Page 56 of Down My Chimney

Today, I was just exhausted. And heartsick. I couldn’t stomach another minute of pretending.

That night, I’d tried to sneak into our dark house, but this afternoon, the sun shone brightly, flooding the kitchen with warm white light. And rather than waking my parents up in confusion, I found them sitting at the kitchen island, working on their laptops side-by-side.

“Blake, honey!” My mom’s eyes went wide when she saw me. “You’re not supposed to come home until tomorrow.”

“Is something wrong?” my dad asked.

I opened my mouth to tell them everything was fine, but I couldn’t get the words out. A knot of sudden tears clogged my throat. So many things were wrong, I didn’t even know where to start. I nodded heavily and closed my eyes.

“Blake?” my dad said.

“I’m gay.” The words tumbled from my mouth. “And I think I want to drop out of school.”

* * *

It came out in a rush, the words jumbled up as I unloaded a year’s worth of worries and stress right there in the kitchen.

My mom ushered me to the counter, sitting me down on the stool she’d just vacated. My dad brought me a cup of coffee, which I hadn’t asked for, but I knew was him trying to be helpful. And for a few minutes, neither of them said anything. They just let me talk.

It was a relief, at first. I’d been holding everything in for so long, and it felt good to finally tell them. I probably told them more than they needed to know, details about the fight with my roommates tangled up with why I thought my thesis onParadise Lostsucked and how I thought my car was making a funny noise when I turned too sharply to the right.

But it all came out anyway, along with the more important parts, like apologizing for lying for so long, and trying my hardest to convey just how lost I felt at school, how above my head my major was, how I was sure I was sinking, and how another semester might see me drown.

The only thing I didn’t tell them about was Henry, but I had tears in my eyes by the time I wound down.

“I’m so sorry,” I said for what had to be the seventieth time. I buried my face in my hands. “I know this is a lot, and I’m sorry to dump it all on you, but I just can’t keep going like this. I feel like I’m unraveling and I don’t know what to do.”

“First of all, you have nothing to apologize for,” my mom said. “And we love you, no matter what.”

“But I lied to you.” I’d thought I was all cried out over the summer, but evidently, this semester had replenished my personal water table, and it was all flooding to the surface now. “I’ve been lying to you for months.”

“Not being ready to share something isn’t the same as lying,” my dad said, which sounded enough like PR spin that I lifted my head and looked at him suspiciously. He held my gaze. “A legitimate fear of reprisal isn’t the same thing as lying.”

“But I wasn’t afraid. I mean, I was, but I shouldn’t have been. I knew you weren’t going to like, disown me. But I still didn’t tell you.”

“Fear isn’t logical. Like your mom said. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“We’re just so happy you told us,” my mom put in. “In fact, I think that might be the most important thing.”

He nodded. “Yeah, good point. First of all, we’re glad you told us, because we want you to know you can come to us for anything. And second of all, you have nothing to apologize for. You’re our son, and we love you.”

I laughed, a broken, helpless sound. Even in the middle of their son’s mental breakdown, they were re-organizing their responses like slides in a PowerPoint presentation.

But again, Henry had been right. I’d told them, and nothing bad had happened. I still felt fragile, like I was waiting for aftershocks, but I was starting to feel stupid for having waited so long.

“Now, about school,” my dad said. His tone was still warm, but it had gone from quiet and understanding to brisk and encouraging, and I stiffened, sensing the pep talk I was about to get.

“We understand that this year hasn’t been easy,” my mom said. “But sweetheart, that’s no reason to give up.”

“You’ve been given a gift,” my dad continued. “An athletic scholarship to a great university, the chance to study whatever you want, without having to get a job or worry about bills. Not many kids your age get that kind of freedom.”

“And so many kids would kill for the chance you have!” my mom put in.

“You think that makes me feel better?” I pushed my stool back from the counter. “I know I’m ungrateful! I know I’ve been given an incredible opportunity and I’m being ridiculous for whining about it.”

“Blake, we’re not saying that—” my dad began, but I couldn’t hold back anymore.

“But I neverwantedthis. I didn’t actually ask for it, you know? I would have been happy just staying home and going to school around here. Something cheaper. I would have beenhappyto get a job, instead of trying to pretend I’m some kind of genius scholar who’s good at school.”

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