Page 118 of Something Like Winter
Thomas cleared his throat. “If you have all this money, then why have we been paying your tuition?”
“I’ll pay you back, I don’t care. Just listen to me. Eric was a good person, and we weren’t more than friends, but we loved each other. The thing you need to know about Eric, even though it shouldn’t matter, is that he was gay.”
“Oh, Tim,” his mother said as if Tim had been conned or coerced.
“I wasn’t with him like that.”
“Of course you weren’t!” his father nearly shouted. “But he was obviously deluded enough to think he could buy you.”
Tim clamped down on his anger. “Do you remember Ben? From back in high school. He had dinner with us that one night.”
His mother nodded, and when she spoke, her voice was quiet. “They called his name at the graduation ceremony.” She still remembered him, and that confirmed that she had always wondered.
“As you know, he’s gay too, and he and Eric are about the best people I’ve ever met in my life. And I know you’re not going to want to hear this, Mom, but the Bible is wrong. Or maybe people have changed it or twisted the words, because there’s nothing wrong or sinful about being gay.”
His mother’s eyes were brimming with tears, his father’s scowl creating dark crevices between his eyebrows. They knew. Tim had said too much for them not to know, so he might as well get it over with. “I loved Eric, and I love Ben. I’ve already lost them both, but if I’m lucky, I’ll find someone else. But it’s not going to be a woman.”
“That’s enough!” Thomas stood, grabbing his wife’s arm and pulling her to her feet. Then he let go of her and swung a finger in Tim’s direction. “You better get your head straight, young man! We didn’t raise you so you could play these sick games.”
“You barely raised me at all!” Tim shouted. “Don’t act like I’ve disappointed you when you’ve never given a shit about me. You’re worried about what your friends or coworkers will think? Fine! Tell them I’m married to some bimbo with big tits. I don’t care.”
“You watch your mouth!” His father came at him and slapped at him like he was a child. Tim raised his arms in defense, the idea that his father wanted to hit him far worse than the actual blows.
“Thomas! Stop it!”
The assault ceased. Ella hung on to her husband, who was huffing like a bull.
“I’m sorry, Mom. About what I said. But not what I am.” Her eyes pleaded with him to take it all back, but he couldn’t. “I’ve always wanted to be a bigger part of your life, but now I guess the roles are reversed. It’s up to you. If you want to be a part of my life, you’ll have to accept who I am. You always said God has a plan for me. Well, this is it.”
“We’re leaving.” His father pulled free from his wife and stormed out of the room.
Tim’s mother lingered for a moment, a trail of tears glistening on her cheeks. Why was he so good at hurting people?
She hugged him, but he knew better than to get his hopes up. “I’ll pray for you,” she said, a hand on each side of his face. “You pray too. I don’t want you to go to Hell.”
Sure, why not? Even though he hadn’t prayed for a very long time, Tim would, but not for forgiveness. Instead he would pray for God to make his parents finally come to their senses. When they were gone, Tim put Chinchilla on her leash and went for a walk, shedding the anger and disappointment. Long ago he had feared what he would lose by coming out, but his parents had given him so little that there was virtually nothing they could take away.
The men in his life had done the opposite. Eric had given him guidance and a home, not just a house. Ben had given him love—and although he might never know it, tonight Ben had given him a reason to be brave. And he had made sure Tim wouldn’t be lonely again.
“If people want unconditional love, all they need is a dog.”
Chinchilla stopped sniffing the ground long enough to look at him, but when she saw he wasn’t talking about a treat, she went back to her hunt for the perfect place to potty. Feeling oddly content, Tim continued his long stroll through the night.
__________ Part Four: Austin, 2004 __________ Chapter Twenty-eight
Time flies when you’re having fun… unless that’s all you’re having. Then time starts to drag. Tim had spent the last year doing exactly what he wanted. First he took a month to fix up the house, doing little repair jobs he had been putting off or rearranging rooms to give the place a fresh feel. He had a fleeting affair with photography, but the medium felt too easy, so he returned to his most loyal of lovers and painted the nights away. Then he discovered a dog park, which he often took Chinchilla to. Every time he went, women there eagerly flirted with him, as if all that guy-seeking magazine advice had finally paid off. Tim enjoyed it regardless, a small collection of phone numbers piling up in a kitchen drawer.
Tiring of Austin, he put Chinchilla in the car and drove down to Mexico City to see his grandmother. He spent the better part of a month there, living with her and brushing up on his Spanish. Of course she had heard the news. When he tried broaching the subject, she stuck out her chin stubbornly and said, “God judges. I don’t.”
The subject of sexuality was closed to her, but his grandma still treated him like a prince, heaping love and affection on him. He was tempted to sell the house and move close to her permanently, but the American in him soon became homesick for familiar sights and the easy comfort of English, so he headed back. He made a few more excursions like this, but without a friendly face awaiting him at each destination, the trips seemed empty and aimless, a feeling that followed him home from his last journey.
Tim could do whatever he wanted, but what he really wanted was something to do. A real purpose, not just goals he created and accomplished for himself. Maybe a career would help, even if he didn’t need the money.
These thoughts were on his mind one night as he headed to Oilcan Harry’s. Drinking beer at a gay bar usually meant not getting much thinking done. Before long, someone would come along to chat him up. Tim enjoyed these conversations, and the attention of course, although it was rare these days that anything more happened.
On his way into the bar, he noticed a figure hunched against the wall outside, hoodie up and pulled tight around a lean frame. Occasionally some hustler would be hanging around outside, looking for money, but tonight it was raining. Why didn’t the guy just go inside? Unless he was underage. Scoping him out as casually as possible, Tim was taken aback when the hooded head raised. The face was beautiful, framed by blonde hair that came to a point at each side of the chin. Eyes as blue as any sky in Heaven locked on to his, pleading for help even though the delicate lips didn’t open to ask.
Tim gave a friendly nod, those angel eyes widening in hope, but Tim looked away and pushed into the bar. An explosion of dance music and cigarette smoke greeted him. He only made it a few steps before he stopped, pinching the bridge of his nose. What could he do? He wasn’t interested in escorts. Occasionally Tim attended Marcello’s parties, which were full of handsome faces, but he never felt comfortable getting close to those guys. Any of them might be models, a profession he respected, but there was an equal chance of them belonging to Marcello’s elite escort service. The hotter the guys were, the more Tim became suspicious and kept his distance.
