Page 84 of Something Like Winter
“Funny,” Tim said, “Idon’tdo it so others will keep loving me.” He was beginning to regret telling Eric about his day out with his mother. Tim sat across from Eric, tipping back in a wooden dining room chair while watching him work. Eric wore half-moon glasses that made him look both silly and cute.
“They don’t love you,” Eric said, half-distracted by writing a check.
“Wow. Thanks.”
When Eric realized what he’d said, he looked surprised and shoved away the checkbook. “What I mean is that they can’t love you. Not completely, because they don’t really know who you are. The good news is that they love the version of you they know, and the real Tim isn’t so different from him. He just prefers guys, that’s all.”
Tim wasn’t convinced. “If it’s not that big a part of me, I’d rather keep it from them.”
“Because if you don’t, they might not accept you.”
“Right.”
Eric shook his head. “That’s one of the biggest misconceptions gay people go through. While in the closet, we want everyone to accept us, when in truth, people are only accepting a lie. Do you like women?”
“I’m a four on that Kinsey scale or whatever it was, remember?”
Eric peered over his glasses, looking very much like a stern teacher. “You know what I mean. Are you going to marry a girl, settle down, and spawn children like your friend Travis plans to?”
“No. Not a chance.”
“But that’s what they expect. What they’ve accepted isn’t you. Since you haven’t really been accepted by them, you shouldn’t worry about being unaccepted. Does that make sense?”
“In a convoluted way, I guess so.” Tim mulled it over. “Of course, right now I sort of have a neutral status, which is better than being unaccepted.”
Eric moaned dramatically. “Now I see what poor Ben had to put up with.”
Tim grinned. “There were benefits too.”
“I can only imagine.”
“Hey,” Tim let all four chair legs hit the floor, “do you want to see my paintings?”
“You brought some with you?” Eric perked up. “Of course!”
Tim went out to his car and returned with the six paintings that had made the cut. He showed them to Eric, one by one, making excuses for little things he wished were different. Eric was encouraging, saying two nice things for every self-criticism. When show and tell was over, Eric appeared thoughtful.
“What strikes me most,” Eric said, “is how each painting is in a different style. I wouldn’t have thought they were from the same artist if I didn’t know better.”
“Yeah, well, most of them were painted at totally different times of my life. I experimented a lot, I guess because I was always looking for my own style. I just never found it.”
Eric tapped a pen on his lower lip while he thought. “It’s not too late.”
“To start painting again? I don’t know.” But Tim did. Even tearing apart his favorite work with criticism made him want to try again.
“I’ll hire you to paint me,” Eric said with a bashful smile. “You can’t be filthy rich without an arrogant portrait hanging on the wall. Marcello has three.”
“I’m not surprised.” Tim looked at Eric anew, hunched over the long dining room table, overwhelmed by a mess of envelopes, stamps, and checks—looking small in the face of it all. The secret burden of being rich. It would make a great painting. “I’d have to get back into shape, practice before I even try.”
“Do that,” Eric said. “I’ve always wanted to play patron to a real artist.”
Tim sat across the table from him with the one other thing he brought with him from home—his old sketch book. It was only half full, since he didn’t really enjoy sketching, but it made a good starting point. He scratched out some rough ideas, enjoying working quietly alongside Eric. That is, until he heard a gasp.
“What is it?”
Eric was holding up a magazine, the free kind made from the same cheap stock as newspapers. Mouth open in surprise, Eric turned it around so Tim could see the cover. He noticed first the title, set in rainbow letters:Gay Austin!Then Tim noticed the image below. There, for all the world to see, was a photo of himself, naked except for a pair of designer briefs. What hewaswearing, was an annoyed expression caused by the hot surfer dude sticking a tongue in his ear.
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