I know that I said I’d never go, I know I did. I said it. He asked me and then Jenn asked me and I flat out refused to even consider it. I wasn’t going. I swore that it would be a cold day in Hell before I showed up there with everything that had been going on, but then Jenn told me that he was taking Daphne and I guess that I was hoping against hope that maybe it really had all been just some stupid phase and that he was finally over it.

 

I know, it was stupid of me, but I was just so damn hoping. God, he’s still my son, despite everything. He still is.

 

I didn’t even tell him that I was going. I had this fantasy that I’d be there and the kids would show up. I’d watch them for a little while, all dressed up in their finery and then I’d oh so casually walk over and tap him on the shoulder and surprise him. I could picture that big smile of his, the one just like my mother’s, and we’d laugh about all the bullshit and the arguments and we’d become closer than we even were back when he was about ten or so.

 

That was what I was hoping would happen, anyway.

 

I remember that it was a perfect night, clear with stars and the moon was a crescent. Just perfect. The kids were all there when I arrived, maybe a hundred and fifty of them along with a few of the teachers and some other parents who had been pressed into service as chaperones. We were given a little talk about making sure the kids didn’t do anything in the bathrooms that they weren’t supposed to and that if they wanted to take the elevators upstairs we should make sure that they not only had rooms but that they were on the list of kids who had their parents permission.

 

I had my tux on. I think the last time I wore it was when Jenn and I went out for our anniversary, our eighteenth anniversary, the last one we celebrated. It still fit, though, so I felt good about that. I had gotten a new shirt to wear with it, a nice white one, and a new cummerbund and tie. I even pulled out my Dad’s old studs, the ones I thought that I’d give to Justin one of these days.

 

Well, there was a time I thought that, anyway. In fact I had this idea, a fantasy really, that Jenn would get all dressed up and go with me like we used to do. We went out together all the time. I know a lot of couples get lazy, stop dating each other and that the romance goes down the tubes and we both did everything we could to stop that from happening. It was only at the end that she would ask me—tell me—to not come upstairs, to sleep in the den.

 

I got there right about on time, parked the car under the building and took the elevator up stairs, followed the signs and the sounds to the main ballroom. There were balloons everywhere, a mirror ball, the usual streamers of confetti. The lights were pretty much subdued and the music was something I’d never heard of. It was about what I would expect for a senior prom except I wasn’t really prepared for the kids to look so grown up, so adult. The boys were young men, the girls were young women and there was making no mistake about that. They were wearing their tuxes and their dresses like they were used to things like that and knowing the crowd who went to St. James, they probably had more of a clue than most kids their age. I’m sure they were less self-conscious than I remember being at things like this.

 

I said hello to some of the other adults, a few teachers and some of the parents I’m met at various meetings and class plays but I remember trying to keep a low profile. I wanted to surprise Justin, let him know that there were no hard feelings and that it was all water under the bridge. Hell, after Jenn told me that he had invited Daphne I knew that he was going to be alright after all. Those kids had been best friends since kindergarten and it would hardly be the first time that sort of thing had turned into something else.

 

I saw them out there on the floor, dancing,  talking, laughing at whatever they were saying. They looked happy, like they were right where they wanted to be. Alright, they didn’t seem to be having much to do with the other kids other than a few odd comments and the like, but if I was on the dance floor with my best girl, I’d want to keep her to myself, too. I stayed behind one of the big columns, just watching and talking, just chatting with some of the others. It was a nice night. The prom committee had done a good job from what I could see. There would be the usual after prom parties and I knew that Jenn didn’t expect Justin home until at least dawn.

 

Shit, I’d almost forgotten. He wasn’t living with her. He was living with that loud woman who had brought Justin home one night a few months ago when all of the mess was just starting.

 

Damnit.

 

I was having a good time and I can’t forget for one Goddamned hour that my son thinks that he’s a—fuck. That’s what he said Kinney had called what they had done, what, by extension he was to the man. Jesus. Isn’t that just any parent’s dream? Can you imagine your son or daughter sitting in your own living room and telling you that as the …person…we’re talking about is sitting there as calmly as if he owned the place.

 

Jesus.

 

The next thing I was picturing him in that damn back alley outside of that gay bar or dance club or whatever the Hell it was. I’d gone in for just a couple of minutes, looking for Justin. The bouncers had let me through when I told them that I supposed to meet Kinney there. I took a shot, you know? I figured that at least I’d find out of he was inside and if he was I knew that there was a good chance that Justin would be with him.

 

They were there alright, and up to just about what I had thought. God—to see my son pressed up against that man, to see them bumping and grinding like a couple of—God. I’ll never forget the sight of that. Never. The sight of them kissing and groping one another in public, surrounded by Christ knows how many other doing the same thing—God I wish I could forget that.

 

Then a while later there they were, leaving with those, those men. Laughing, arms around one another and then him being pressed up against a car, touched and—Jesus—kissed by that Goddamned pervert.

 

One damn night I’d like to not have to see that replay in my brain. Just one damn night.

 

But let’s get back to the dance, alright? I mean that’s what we’re talking about here.

 

So I was standing there with a couple of the other parents, chatting, watching Justin and Daphne dancing together and having fun. They were laughing and joking around. Well, they seemed to be keeping to themselves, but that was OK, too. Neither of them had noticed that I was there yet and I didn’t want to intrude. I know that sounds stupid, but I didn’t. The way things had been between me and Justin the last few months, I wasn’t all that sure what kind of a reception I’d get. Bob Polzin and his wife were telling me that they’d heard Justin had been accepted to Dartmouth and they’d heard a rumor that he was in line for a couple of the graduation prizes that would be handed out in a month or so. He seemed to be in the lead for the art award, which was no surprise and some kind of English thing that carried a small scholarship with it. Well, that would be great. Justin always did make me proud—well, at least he did up til the last few months.

 

You know, though? I really am starting to hope that it really was just a phase that he was going through. I’ve done some reading on it and it’s pretty common for kids to experiment and there’s nothing wrong with that—as long as he gets past it and moves on. Nothing wrong with trying things. That’s what being a kid is all about. Hell, I tried a few things when I was his age that I’d rather not think about now. All kids do it.

 

The dance was going along pretty well and I was just about to walk over and let the kids know that I was there when I caught him walking into the room out of the corner of my eye. He looked good, I have to admit that. He was tall and would have commanded attention simply because of that but he’s so damn attractive and he has that presence that I’ve noticed before. Some people have it and some don’t. It’s simply one of those things that you’re either born with or you’re not. He was, in spades. Christ, I almost understand why Justin let him do…

 

He seemed almost uncomfortable being there and I guess that’s not too surprising when you considered that he was almost twice as old as most of the kids in the room. Even he seemed to pause and get his breath before he caught sight of Justin and Daphne on the edge of the dance floor. He sort of squared his shoulders then walked straight over to them as if he expected the crowd to part for him to pass. The pisser was that it did.

 

I saw the look on Justin’s face when Daphne touched his arm and made him turn around. I’ve seen that look maybe twice before in his life. Once when he was about seven and he managed to stay up on that two-wheeler for the entire length of the street and the other time, I think, was when I made a surprise announcement at dinner one night that we were all going to Disneyworld. I think he was about ten.

 

He had that same look when he saw Kinney: Disneyworld and conquering his bike all rolled into one.

 

I saw the way Kinney put his hand on Justin’s lapel and the way they talked, so damn intimate. He kissed Daphne on the temple, saying something that made her blush and she nodded as he asked her something. The other kids, at least some of them, were watching what was going on and I saw one boy who seemed pretty upset about the whole thing.

Kinney took his hand—they were holding hands, for God’s sake!—and they cleared the floor when they walked over to near the edge of the small stage.

 

I can only assume that Kinney somehow arranged the song ahead of time. It was just too damn perfect for it to be a coincidence. It had to have been set up.

 

“Save the Last Dance for Me”, my ass.

 

I couldn’t fucking believe it. They were dancing like Astaire and Rodgers and my son was Ginger. At least he wasn’t wearing feathers and chiffon. I suppose that I should be grateful for small things. I saw the looks they were getting and I couldn’t believe some of them. Sure there were a good number, most in fact, who seemed as outraged and angry at the display as I was but there were a few who I saw smiling and I couldn’t believe the damn misguided romanticism of it all. They were misty-eyed, for God’s sake. Jesus.

 

I was standing in the crowd, with a couple of the other parents and a teacher or two and I knew that they were watching me out of the corners of their eyes, wanting to see what I’d do.

 

Hell.

 

What was I supposed to do? Cut in?

 

The end, that Goddamned kiss that went on and on as they stood there with that stupid song finishing almost turned my stomach. Jesus, how would you feel if you saw your son, your pride and joy, the person who was going to carry on the family name, standing there at the center of a crowd kissing the man who raped him regularly for months? How would you? You think you’d smile and wish them well?

 

I doubt it.

 

A few months before I’d accused Justin of flaunting himself in school but it couldn’t have been anything g like this. It couldn’t have been.

 

Jesus, I couldn’t take any more of that. I really just couldn’t. I walked out and was about to head down to the garage to get the car—the new one that had replaced the silver Lexus I’d smashed—but decided to take a short detour to the bar instead. I’m not much of a drinker, but I thought that I’d earned it that night.

 

I was there when the first rumors started and when the rumors weren’t rumors anymore but were true. I knew that either Justin or Kinney were hurt, maybe both of them. The first news wasn’t clear.

 

The thing is, I’m sure, well as sure as I can be, that Justin saw me standing there watching them dance. I know he did. It was just a moment, but I’m sure he saw me standing there with the others, watching him. He did. I know it. There was a second when his eyes and mine locked before they finished a turn and I know he saw that it was me.

 

I wonder sometimes if he ever remembers that.

 

I know that he says that he doesn’t actually remember much of anything from that night, but I wonder if that’s the truth.

 

I hope that he does remember that I was there that night. I hope he knows that I was there for him and that I—what? What did I want?

 

I wanted it to be good. I wanted him to have a good time and remember it for the rest of his life the way I remember the first time I set eyes on his mother or kissed her or the first time we made love. I wanted him to have memories as good as those are.

 

Instead he has a scar and…Kinney.

 

I went to the hospital.

 

I know no one thinks that I did, but I was there.

 

I identified myself as Justin Taylor’s father and after showing some ID they told me about his condition and tried to make me comfortable. The nurse offered to take me to the waiting room where the others were and seemed to understand when I told her that I’d rather be alone.

 

I spent the night in the hospital chapel. Now, I’m not religious, but I thought that it would be quiet and that no one would bother me and it worked. At one point a frowsy woman in a red wig and loud clothing came in and prayed on her knees, crying, but she left after half an hour or so.

 

I went to that damn hospital every day. I spoke to the nurses and they got to know me. I avoided Jenn—it wasn’t hard. I know her schedule for picking up Molly and knew when she would be least likely to be there. I knew about Kinney’s nightly vigils. The others might not have known, but I did.

 

I avoided him, too, but I resented that he seemed to think he had some kind of right to be there. That son of a bitch—if he hadn’t gone to the hotel that night, if they hadn’t danced like they had, if he had just kept his filthy hands off of my son in the first place…

 

Son of a bitch.

 

Yes, damn right I’m angry. Bastard.

 

His fault. My son was almost killed and even if he lives to be hundred he’ll have the memories of what Kinney did to him locked up in his brain until the day he dies.

 

If there were something I could do—anything to erase those memories, those nightmares I’d do it. I’d do it in a minute.

 

But there’s nothing to be done.

 

Justin will live. I know that now, just as I know he’s lost. He’s my son and I will love him every day of my life, but he’s—dead.

 

I see the anger and the frustration in him now and I know it’s because of Kinney.

 

My son, my beautiful, talented son is damaged and nothing will ever make it right.

 

Nothing can.

 

And Jennifer blames me.

 

She asked Kinney to help Justin, to help him get better and she blames me.

 

…Jesus.  

 

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