing the muffled sounds through the receiver he could almost imagine what was going on, on the other end.
A soft giggle danced through the airwaves followed by movement. "Daddy? Mommy said I have to wake you up. Are you up, Daddy?" The impish child, known as Libby sounded so alert this early in the morning.
Taking the death walk back to his darkened corner of the room, Dave nodded his head. "I'm up, Munchkin. Thanks for calling." He could see her sparkling dark eyes and sandy blonde hair bobbing happily as she talked. Her round cherub face was probably broken out into a massive smile at hearing her father's voice. A child of five, Libby was what most would refer to as a daddy's girl. She was the epitome of femininity, just like her mother. She had probably been singing as she skipped through the house, asking her mother several times if it was time to call him yet. The thought made him smile and twisted the knife in his gut that much deeper.
"Good. Nick thought it was his turn, but he called you yesterday. So what'cha doing?" Nick, Dave's oldest was at the tender age of eight. He was becoming a man before his eyes. Looking more like his mother everyday, Dave could see why the girls in his second grade class swooned over the young boy.
"Nothing…just talking to you." Dave closed his eyes and tried to envision the house that he left a week ago. The four bedroom house, sitting on an acre of land, bustled with life. Every room told a story and felt warm and inviting. There was always laughter and the sounds of children playing. His home was like something out of Norman Rockwell painting, it was truly the American dream.
His son's room was decorated in WWII airplanes and a large bomber mobile hung from the ceiling. The book shelf was decorated with dinosaurs and trucks and the blue paint and grey trim gave the room a definite masculine feel. He could vividly remember countless hours of reading Harry Potter to his young son on his very small bed. Not that Dave minded the minor discomfort. Just across the hall, the shrimp pink décor of Libby's humble abode brought forth the feminine charms of a miniature temptress. Her white canopy bed, decorated in a Barbie motif, aligned with stuff animals and baby dolls, reminded Dave of just how much of a little girl she was. The time spent in that room, was where Dave watched countless impromptu ballet recitals and read books about ponies and unicorns.
So different his children were. Different from each other. Different from him.
"I gotta go eat breakfast. My bus will be here soon and I'm taking a doll of you to show and tell. I love you, Daddy." Libby's soft voice filled and broke his heart all in the same instance. Her youthful spirit didn't deserve the heartache that he was destined to inflict upon it.
Feeling the pain in his chest, Dave struggled to find his voice. "I love you, too, Munchkin. Have a good day at school."
"Here's Mommy."
His heart threatened to beat out of his chest. Everyday, he put himself through this torture. He had managed to lie to himself and everyone around him for so long that he actually started to believe. But the time apart, the solitude of traveling and endless nights staying awake, staring blankly at a television, and dreading morning because the phone was going to ring, brought those feeling back to the surface.
"Hey, baby." He had known Lorrie for the better part of fifteen years. They were friends and should have never been more than that. But her ash blonde hair and big green eyes, made it hard not to see the beauty in her. She had the best spirit and was a woman that stuck by him no matter what. But, her soft voice was like a prickly caress to his skin and her feminine wilds threatened to turn his stomach. He had turned his friend into a trophy wife. She was the woman that would have and raise his children and keep him from dealing with his real life.
Just hearing that term of endearment from her lips hurt his soul. She didn't warrant what he was feeling. He loved her, but not the way that a husband should love his wife after ten years of marriage. He loved her as a friend, as a person that he shared his life with. Dave loved Lorrie; he was not in love with her. "Hey to you. How are you feeling?"
"Better. The morning sickness is finally gone. Thank God." She placed her hand on her growing belly and smiled to herself. Having another baby with the man that she loved more than anything was a blessing. Her greatest joy in life was being Dave's wife and the mother to his children. Their family was perfect. He was perfect. The life that she shared with him was her happily ever after. He was all of her fairytale princes rolled up into one man.
One man with a secret.
It was ironic. His name, David Michael, exuded strength. David became a king and the leader of God's followers. He was a small boy whose inner strength helped him battle Goliath. He backed down from nothing and ruled with his heart. Michael was an Archangel. He was the messenger for God himself. His virtue was treasured in all of Heaven while he was revered here on earth. David Michael Batista was named after them both, yet he showed none of the qualities of his name sakes. David Michael Batista was a fraud.
"I'm glad." How did he let it get this far? Two children already and another on the way? Didn't his wife understand that he had to physically psyche himself and prepare days in advance to be with her? Did she know that he felt like he would be sick every time they made love. Why didn't she notice that he always closed his eyes when he was intimate with her? Didn't she ever wonder why he would take such long hot showers afterwards? It wasn't to cleanse his body, but more to cleanse his conscious and his soul. Couldn't she feel him hold back when they kissed?
So many nights in their champagne colored bedroom, he would lie away, absently running his hand over her head as it rested on his chest. He noticed how the closet doors were always closed, just like the closet of his heart. Lorrie took the time to make their room their sanctuary. It was peaceful, right down to non-threating colors. The suede drapes were always pulled three-quarters of the way closed, allowing just enough sun into the room without it being overwhelming. The damn sun again. Dave never feared the sun as much as he did when he was at home, lying in bed with his wife. The sun was going to show her who he really was and he didn't know if he could take that.
"Me too. Look baby, I gotta pack lunches and I've got a conference call in an hour." This was the routine. Everyday, she'd have the children call to wake him, and she would talk to him for a few minutes, listening to the distance in his voice and wonder what was on his mind. "Are you busy tonight? Can you call me when you get settled in…" She checked the refrigerator for his schedule, "Vancouver?"
Dave breathed a sigh of relief. At least he would have hours to prepare for their next conversation. "Sure thing. Have a good day."
"You too. I love you."
Clinching his hand into a fist, Dave fought the rise of bile creeping into his throat. It had to get better. "I love you, too." He closed the phone and let the horrific communication device fall to the plush carpet beneath him. Another conversation was muddled through. Now maybe he could finally get some sleep.
Stripping his pants from his heavily muscled legs, he climbed on top of the bed and watched the blades of the hypnotic ceiling fan turn. As if turning on a counter backward in his mind, all of the images of his life ran in rewind, until his eyes finally closed and could start at the beginning.
He understood at fourteen that something about him was different. He struggled everyday with the feelings he had. His hasty exodus from the sun's rays started all of those years ago. That's when he learned to paint a smile on his face and pretend that everything was fine. He found living for someone else filled the void in his heart that not living for himself had created. It became second nature to pretend and he had done it for so long that he didn't know if he could stop, although he wanted to. Dave learned to be an actor. He deserved awards for how well he played the boy with the perfect family and the perfect life. There was no one he could talk to, not even in his technicolor memory. His existence on the inside was always lonely and quiet. And then he met Lorrie.
Everyone said that they were going to get married and so they did. He fulfilled every request that the world around him mapped out. It wasn't until after the birth of his son that Dave realized he was living a lie. What if one day, that beautiful baby boy started to question who he was? What would he say? Would he tell him to be someone else, just to please the masses? Or would he tell him to be who he was?
There was no way he could answer those questions. Not when he hadn't come to terms with who David Batista was. To the outside world, he was a virile, attractive, happily married, family man. But on the inside, he was a garbled mess of conflicting emotions, slowly dying from denying who he was.
His career depended on him to be masculine. His fans would accept nothing less. His family depended on him to be the head. They needed his strength for their own survival. But Dave's heart depended on him to be honest, because it was threatening to drown from sorrow.
Everyday, he faced this demon; never had he acted on it. For the better part of thirty-seven years, Dave lived as everyone else demanded and it turned his world to black. Yet somehow, someway, the small glimmer of hope outshined all of the cloudiness, insecurity, shame and doubt. Dave was going to do something about the man that he was. He was going to shallow his fear and allow himself to be the man that was meant to be. And if the world couldn't accept it, he hoped that he could find, just one person that could. He was scared, but fear trumped death and he had been dead inside for so long already.
He didn't expect anyone to understand. He had lived his whole life for everyone else. Finally, it was going to be his turn. It took countless quiet mornings in front of a muted television to come to terms that his lie of a life was consuming him. Now, it would take countless mornings of soul searching before a quiet slumber to convince him that it was gonig to be alright. Dave needed to learn to be Dave and accept everything that came with it. And as he laid on the bed, completely warmed by the sun's cleansing rays, he was finally able to do something that he could not do before.
Dave Batista, admitted to himself that he was gay.