Page 27 of Reaching Roland

Feeling bad I even brought it up, I said, “You don't have to tell me if you don't want to.” It had been such a lovely evening, I didn't want to bring down the tone making him relive an unhappy memory. No matter how much I wanted to know.

“No, it's okay. It's just… when I was young, Little Beach Bay was not the most progressive place in the world. Sure, everyone was fine with the people who flooded our boardwalk and beaches. No one gave a crap about their race or sexuality, only the color of their money.”

I nodded. “I get that. Those little towns depend on tourism.”

Kenny gave one sharp nod of his head. “Exactly. It was different for us locals, though. There was never any doubt in my mind that I shouldn't admit to being gay. Not that I hid it very well, but I was careful.”

I turned, hiking my leg up on the couch so that I was facing him. “But you came out eventually?”

“I did. My first year of high school, actually,” he said with a pained smile.

“Why?” I asked softly. Kenny clutched his hands together in his lap, and I wanted to scoot over and comfort him. Would that be weird? Probably, so I held back.

“If I hadn't already known instinctively to hide the fact I was gay, I would've known by the way Scott Holland was treated. He was a senior that year, and he’d had a reputation around town for years. He'd come out in middle school, and even though people taunted and made fun of him, even the adults around town, he held his head high. I had so much damn respect for him.”

My heart hurt for the young man. The thought of anyone picking on Cameron made me see red, and I’d never forgive myself for those lost years with Indie when he needed us. “I'd never have tolerated that. And his parents didn't say anything?”

Kenny shrugged. “I don't really know. I was too young to really be aware of those kinds of dynamics. But I knew that Scott was a sweet kid because my dad adored him. He’d been coming into my dad's barber shop since he was a little boy.”

“So your dad knew him well?” I asked.

“As well as you can in that type of situation.” He grinned at me. “You don’t usually become besties with the people in your chair.” I winked in reply, and he flushed. Then he continued, “I actually talked to Scott whenever we were both in the shop, but outside of that, like at school, he was standoffish. He had one friend, this goth girl, Fern, who, as you can imagine, suffered the same treatment as him with her deathly-looking attire and dark makeup. I thought she looked cool as hell and had great style, but honestly”—he wrinkled his nose—“she scared me a little.”

I nodded in understanding.

He rolled his hand in front of him. “Anyway…” He cleared his throat. “I woke up one Sunday morning, and my parents were both crying. It completely freaked me out, but it was more than that. There was so much fear in my mother's eyes.”

“Something happened to Scott?” I guessed, worried that I knew where this story was going.

“He committed suicide,” Kenny whispered. “He hung himself the night before.”

I couldn't take the pain etched on his face for a moment longer, and I repositioned myself next to him, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and tucking him in close. “Oh, Kenny. I'm so sorry.”

He nestled in. “All I could think that day was, I should have tried harder to be his friend. I didn't care that he was gay, obviously. And I wouldn’t have cared about people seeing me talking to him. Yeah, it probably would've made my fabulousness more apparent, but I always felt so bad for him. And let’s face it, people were just ignoring what was plain to see when it came to me.”

“I can see that.”

“So that Monday at school, they directed us all straight to the gymnasium. Several parents had shown up with their kids, and the school had brought in counselors and some of those therapy dogs.”

“Therapy dogs?” I asked, surprised. “That was progressive of them back then.”

Kenny snorted. “It's just because we have a man in town who lives on the outskirts of town and trains them.”

“Okay, that makes more sense.”

“Yeah, I'm not even sure if he was really there out of true compassion or if he was using it as a marketing opportunity.” He shrugged against me. “I've actually never thought about that until now. I wonder…”

He trailed off, and I waited him out. He shuddered, then said, “The principal stood up that morning and yammered on about how he knew it was a trying time for all of us, and then the school counselor did her little spiel. Daddy, I have to tell you the truth, our school counselor was a fucking bitch.”

That startled a burst of laughter out of me. “Tell me how you really feel, shortcake.”

He giggled, and I was happy for the moment of levity. “So there we were, with my fellow students. Everyone was so sad and girls were crying all over the place, and I was so angry.”

“Can you tell me why?” I had a feeling I knew. That type of hypocrisy never sat well with me, either.

He repositioned himself enough to meet my gaze while staying close. His hands clenched into fists in his lap. “They'd never been kind to him. I searched for Fern, but she wasn't there that day.” His voice dropped as he went on. “I'm glad she wasn't, too. If it pissed me off, I can only imagine how it would’ve made her feel.” He sighed. “I'm not saying that the reality of someone our age committing suicide hadn't impacted them, but there were actually people wailing his name. Daddy, how? How could they make it about them? About their own need to be seen when his young life was cut short?”

I pushed his hair back from his forehead and tucked a piece behind his ear. “I'm not sure, shortcake. Human nature sometimes…” Now it was my turn to trail off, and I shook my head as I thought of Bart and what he'd done to my sweet Indie. I’d never understand how anyone could be so cold and cruel.

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