The Meaning of Life (part 9)

18 09 2010

“So what if you made a new friend?  You don’t have to go to their house to stay friends!  Look at you and Matthew!  When did you ever go to his house?  Never!”  Her face began turning shades, from white to pink, and to red.  She took a breath and let it out slowly.  Now she seemed more calm and relaxed.

“Look, Jeremy, I just don’t want the neighbours to be suspicious of your behaviour.  Promise me you’ll never do this again, okay?”

At this point, I didn’t want to hear her start yelling from the top, so I agreed.

“Thank you, Jeremy.  You know, you really had me worried for a while there.  I was wondering if I’d see you again.”

“Don’t be silly, mom, I’ll be here.”  With that, I left the room and walked to my own.  The running had worn my legs out and the fight with my mom made me tired.  So I lay on my bed to take a short nap.

When I woke up, it was 8:27.  I rubbed my eyes and got out of bed and went out of my room.  My mom was watching TV.

“Mom, how were you raised?”  She glanced over at me from the screen with an inquiring look.

“Well, I was raised in Canada, so it’s different.  Why are you asking me this?”  When she mentioned Canada, I nearly jumped.  I exclaimed, “Why didn’t you tell me you were raised in Canada?  What was it like?  Why did we move?”

“Whoa, son, slow down.  First of all, I didn’t tell you because I knew you would act this way.  But seeing as how you’re asking, I might as well tell you now.”  She sat up straighter and I sat myself down next to her.

“Canada is basically the opposite of America.  They don’t have Boxes, they don’t have laws against religion, and they don’t kill the homeless.  The land is much more natural than it is here; it’s cleaner and the people are a lot nicer.”

“Okay, then why are we living here now?”  She sighed and told me to come closer, and I did.

“We moved because of your father.  One day, he told me that he was gay and that he had married me in the hopes of becoming straight.  Naturally, I was furious at him and I wanted to get away from his stupid queer face as much as possible.  So where was the best place?”

“America,” I finished slowly, like some four year old amazed at the word.

“Yes, and plus, you weren’t born yet so I figured that if you were raised in America, you wouldn’t grow up to be a fag like your father,” she snorted in disgust.  The words hurt me; she didn’t want me to be gay.  There was no way now I’d ever tell her.  But my dad was gay?

“Have you seen him since?” I asked.  She shook her head.

“No, fortunately.  It’s a good thing you won’t either,” she laughed.  I tried to smile, but I didn’t see a point in it.

Back in my room, I dialled Matthew’s number on the phone.  He picked up right away and started complaining.

“Jeremy!  What took you so long to call me?  What did you do with Sean?”

“Matt, I’m sorry but I took a nap and I was talking to my mom.”

“Okay, fine.  What did you do with Sean?” he repeated.

To be continued!


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