“I need a ride in a bit,” I tell my parents. “I’m going to visit Matt at the hospital.”
“It’s a school night,” Mom says.
I roll my eyes and barely refrain from quipping, Gee, sorry. Next time I’ll make sure my boyfriend attempts suicide on a Friday, not a Sunday. “Well, now is when he’s in the hospital.”
My parents exchange a glance. Uh-oh.
“Sit down, sweetie,” Mom says, steering me toward the kitchen table.
“What.”
“We’re not sure you should be spending so much time visiting this boy,” Dad says.
This boy. “He’s my friend. He almost died.” There’s no way I’m not seeing him.
Mom and Dad glance at each other.
“And I’m his designated visitor, until his dad comes home.”
“It’s just that, from what we’ve heard from some other parents, it sounds like Matt’s … very troubled.”
What’s that supposed to mean? “Yeah, hence the hospital stay…?”
“It sounds like he needs more extensive professional help,” Mom says. “For what he’s dealing with. A suicide attempt is very serious.”
Duh. “I know.”
“You can’t be sure of how much influence his … worldview is having on you,” Mom says.
“It’s not his fault that things are messy in my brain right now,” I argue. “Why would you think that? It’s about Sheila, and a lot of things, probably, I guess.”
Not that they’re wrong about Matt needing help, but by the looks on their faces I’m not sure what we’re really talking about. My stomach clenches.
“You’re aware that Matt has some additional struggles going on?” Dad says.
It’s hard to keep my voice calm. “What is it, exactly, that you’ve heard?”
If they exchange that glance one more time … I press my hands together, then I press them onto the table and slowly stand up.
They won’t even say it. So I do.
“You think spending time with Matt’s going to turn me gay?” The irony is palpable. How can they not see it stampeding through the room like the elephant it is?
“Sinful thoughts can be very seductive,” Dad says. “They almost lured Matt over a cliff.”
I’m still standing here, staring at them. Somehow, I’m still here, though a part of me is fading, fading, fading into nothing.
This is the time. This is the moment. The pitch is flying toward me and all I have to do is swing.
Matt’s not making me anything. I was gay before and I still am. Deal with it. Take me or leave me.
But I can’t. Because we’re not even talking about me yet, we’re talking about Matt, and the aversion is written all over their faces.
It’s supposed to be different. All the books say so. They’re supposed to be accepting in the end. The tiny sliver of hope fades, exactly the way the line of light around a door disappears when the lights go out on the other side.
I can’t handle this.
“I’m not going to ditch him because he messed up,” I say. The rock that is the core of me grows a little bigger. It presses outward, threatening to burst through my skin and explode me. “That’s not what friends do.”