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I’d had no choice but to agree to go when Mom called me out of the blue and invited me to come to Christmas at their place. She said all my aunts and uncles would be there along with a few cousins I hadn’t seen in over a decade. She laid it on thick and I found myself agreeing to be there at least for dinner out of sheer guilt. My parents hadn’t hosted a big Christmas since I was a kid and she desperately wanted me to be there. I hadn't spoken to either of them in months even though we only lived a few miles apart. The only time I ever saw my mother was by accident at the local grocery store. And every time that happened she would beg me to come visit, which I never did.
I’d spent the past few years the same way I planned to spend the rest of my life: in a drunken stupor. The alcoholic haze numbed the hurt I felt and kept away the depression that I knew would consume me if I ever sobered up. I could feel the break in my soul, like a hairline fracture you only notice once you run your fingers over the hard surface. It was impossible to see from the outside, but every time I was due for another drink as the last slowly wore off, I could feel it once more. I knew that if I gave into the feelings surrounding it, I would be lost to it forever. So I kept it hidden, patching it up in ways that would never last and needed to be repeated within a few hours. Even with all the booze, I still saw him every night in my dreams.
Christmas morning dawned bright and snowy, like those shitty holiday cards they sell in bulk at the grocery stores with glitter all over them. It made me want to hurl. Begrudgingly, I got dressed and made my way over to my parents house at the appointed time. Mom was planning an early dinner and wanted me there a few minutes ahead so that I’d have time to socialize with all my long lost relatives. That was the last thing I wanted to do, so I made sure I was late.
As I entered through the garage, I pulled a beer out of the spare fridge. I cracked it open and took a large swig before I even stepped foot in the house. Mom hugged me, thanking me for coming. Dad, as usual, ignored me and sat talking to his older brother that I hadn’t seen since I was ten. They saw each other every weekend at the club. There were others there that I knew from the past, but they had all grown old, gray, and considerably less interesting since then. I kept away from most everyone, engaging in as little conversation as I could until dinner was served.
Dinner was a feast, the likes of which I hadn't seen since I was in grade school. Everyone had brought a dish to pass and Mom had pulled out all the stops, laying out her best china, linens, and crystal glasses. When everyone was seated she brought in a glazed ham, cooked to perfection, proudly parading it to the table on a small serving cart. All the relatives chimed in, telling her how wonderful it looked. I remained silent, as I did all through dinner, sucking down can after can of cheap beer and barely eating anything. Years of drinking had robbed me of most of my sense of taste anyway.
By the end of the meal, everyone had learned well to avoid making conversation with me. The men retired to the living room, letting the women clean up as was expected by my father. My mother wouldn’t even let me take my plate to the sink.
“You just leave it,” she said, shooing me away. “Go talk to the boys. They haven’t seen you in years! I’m sure they’re dying to catch up with you!”
I nodded, putting my plate full of untouched food back on the table and walked through the familiar rooms that hadn’t changed since I’d moved out all those years ago. I picked the seat furthest from the rest and sat down, hoping to avoid being pulled into meaningless conversation. Sports, finance, and work were the topics of choice as the table was cleared and the dishes were cleaned. I silently listened, sipping on my tenth can for the afternoon. It wasn’t doing the trick and I could feel myself growing irritated at the stupid banter that my father thought was ever so charming.
When the cleanup was finished and the room started to fill up, Mom excused herself to go get dessert. As she left the room, the topic of conversation had shifted to politics, just like it always did at any holiday get-together.
“Have you been keeping up with all these queers on the news who want to get married now?” my father spat, looking to his brother who nodded in agreement.
“It’s just disgusting,” an aunt chimed in, tossing her blonde perm off her shoulders. “It’s against God and nature.”
“I don’t understand how anyone can allow their child to be that way,” the other aunt interjected, taking a drag on her cheap cigarette while waving her glass of vodka-soda in the other hand. “I know I don’t let my kids around any of that trash.”
“It really illustrates the degradation of society and family values,” the first aunt replied. “I can’t believe they have the gall to march around in public places. What if a child sees that? That could ruin them forever!”
“It comes down to bad breeding, that’s all,” her husband responded. “It’s like having a runt in the litter, or a retarded child. They are just broken.”
“Well, everyone knows what you do with runts. You just take them out back and shoot them,” my father added, laughing at his own wit. “Save everyone else the hassle of having to deal with them.”
“That’s enough,” I stated, my face already turning red.
“When did you turn into such a fag lover?” he snapped, turning away from the others.
“I said enough.”
“If you think you’re going to sit in my house and tell me what to do, you’ve got another thing coming, boy.”
I was silent, remembering all those times he’d come after me in the past.
He turned back, facing the others, “As I was saying, all those fags need to be rounded up and shot. Don’t know what we’d do with them though. They probably don’t even make good compost.”
“ENOUGH!” I roared from the chair, unable to stop myself.
“Didn’t you hear me boy? Are you some fucking queer now too? Is that why you’re always such a drunk fuck-up?”
“Shut the fuck up,” I growled, the heat rising in my face.
“Or maybe you’re still pining over that little bitch boy you used to be friends with,” he guessed, not knowing how right he was. “Nobody gives a fuck what you have to say. So sit there and shut up like the little loser you are.”
I was struck speechless for a moment, but I knew I wouldn’t be holding it back this time. I forced myself up and off the chair, standing with my fists clenched, the veins on my arms popping out from the tension.
“Fuck off you old piece of shit!”
Slowly, my father pushed himself to a standing position and took a few steps towards me. His face was inches from mine, a glint in his eye I recognized from the last time he’d stripped the flesh off my back.
“What did you say to me?” he asked quietly.
Everyone in the room was silent, my mother standing a few feet away holding the tray of desserts she had spent all day preparing. I looked away from him for only a second, his hot stinking breath sliding across my cheek. I’d never felt so much anger in my life. And then, something inside of me snapped.
My fist came flying up out of nowhere, connecting with the bottom of his jaw. I heard a sickening crunch in his mouth as he flew away from me. I knew one of my fingers was broken as the pain hit me, but I wasn’t finished. As he recoiled I grabbed him by the neck and lifted him clean off his feet before slamming him to the floor, breaking the glass coffee table as he landed on top of it. Rage pulsed through my system as I kneeled down to strike him over and over.
“Ryan, no!” my mother yelled as she threw the tray to the ground, her individual, delicately frosted cakes destroyed and staining the carpet. Everyone else jumped up and backed away, not wanting to get involved. Even my uncle, for all his bravado, didn’t dare jump in to save his own brother. I continued to pummel him, remembering all those years of whippings I didn’t deserve. All the times he’d forced me to be someone I wasn’t. Every single comment and threat he’d made about Kit.
“Stop it!” she screamed, pulling at my shirt as I continued to punch any part of him I could reach. “Ryan! That’s enough!”
Using all her body weight, my mother wrapped her arms around my neck and pulled me to the ground, off of him. I pushed her off of me hard, throwing her to the ground beside me. She looked at me with that same terrified look she got when my father found an unclean plate in the cupboard. I had to look away from her.
As he laid in the pile of broken glass and twisted metal, blood streamed down my father’s face, mostly from his obviously broken nose. I could see at least two of his teeth were broken as well and I felt a surge of pride. I pushed myself up off the floor and walked up beside him, towering over the pathetic human that I’d once been so afraid of.
“You’re not so tough old man,” I hissed, pointing a finger at him. “You can’t beat me into submission like you used to.”
I turned away, looking down at the horror on my mother's face as she sat on the floor surrounded by broken glass and smeared frosting.
“Sorry...” I murmured and made my way out the door.
I was no better than he was.