Page 46 of Summer of the Boy

We keep up the phone conversation the whole way to the courthouse where I find him standing out front waiting on me. I roll up for him to hop in. Rid and I lean into each other for a quick kiss before I peel out again.

First things first, clearing out twenty years of oppression from his mother’s house while the woman is supposed to be back at work.

Of course, she’s not at work.

Why do people insist on making situations harder than they need to be? All she had to do was stay away. Ridley won’t even look at her. But he openly holds my hand as we walk into the house. He’d spent the last couple of days collecting boxes. We march right up to his room to begin packing.

Amanda once again shows up to the rescue to help us pack. I use the time between my hug and cheek kiss, and her giving Rid his hug and cheek kiss, to reaffirm my promise to be a better friend to the woman. After everything, she still has my back. Doesn’t need to, no one would blame her if she didn’t. Yet, here she is having my back.

A few hours in, the room looks a shell of the room we’d first walked into. His entire life packed up in boxes. One call to my parents later and we’re done, well, just about done. All it’ll take for us to be done is to move the boxes to the front lawn and wait.

Lugging box after box down the stairs, the tedious job takes place by the three of us all while Ms. McAllister stands off to side by the wall in her living room, her arms folded over her chest. She looks to have been crying but as bad as it makes me, I couldn’t get myself to care. Rid is upstairs and Amanda’s outside when she catches me.

“Leif?”

Despite my better judgement, I turn to look at the woman knowing these will be the last words I’ll allow her speak to me for a while, if not forever.

“Don’t take my son from me,” she whispers.

“I’m not taking him. You sent him away.”

After our little run-in, I don’t dally outside, dropping the box next to Amanda and dashing back inside. Rid’s inside and although he stood up to Gabe for us, his mom might be a different story. Especially if she turns on the waterworks. It’s ingrained in guys, we aren’t programmed to deal with female tears. Women know it. Women have been using it to their advantage against us for years, probably since time began.

When I get back in, Rid’s carrying two boxes down the steps. I run up, make the shift of one of those boxes to my empty arms and slowly make the trek back down. Him just two steps behind. Posed photos of Ridley at every age line the wall of the stairs. So unlike the ones my mom has back home. She only ever wanted natural, organically captured pictures. Capturing not just an age, but a memory of a fun or milestone time. Ms. McAllister has none of that. Nothing natural or organically captured. All posed. Just Rid. She and Rid. A few with other people, I’m assuming are relatives. Maybe one of those is his cousin Jordan that he told me about.

And it hits me. My original assessment of the situation was right. But at the same time, it was wrong. Not accepting Ridley being gay has nothing to do with Ridley being gay, or not completely. She’s worried about appearances. What other people think. My mood shifts with this realization. I’m no longer angry with her. I’m disappointed. Disappointed because now I have no way to know if she homeschooled Rid because she thought it was best for him, which being autistic, it wasn’t, or if it was best for her.

Keep the flesh and blood kid with issues hidden. Put on the façade for the world. Posed family portraits. Polos, golf shorts and Keds. Now that he’s of age and she’s unable to hide him any longer, the only thing missing would be the pretty girl on his arm. All about appearances.

I glance over my shoulder at him. He peeks over the edge of the box granting me a Ridley Smile. Damn, he must have been so lonely growing up. I feel my face drop and I know he sees it because his face drops. So I suck it up and mouth, “I love you.” To which his face doesn’t just perk back up, but goes megawatt with the amount of love radiating off him.

Since these are the last two boxes, we have no reason to come back. As he passes, Ms. McAllister holds her hand out to him, tears shimmering in her eyes. “Ridley.”

He pauses a moment, not giving her the chance to speak. “You should call Mr. Trucker. He wants to date you.” That’s all he’s willing to give her. We move out the front door single file then drop side to side. Slowing the pace. And I know he’s drained. He did what he had to do, but it’s drained his beautiful spirit.

“Stop Rid,” I order. Setting my box on the ground, he follows suit and looks to me to make him feel better. I don’t know if I have that power, but do the only thing that might work, and hug him. A long, strong embrace. Nothing more than a reassuring transfer of love from me to him. When he wraps his arms around me, I think he gets it. When he squeezes harder, I know he gets it, absorbing everything I aim to transfer.

The scene must be crushing for someone like Ms. McAllister, someone whose whole life revolves around outward appearances. Her gay, autistic son hugging his boyfriend on the front lawn. What would the neighbors think?

A rumbling diesel engine from my dad’s pickup signals it’s time to end our embrace. Not that I want to. My folks pull up along the curb in front of the house. My dad hops out and immediately starts hefting boxes into the truck bed. Amanda jumps right in to help. Me and Rid stare at the scene before my brain kick-starts propelling my feet forward. I use my chin to gesture Rid forward, where his brain kick-starts his feet too.

We spend the next ten minutes filling the truck bed. Amazing how hours of work packing only takes minutes to stack. When we’ve finished, we invite Amanda back to my parent’s house for dinner. As Rid and my dad secure the tarp over the stacked boxes, my mom jogs up to Ms. McAllister, placing her hand on the woman’s shoulder, she leans in to say something. Ms. McAllister doesn’t respond in any way. Yet another missed opportunity. Again, I’m disappointed.

Amanda is the first to pull away, followed by my parents. Rid and I climb into my car. I ask him if he wants to drive but he shakes his head in the negative, never tearing his eyes away from his mother still standing on the front lawn. Is he waiting for her to come to him? She doesn’t. Only stares back at him.

Happy freaking birthday. Here’s your present Rid. With conditions. Your new life awaits, though you have to completely cut ties with the old one, the only one you’ve known, in order to receive it. I don’t know if the universe listens to birthday wishes made by third party wishers, but watching Ridley watching his mom, and knowing there’s nothing I can do to ease this kind of heartbreak, I make my third party wish to the universe that his mom will get her head out of her ass someday, sooner than later. Maybe, hopefully, try to repair what she’s broken. Seeing her blank face, I’m doubtful. But for Rid, I have to hope. Even if she did have me arrested.

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