torn, round neck t-shirts. One even had legwarmers on. They were sort of
sweaty and both of them were laughing and involved in a conversation about
music and… and, well, everything I hadn’t felt for Elizabeth, in terms of raw
sexual attraction, I had to fight not to
feel for these guys .
Sitting there
with a virtual L on my forehead, alone in a booth at a family restaurant, a
striped straw stuck in my mouth, staring at a couple of hot dancer dudes—it had
hit me. And I knew for a fact that being gay is not my choice.
On Sunday morning
I wake up filled with a feeling of dread.
I dread seeing
Elizabeth and I dread seeing Mrs. Martine and I dread answering Laz’s questions and I especially dread meeting eyes with
Father Joseph. I dread…basically my entire life. So I pray to God to ask for
the strength I know I’m going to need, and then I make my way upstairs to where
the breakfast zoo/mob scene/relay race, which, incidentally, I also dread, is
well underway.
“Morning, son.”
Dad stands up to greet me and he looks so worried that I feel a stab of guilt
beneath my ribcage. “Your headache finally gone?”
A headache has
been my feeble excuse for my most recent bout of reclusiveness. Whether Mom and
Dad have bought the story, I haven’t a clue. “Yeah, I’m better today.” I fake a
bright smile, but keep my eyes safely glued to the loaf of bread on the
counter. “Want me to make toast for anybody?”
My mother replies
quickly, “Only for yourself, Anthony. And let me get you a cannoli, too. You
look like you’ve dropped a couple of pounds in the past week.” She scurries off
to the refrigerator to get my “breakfast dessert.” Weight loss in her
children’s “growing years” is unacceptable to Mom.
“Mama, why does
Tony get a c’noli for breakfast? No fair, Mama!” Lulu
doesn’t miss a trick.
Dad bribes my
little sister into quieting down by offering her chocolate milk instead of
orange juice. I pull my toast from the toaster and spread a glob of butter on
it and then I lean on a barstool to eat.
“Tell your mother
what has you in such a state, Anthony. It’s not good to keep your troubles all
bottled up inside of you.” Mom places the cannoli on the island in front of me
and reaches up to place her hands on my cheeks. “You aren’t even slightly warm.
No fever.”
“Mom, I had a headache. Stop worrying, okay?”
“Maybe we should
take you to have your eyes checked.”
“Mom….” I try to
keep the irritation out of my voice. It isn’t her fault I’m gay and destined to
a life of celibacy or an eternity in hell, which has caused me to feel cranky
and something less than affable this fine morning.
Sigh. Gulp.
“I’ll set up an
eye doctor appointment for you next week.” She hustles away from me before I
can reply, and begins directing the girls. “We leave this house in twenty
minutes. Frannie and Resa —your
ponytails do not pass The Mama
Inspection, even for a Sunday morning. Please re-do them.”
“Ma-ma!” The
girls whine in unison.
“Mary, put that
book away and go get dressed. And Paul,
will you help Lulu to brush her teeth?”
“Of course.”
My family, except
for Mom, scatters in various directions. From across the kitchen she glances
over at me with her soulful dark eyes. “Talk to me when you are ready, mio figlio .”
Knowing my
melancholy is starting to affect my family, I nod, lift the cannoli to my
mouth, and take a large bite exclusively for her benefit.
After church, the
entire congregation meets in the church basement for donuts and coffee. I have
never been so thankful for Laz’s presence, as I am
rather consumed with the prospect of avoiding Elizabeth.
“Hey, Tony, you took
E out Friday night. How’d that go down?”
I suck in a big breath, preparing to deliver my planned, “I
don’t think she’s the right girl for me” speech, when he relieves me of my
burden by recounting a detailed play-by-play of his adventures in
sweaty and both of them were laughing and involved in a conversation about
music and… and, well, everything I hadn’t felt for Elizabeth, in terms of raw
sexual attraction, I had to fight not to
feel for these guys .
Sitting there
with a virtual L on my forehead, alone in a booth at a family restaurant, a
striped straw stuck in my mouth, staring at a couple of hot dancer dudes—it had
hit me. And I knew for a fact that being gay is not my choice.
On Sunday morning
I wake up filled with a feeling of dread.
I dread seeing
Elizabeth and I dread seeing Mrs. Martine and I dread answering Laz’s questions and I especially dread meeting eyes with
Father Joseph. I dread…basically my entire life. So I pray to God to ask for
the strength I know I’m going to need, and then I make my way upstairs to where
the breakfast zoo/mob scene/relay race, which, incidentally, I also dread, is
well underway.
“Morning, son.”
Dad stands up to greet me and he looks so worried that I feel a stab of guilt
beneath my ribcage. “Your headache finally gone?”
A headache has
been my feeble excuse for my most recent bout of reclusiveness. Whether Mom and
Dad have bought the story, I haven’t a clue. “Yeah, I’m better today.” I fake a
bright smile, but keep my eyes safely glued to the loaf of bread on the
counter. “Want me to make toast for anybody?”
My mother replies
quickly, “Only for yourself, Anthony. And let me get you a cannoli, too. You
look like you’ve dropped a couple of pounds in the past week.” She scurries off
to the refrigerator to get my “breakfast dessert.” Weight loss in her
children’s “growing years” is unacceptable to Mom.
“Mama, why does
Tony get a c’noli for breakfast? No fair, Mama!” Lulu
doesn’t miss a trick.
Dad bribes my
little sister into quieting down by offering her chocolate milk instead of
orange juice. I pull my toast from the toaster and spread a glob of butter on
it and then I lean on a barstool to eat.
“Tell your mother
what has you in such a state, Anthony. It’s not good to keep your troubles all
bottled up inside of you.” Mom places the cannoli on the island in front of me
and reaches up to place her hands on my cheeks. “You aren’t even slightly warm.
No fever.”
“Mom, I had a headache. Stop worrying, okay?”
“Maybe we should
take you to have your eyes checked.”
“Mom….” I try to
keep the irritation out of my voice. It isn’t her fault I’m gay and destined to
a life of celibacy or an eternity in hell, which has caused me to feel cranky
and something less than affable this fine morning.
Sigh. Gulp.
“I’ll set up an
eye doctor appointment for you next week.” She hustles away from me before I
can reply, and begins directing the girls. “We leave this house in twenty
minutes. Frannie and Resa —your
ponytails do not pass The Mama
Inspection, even for a Sunday morning. Please re-do them.”
“Ma-ma!” The
girls whine in unison.
“Mary, put that
book away and go get dressed. And Paul,
will you help Lulu to brush her teeth?”
“Of course.”
My family, except
for Mom, scatters in various directions. From across the kitchen she glances
over at me with her soulful dark eyes. “Talk to me when you are ready, mio figlio .”
Knowing my
melancholy is starting to affect my family, I nod, lift the cannoli to my
mouth, and take a large bite exclusively for her benefit.
After church, the
entire congregation meets in the church basement for donuts and coffee. I have
never been so thankful for Laz’s presence, as I am
rather consumed with the prospect of avoiding Elizabeth.
“Hey, Tony, you took
E out Friday night. How’d that go down?”
I suck in a big breath, preparing to deliver my planned, “I
don’t think she’s the right girl for me” speech, when he relieves me of my
burden by recounting a detailed play-by-play of his adventures in
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