2004
what I need
Traffic whizzed in front of us as our light glared a crimson red. Knuckles white, as I wrung my hands on the steering wheel.
I kept putting this conversation off, but I couldn’t do it anymore. It had to be now. I was tired of talking about nothing. She had been saying something about my Aunt, and going somewhere with my Dad, but all I could do was nod and say, ‘Oh, that’s nice.’ or ‘Umm, really.’
I could see her out of the corner of my eye. Her hair was starting to grey at the temples, but if you didn’t know her, you would never guess she had grown up kids. I couldn’t help but think, ‘If I can age half as well as Mom, I’ll be in good shape.’ The light flashed green and there was a sudden lull in the conversation.
This was my chance. “Uh, Mom. . . I, uh, . . .” I could see her looking at me, waiting. “Mom, I know you love me.” I started.
She chuckled and smiled, “Of course.”
“But to love me, you must know the real me, the gay me.” ‘Did I just say that?’I think to myself. That, was so after-school special dialogue. Pathetic.
She sighed, “Whatever makes you happy. It’s your choice. Do what you need to do.”
Do what I need to do? What kind of answer is that, like it’s a job.
I shook my head. “Mom, it’s not about a choice or doing what I need to do, it’s about me. It’s about who I am. It’s not some fad that I’m going to grow out of. I told you I was gay over three years ago.”
She was looking out the side window. “I want you to do whatever makes you happy.”
“Being me makes me happy Mom . ..just being me.”
by paid_voyeur
