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CHAPTER TEN:

"As soon as I felt the melting stare of two pairs of eyes on us, I reluctantly but quickly ceased the kiss and turned to face owners of the gaping eyes. When I saw that they were Margery and Timothy, I immediately knew that my whole life was about to fall shattering down before me.

At first, we friends simply stared at one another with no words spoken between us and no sounds but the soft music playing inside and the sporadic pipe of a cricket outside. I, for a moment, looked past Margery and Timothy to the closed doors of the auditorium that I wished I had never left, to the closed doors of a world I knew I would never be a part of again.

Then Timothy spoke. 'Wayl—Smithers, I always knew that you were a queer in disguise, but…Ned?' The devastation and disgust in his voice was more evident than ever before as he glared at Ned with sad, judgmental eyes. As much as Timothy acted like Ned exasperated him at times, everyone could see that without Ned, Timothy was just another lonely boy who would have probably gone home every day to read his Bible and play with his toy trains in seclusion. To lose Ned would be to lose everything. At least that was one thing that Timothy and I had in common, if probably the only thing we ever would.

Ned immediately began to stutter as he said, 'No, no, Timothy, I'm not…He kiss—…I mean…it was…'

I then looked away desolately and mumbled, 'I kissed him, Timothy. And it's obvious that…it was a one-way thing. Leave him alone.'

Timothy countered, 'I don't think it was so obvious.' This gave me a bit of hope, but hope for reciprocation didn't really mean anything to me then. I then felt the cold stare of Margery's eyes on me. She had said nothing since she had seen it, and I couldn't bear to look at her now. Instead, losing all control of my physical actions, I found myself running. Away from the school, away from the parking lot, away from the girlfriend I betrayed, and away from the friend that I might have ruined. Unfortunately, I knew that no matter how quickly I moved my feet and no matter how great a distance I covered, I could not run away from the one thing that I most wanted to: myself.

I knew in my heart that running away was not the answer. I knew that it was probably the most cowardly thing I could have done, leaving Ned to answer to Margery and Timothy for the sin I committed. But I was beginning to realize that that is who I was: a coward. That's actually how I still am; I've never been able to conquer this spinelessness. In my current life, whenever I attempt to do something bold, I always push it under the rug afterward and hope to never speak of it again, too afraid that it will mirror the aftermath of my first kiss with Ned. It's all rooted in that. And it's pathetic that something that happened when I was a mere child would affect me even as a middle-aged man, but it's the truth."

"It's not all at uncommon, Mr. Smithers, for events in your adolescence to dictate your personal patterns for even the rest of your life, especially if the event itself or its consequences were self-inflicted," said Dr. Smith, taking a break from her unremittingly scribbling on that fateful pad of lined paper.

I nodded at her response. "Well, they certainly were self-inflicted. But the worst part was that these problems weren't only inflicted on me; they affected everyone around me. On the night of the dance , after running away and wandering around for quite some time in deep contemplation of what happened, I ended up back at my house, which I had planned to quietly enter in attempts to reach my bed swiftly and try to drown out the night in a good, old-fashioned session of crying myself to sleep.

However, as I opened the door, I was surprised to see my father still awake, sitting upright on the couch watching the television. He glanced up at me and smiled as I walked in. 'Waylon, you're back from the dance already?' he asked curiously.

I was definitely not in the mood to talk to anyone and I was not in the mood to lie either, but alas, I stammered, 'The dance was kind of a bust. It wasn't as cool as we thought it would be, so we decided to leave early and get some late dinner.'

My dad accepted this response thankfully effortlessly and said, 'Well, I'm sorry to hear that it wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but at least you still had fun with your friends, right?'

I nodded and attempted a smile. 'Yeah, we still had fun. Um…but I'm rather tuckered out, so I think I'll be going to bed now.'

'Bed? Waylon, it's only 8:00. Come sit with me and watch this. It's a documentary about the ancient days of Mesopotamia,' offered my dad.

Afraid that I wouldn't be able to sit through another minute without tears trilling down my cheeks, I hesitated and considered just saying no to my father. But then I realized that this could very well be my last chance in my life to be happy with him. Tomorrow the news of my audacious display of sin would likely get around to him, and I could not even imagine what would happen when it did. This was my last chance to see my dad smile at me, to see him genuinely love me, and so I ambled over to the couch and sat beside him.

My stomach and heart felt sickened and constricted with the knowledge that this was it for me and my father. Every second that went by could never be attained again. It felt like all of the walls of the room were closing in around us with every moment; I knew I had to use my time wisely, but I couldn't think of much to say. Fortunately, my dad could.

'So, Waylon, how did Margery look tonight?' asked my dad.

I swallowed hard. 'She looked…' Repulsed. Heartbroken. '…simply gorgeous, Dad. As always.'

My dad smiled proudly. 'You got one great girl there, my boy. And you know what? She's got one great guy,' he said as he ruffled my hair playfully.

I felt my eyes become deltas. 'Thank you, Daddy,' I whispered. My dad laid a hand on me, a hand of loving. He hadn't beaten me since I was 10, but I knew that soon that statistic would be updated.

'Waylon, I've been thinking lately…I mean, this is your first real formal dance. You're in high school now, and it just seems like the time has flown so fast,' my dad began wistfully. 'And I was just thinking about you and the person you've become. You're almost an adult now, and it just…it's overwhelming to think about, isn't it?'

'It really is,' I answered. Words were lost on me completely.

My dad shifted a bit uncomfortably on the couch and then looked in my eyes. 'I want you to know that I'm proud of you, Waylon. There was a time that I was very scared for what kind of man you'd become, but seeing you how you are now, my fears have vanished. You're exactly now who I hope you'll always be. I love you.'

At that moment, I turned to my dad and began to weep in his arms. He stared at me with shock and genuine concern. 'Waylon, Waylon, what's the matter? Stop crying.' There was now a bit of edge in his voice, shame of my exhibit of what he considered effeminacy.

So, I tried to stop my lamentation and sniffed, 'I'm sorry, I just…I just wish that…' I looked up at him. 'Dad, will you always love me?'

Taken aback, my dad answered, 'Yes, of course. Why would you ask me that?'

I shook a bit in his arms and stuttered, 'What if I were to have done something that…what if I wasn't…?'

'Waylon, you're not speaking coherently. What are you trying to tell me?' demanded my dad.

I couldn't do it. I was too afraid, once again. I just couldn't bring myself to have this conversation, not now. I wasn't ready to greet a fresh scar in the morning. 'Nothing. Nothing. I'm sorry. I guess I'm just...I guess I just don't feel very well. I should go to bed.'

I slowly released myself from my dad's arms and strode to the stairwell, looking back at him as he continued to stare in confusion at me. 'Dad, I love you. I really do,' I tittered.

'And I love you, Waylon. Are you sure that nothing is wrong?' he asked a last time before I replied, 'Yes, I'm just tired. Good night, Dad.'

Entering my room soon, I collapsed on my bed and buried my face into my pillow. After a good long time of crying, I sat up and stared across the room into a mirror. I was a complete and utter mess. I looked into my own eyes and slowly said, 'God damn you. God damn you, you fag. I hate you. I hate you so much.' I then looked to my desk and took the baseball that sat upon it, the baseball Ned gave me on my twelfth birthday, the baseball my dad liked to throw to me in the cool dampness of early summer evenings. I took this treasured item and with it destroyed the image of the person I hated most, wishing it were that easy to destroy the living me that the pane of glass only dutifully reflected."