NO TURNING BACK
Thursday
The letter of acceptance from Dartmouth was waiting for me when I got home from
school today, and I was so excited my heart was thumping around inside my
ribcage. Ever since I was a little kid, Dad has talked about Dartmouth, his alma
mater, how it’s the best college in the country, what a fantastic time he'd had
as a student there, the prestige for Dartmouth graduates. He's always encouraged
me to go there, and urged me to work hard in school so I'd measure up to the
stringent admission requirements. Even though Dad won't accept me as a gay man,
I feel sure that at least now he will be proud of me for getting in to
Dartmouth.
I called Mom first, she was thrilled and I could hear her crying, though she
denied it. She was so happy for me, and said she would call Dad right away, and
she assured me that he would be happy too. I called Daphne next, just to hear
her scream, and we chatted happily for a few minutes. Brian I saved for last.
He was at work of course, but he took my call. "Congratulations, that's a great
achievement," he told me. I waited a moment, with Brian sometimes you have to
wait for the punch line, but this time there wasn't one. He just said I should
be proud of myself and I said I was. Unfortunately, I added that I thought my
dad would be proud of me, too.
There was a pause, then, "Is that your reason for choosing Dartmouth?" he asked,
his voice distinctly chilly. Brian hates my dad.
"No," I hastened to say, but then I wondered if that were true. Brian had
doubts.
"Justin, if Dartmouth's what you want, then more power to you. Just be sure
you're doing what YOU want, what's best for YOU."
"Yeah," was all I could say. I looked down at the Dartmouth letter I was still
holding and it drooped in my hand. I let go and watched it flutter, caught on a
draft from my open bedroom door, it wafted briefly on the breeze for a moment
before taking a final swoop and sliding under the edge of my bed.
"Look," Brian was saying, "I have to go, I'm getting ready for a meeting at
four. How about I buy you a celebration drink, tomorrow night at Babylon?"
"Sure, Brian, thanks," I answered, making myself sound eager. And happy. And
confident. Suddenly I was feeling none of those things as I hung up the phone. I
sat down on my desk chair and gazed at the corner of the Dartmouth letter
peeping out at me from under the edge of the blue bedspread. Was Dartmouth best
for me? Was it what I wanted? I knew the answer. I've known the answer for a
long time.
Friday
Tonight started out so fantastic at Babylon; I met Brian there and he bought me
the drink he'd promised, even making a toast, 'to Justin, the college man.' We
danced, the others arrived and joined us on the dance floor, and a couple hours
passed happily. Brian even went to the men's room with me and we stood side by
side at the urinals having a pissing contest. Brian won, of course; he'd had a
lot more to drink than me and he's had a lot of practice aiming his dick. He
bragged that he could write his full name in the snow - Brian Allan Kinney, and
even dot the i's. He promised to show me sometime.
When we went back upstairs and joined the other guys on the dance floor, Brian
told them I was going to Dartmouth. Michael had a put-down for me as usual, he
goes, "Mumsie and Daddy must be so proud!" I didn't let it bother me, it was
just Michael joking around; besides, Debbie told me that instead of going to
college, Michael had gone to work after high school, to help out at home. If he
liked me better, I'd tell him how much I admire him for taking care of his mom.
He's always over the house, bringing groceries and picking up Vic's meds and
taking Vic to the doctor, and just helping out. I've learned from him that you
don’t have to make a big deal out of doing things like that. I mean, he'll just
put out the trash or empty the dishwasher, nobody asks him, he sees stuff that
needs doing and he does it. I really respect the way he looks out for his
family.
Michael had confused me for a while. The first night I met Brian, I remember
Michael glaring at me as I sat in the jeep and Brian roared away from the group,
then the next morning he'd yelled at me in Brian's loft, I remember wondering
why he was so mad at me. The next time I saw him, when Brian pushed me away at
Woody's, Michael had been really nice, even buying me a burger and introducing
me to his mom. But after that, when I managed to get Brian to pay attention to
me again, for a long time after that, Michael had seemed to hate me. I'm not
blind and I'm not stupid; I figured out early on that Michael is in love with
Brian. It isn't my fault that Brian doesn't love him back. Well, Brian loves him
all right, just not the way Michael wants. Not the way I'm determined to make
Brian love me.
It was after I started living at Deb's that I got to know the real Michael. He's
what my psych book calls a 'caretaker,' literally taking care of everyone around
him. He's probably a good manager at his store, I bet he cares about the
employees and knows all their names and treats them well. Sometimes I wonder how
much Michael has taken care of Brian. They've been friends forever, and Deb says
Brian has always looked out for Michael. Something tells me that's not so
one-sided as it seems. Brian's a rock, or so he wants everybody to think. But
I'm around Brian more than most people, and I've seen some cracks in that rock.
After Michael's jibe about "Mumsie and Daddy," I told them all I've decided to
go to PIFA instead of Dartmouth. I just blurted it out, and surprised myself as
much as anyone else, I didn't realize I'd made the decision until just that
moment. In fact, I hadn't wanted anybody to know I even applied to PIFA, it will
be embarrassing if they reject me. But Brian's words had stuck with me and had
been chasing around inside my head all day: 'Do what's best for YOU.' And I knew
PIFA was best for me.
Brian's face reflected his surprise at my decision, and then reflected approval
as I told the others, "I have to do what will make me happy."
Of course Brian quickly covered up his slip, God forbid he should show his real
feelings for me in public, so he sniped, "And here I thought I was finally rid
of you!"
I shot right back at him, "Not till I say so!" and I loved the look of surprise
on his face. But he said nothing, he didn't push me away or make a nasty remark,
which was a huge deal, at least, that's how I felt at the time.
The conversation changed direction, Michael started bragging about this guy
who'd been hitting on him, and Brian urged Michael to give in, "You should DO
him," he said. Then that guy Blake, the one who gave Ted the drugs that put him
in a coma, suddenly showed up and started throwing himself at Ted. I was so busy
watching the drama of Emmett pushing Blake away that I didn't notice Brian was
missing until suddenly he was beside me, pulling on his leather jacket.
"I'm off," he said, looking at Michael, "Shouldn't you go home to your hubby?"
Michael asked where he was going and Brian said something like "Home to say his
prayers." That was obviously a code because Michael smiled slyly back at him.
I knew for sure it was a secret between them when I said, "Hold on, I'll come
with you," and Brian just brushed past me without a glance.
"Not tonight," he said, and I watched him disappear up the stairs.
Crushed, I turned to Michael. "Where's he going?" But Michael only smirked at me
and wouldn't answer. I had to turn and walk away for a while, to compose my
face, so it wouldn't be obvious to everyone how mortified I was.
Brian had only offered to buy me a drink tonight, but somehow I thought it was a
kind of date; I thought it meant he would take me home with him. Brian doesn't
do dates of course, but he'd been dancing with me all night, then suddenly he
was gone. All the pleasure of the evening was gone with him. I hung around a
while longer, but only so it wouldn't seem like I was being a wimp about Brian
leaving me alone. Of course I'm sure they all could tell anyway, so finally I
just said goodnight and left. I could have gone home with somebody else, guys
are always hitting on me at Babylon. But I'm cursed with wanting just one man.
Somebody on TV the other night said, "Once you've had champagne, you'll never go
back to beer." Brian Kinney is champagne, everyone else is beer.
Wednesday
I'm so upset I can hardly hold a pen, but maybe if I write in my journal, I can
calm down and think more clearly. Right now I'm all fuddled up.
This morning when I came down to breakfast, Debbie handed me an envelope. It was
a letter from PIFA. I held it in my hands, I turned it around, looking at the
return address, looking at the stamp, but I couldn't open it. Finally Deb took
it from me and slit it open with a table knife, and she read it for me. At first
she acted like it was bad news, then suddenly she beams at me, "Congratulations,
Picasso!"
Vic roared, I yelled, and I jumped up to hug Debbie. I can't even begin to
express how I felt. Thrilled of course, happy of course. But almost scared. No,
not scared. Maybe worried. Definitely worried. PIFA's expensive. I can't do it
on my own, I need my parents to help me. But will Dad help me? I know there is a
college fund he started years ago. But will he let me have it, if I don't go to
Dartmouth?
As soon as school let out, I hurried over to the house. Luckily Mom was in the
driveway, taking groceries out of the trunk of the car. It would have felt funny
going up to the door and knocking. Yet I honestly don't feel like I can just
walk in. Mom gave me a big smile and a hug, and when I showed her the letter
from PIFA and explained what an honor it was for me to be accepted, she was as
happy for me as I hoped she would be. Mom has always encouraged my love of art.
Then Mom warned about Dad expecting me to attend Dartmouth. I knew that of
course and I was planning to get her on my side, to get her to talk to him for
me. But when I started to ask her, this car drives up and a woman gets out and
walks up to us. Mom introduces her, and it turns out the woman is a realtor. I
go, "What's she doing here?" and then Mom says they're selling the house! I was
stunned, just stunned. I grew up in that house, we've lived there since Molly
was a baby. Even though it's not my home now, somehow it will always be my home.
Worse was coming. Way worse. Finally Mom blurts out that she and Dad are getting
a divorce. I stood there with my mouth open, I was like paralyzed, I couldn't
talk or even move. Mom grabs a bag of groceries and disappears into the house. I
stood there for a minute, a few minutes, I don't know how long. Mom did not come
back outside. Finally I just turned and walked away. I walked and walked, for
hours, not going anywhere, just moving my feet.
I know it's all my fault. It's because of me that Mom and Dad won't live
together any more. Everything was fine till they found out I'm gay. Mom's been
sticking up for me, at least sometimes. I saw that when Brian took me home that
time. Mom surprised me at first, she told Dad to let her do the talking. But
afterwards, when Dad gave me his rules, Mom didn't say anything. When Brian told
me I could leave with him, Mom didn't say anything. It hurt that she didn't
speak up then. But maybe she'd done all she could. That's what I told myself
afterwards. So it's me that's in the middle, it's me they've been fighting over,
I'm the reason they're getting a divorce.
Poor Mom. She loves that house, she decorated that house and made it a beautiful
home for her family. What will she do now? Where will she live? And what about
Molly? Now she will grow up without two parents. She's going to be so unhappy.
She's going to cry and cry. And it's all my fault.
I know I'm not to blame for being gay, I know that. Nothing can change that, and
I'm not ashamed, either. I'm proud to be gay. Brian is out and proud, and I want
to be like him. Emmett is out and proud too. I couldn't live like Michael, like
Ted, who hide their real selves and pretend to the rest of the world.
Nevertheless, it's still my fault that my parents found out the way they did. I
should have stayed in the closet till after high school. I should never have
gone to Liberty Avenue. Once I met Brian, once I got the experience of being
with other people like me, I couldn't go backwards. Or that's what I told
myself. But maybe if I'd stayed quiet, stayed away from the clubs and from
Brian, none of this would have happened. My parents wouldn't have found out, and
they'd still be together.
I wish I could talk to Brian about all this. I tried to call him when I got
home, but he was out. I had to work tonight and I pretended to Deb and all the
people at the diner that things were fine. Now I'm home and it's time to sleep
and I can't sleep. I can't stop feeling so sick with guilt, guilt for ruining my
parent's lives. I don't know what to do.
Thursday
I called Brian three times at work today, twice he was in meetings, the third
time he got annoyed and told me to stop calling, he’d see me at Babylon on
Saturday. I know he’s got deadlines, I know his boss has been on his case since
the harassment business. I just needed so bad to talk to him. I don’t know why
though. Probably he would just tell me to grow up and stop whining. To be a man
and toughen up. Yeah, probably that’s what he would say. And he’d be right.
Today I sat through classes and talked to Daphne and even worked two hours at
the diner, all the time acting normal and cheerful, all the while I felt like
dying inside. Somehow there is nobody I want to talk to about this divorce.
Except Brian. But I need to be mature and handle it myself. I need to make some
tough decisions, and on my own without running to others for help.
I think I’ve made up my mind. I’ll go to Dartmouth after all. It’s the least I
can do for my parents, after breaking up their marriage and ruining their lives.
Probably I couldn’t be an artist anyway. Who cares about silly drawings and
sketches and animation and all that garbage. Business is more important. Dad’s a
successful businessman, and he loves his work. Brian’s a businessman and he
does, too. I know I’m smart enough to get through the classes, and maybe once I
get to Dartmouth and make friends, I’ll start a new life for myself. Some day
I’ll probably look back and realize that this was the best decision I ever made.
Tomorrow probably these awful feelings will go away. And I know that it’s okay
for men to cry, but you have to stop sometime.
Friday
Lindsay and Melanie invited me to come over for dinner tonight. I wasn’t in the
mood to be around happy people, but I went anyway, they’ve done so much for me
this year, how could I say no? They fixed some of my favorite things, and had
candles and their pretty dishes and silverware, and the whole dinner tasted like
sawdust. I held Gus and played with him while the women were working in the
kitchen, and I could swear that he sensed I’m unhappy. Gus kept touching my face
and saying, “Jus-jus?” Sometimes he raises his eyebrows exactly like Brian does.
Or maybe he’s too little, maybe I’m imagining it. But he sure looks more like
Brian every time I see him. I don’t say that to Melanie though.
After dinner we settled in the living room and they went to fix us an
after-dinner drink. Actually, I don’t much like those liquers that you drink in
tiny glasses, but I’m trying to because it’s intensely cool to drink them.
Anyway they came laughing into the living room bringing the tiny glasses, but
also bringing a surprise for me. Lindsay handed me a large wooden box with a
handle and a metal clasp.
When I opened the box my heart sank. Inside were dozens of artist supplies,
paint brushes, pencils, crayons, chalks. I didn’t know what to say. Finally I
had to tell them. Of course I said thank you, it was such a special present,
such a nice thing for them to do. But I had to tell them I’m giving up art. I’m
going to Dartmouth. Each time I say it, I believe it more and more.
Saturday
I worked the lunch shift at the diner today, I’ve found a way to stay numb on
the inside so it’s easier to act normal on the outside. I was even joking with
my customers. Being mature means keeping your sadness to yourself. When I came
in the front door at Deb’s a few minutes ago, she was working intently at her
sewing machine. I thought I could sneak by her and get to my room, but she has
that sixth sense most moms have and stopped me cold. Then she showed me the
sketchpad I’d thrown in the trash that morning. I tried to bluff it out but she
wouldn’t let me.
So I told the truth. That I’m giving up art, that I’m going to Dartmouth, that I
need to do it for my parents, because of the divorce. Of course she tried to
talk me out of it. She kept insisting the divorce is not my fault, but I know
better. She means well, but she doesn’t understand. She even thought I was just
doing it to get my parents back together! I’m not that stupid. I’m not that
naïve. But honestly, going to Dartmouth is the least I can do for them, to make
amends for all the trouble I’ve caused. Finally I told her I’d think about it.
Just to make her stop talking and talking.
I came upstairs and I hoped that writing in this journal would make me feel
better. Eventually I’ll feel better. Won’t I? Now all I want to do is sleep.
Sleep for about a hundred years. I’ll take a nap now, maybe by dinner time
things will seem better. And tonight I’ll see Brian. I haven’t decided if I’ll
talk to him about my decision or not. I don’t want people to argue with me any
more. I’m a man, I’ve made a mature decision, I know that I’m doing the right
thing.
Sunday
Brian really cares about me. I’ve known it for a while now, but I didn’t know if
he’d ever consciously let me see it. Last night he did.
When I got to Babylon, I saw Brian and the guys hanging out in the usual place,
but I wasn’t ready to talk to anybody, I needed a drink first. But the fucking
bartender wouldn’t sell me a beer, he kept repeating “Not without I.D.” Which is
so stupid, you can’t get into Babylon without I.D I’d forgotten my wallet, but
the doorman knows me and let me come right in. This bartender also knows me,
well he’s seen me around a lot so he knows I belong there. He was just being
hard-nosed. Power-tripping. I was pissed, and I said right out loud, “Who do you
have to fuck to get a drink around here?” Just at that moment, Brian walks over
and says, “Me.”
So he orders two beers from the incredibly annoying bartender and starts to hand
me one, then pulls it away. “To Dartmouth,” he toasts, “And your bright shiny
future as Pittsburgh’s new Andy Carnegie.”
At first I thought Debbie told him.
“I’ll drink to that,” I said confidently, but I couldn’t look at his face.
“But I thought you were going to be the new Andy Warhol.”
I remember every word he said. It’s imprinted on my brain.
“I changed my mind.” Finally I glanced at his face. He was smirking.
“And after all the trouble I went to, to make you the best homosexual I could.”
He handed me the beer and I took a big gulp.
“And now you’re going to blow it,” Brian was continuing his sarcasm. “And for
some stupid reason: ‘I’ve caused my parents enough pain.’” He made his voice all
squeaky, he was making fun of me. Then he demanded harshly, “How can you even
stand there and look me in the eye?”
I had to look him in the eye. “It’s true,” I said, with more confidence than I
was feeling.
He slammed me then, glaring at my face, “It’s bullshit. They cause their own
pain, just like everyone else. And now you’re going to give up everything you
want, just to make them happy? That is totally FUCKED!”
“Shut up, Brian, you don’t know anything!” I shouted back at him.
He stopped scowling and smiled instead. “I know this,” he told me, “It’s scarier
making your own way, than doing what’s expected.”
“I’m not scared!”
“You’re fucking terrified,” he said then. “Just like the night you met me.”
That got my attention and I turned to look at his face.
“I thought sure you were going home,” he was saying, “But you didn’t. You said,
‘I’m going with him.'”
A thousand emotions flooded through me in a nanosecond. I was amazed and
thrilled that he remembered our conversation that first night, I was annoyed
that he always pretended not to remember, I was angry that now he was using
those memories against me.
“I cannot believe that you remember that,” I turned away, my voice shaky.
“Especially since you couldn’t remember my name.”
“And look what happened!”
I leaned my elbows on the bar at my back, tried to sound nonchalant. “I turned
into a big queer.”
“Yeah, lucky for you,” Brian leaned toward me, “Or I wouldn’t be wasting my
time.” When I glanced at him uncertainly, he said, “But it’s too late now.
There’s no turning back.”
With that he grabbed the front of my shirt and pulled me onto the dance floor. I
remember the song, I’ll always remember the song, ‘Forever Young.’ Confetti was
falling from the ceiling like golden tears. Confetti-tears of misery mixed with
tears of joy. Brian pulled me into his arms, closer and closer as we danced.
Bent his head and kissed me. I melted against his body, my arms went around his
neck. I couldn’t have resisted him if I tried. Of course I didn’t try.
We left right after that. He didn’t find the guys to say goodbye, just kept his
arm around me as we went to get our jackets, and the ride in the jeep was silent
except for music blaring on the tape player. It seemed like we both just wanted
to continue the mood of our slow-motion dance in the golden confetti, words
would have been in the way. At the loft we walked right up to the bedroom,
pulling off our clothes, and with one movement , each standing on his side of
the bed, we pulled off the duvet and slid into bed, slid together, an immediate
jumble of arms and legs and seeking, hungry mouths.
In a way, I wanted him to be rough with me last night, I was afraid of
gentleness. I tried to mess with him, to make him get rough, but he wouldn't. He
kept pulling me tight against him, running his hands slowly over every inch of
my body, his lips gently kissing my hair, my neck, nibbling my ears, licking my
adam's apple and collarbone and tracing slow concentric circles around my
nipples. I tried turning over, usually when he fucks me from behind, it's
faster, hotter, harder, but he pulled me back around to face him and kissed me
some more.
He lifted my legs to his shoulders, slowly slid his hands down to raise my hips
and settle himself between my thighs. When he handed me the condom, my hands
were shaking too much to open it, so he did it himself and rolled in on. All the
time he kept kissing me, kissing me, murmuring, "Justin, Justin," and then once,
in the middle of our slow-fucking, he called me "baby," I heard him, and it
caught in my throat, made my hands clutch convulsively on his shoulders.
Slowly, gently, with moans and soft wet kisses, with rhythmic thrusts that made
me shudder, slowly Brian brought me to orgasm, and he came along with me, both
of us gasping and breathless. He collapsed beside me and then suddenly, for some
reason, for some reason I don't understand, I started crying. That's never
happened before. Never. I turned my face away, I didn't want him to see my
tears, but he saw them, he reached over and pulled me tight against him, and
then he kissed the tears right off my face. He said nothing, just kissed away
the tears and held onto me real tight, until we both fell asleep.
Later, when we woke up and got out of bed - me for cookies and milk and him for
a bottle of water - Brian said it was Lindsay who told him about Dartmouth. I'd
been sure it was Debbie, even though I'd asked her not to tell anyone till I was
ready; I should have known she'd keep her promise. It never occurred to me that
Lindsay would call Brian, she's the one always telling me not to expect too much
from him or depend on him, so I don't know why she told him. He didn't explain,
just said she'd called and told him to 'do something.' Lindsay sure has a strong
hold on Brian; maybe someday he'll tell me why. I've asked before and he just
says they have 'history.'
We didn’t talk about school any more last night, and not at all this morning. We
didn’t talk about anything really - Gus’ latest accomplishment (he can now say
‘poo poo’ and ‘pee pee’), the weather (it’s supposed to snow another couple
inches today), and orange juice (Brian likes it thin, I like it pulpy). When he
dropped me off at Deb’s, all Brian said was, “Justin, you have to make your own
decisions, about college and everything else. Just be sure your reasons are
valid. You owe yourself honesty.”
I nodded and got out of the jeep. Luckily the house was empty, I could come up
to my room without talking to anyone. I needed this time to relax before going
to the diner for my afternoon shift.
I appreciate all that Brian has told me, and everything Debbie told me, too. I
really do. But there’s no need to talk any more, and there’s no point in
thinking any more. I haven’t drawn a sketch for three days and I don’t even miss
it. Not a bit. If I were a real artist, I wouldn’t be able to stop. So it’s no
big deal after all. My mind is completely made up, and now I’m going to write my
acceptance letter to Dartmouth. As soon as I print it out, I'll get dressed, and
then I can drop the letter in a mailbox on my way to work.
12/5/01