Page 50 of The Trailer Park Twink
“No. Shut up. Just shut up for a second, all of you. No one cares about the two of you. No one signed up for your banter.” I cup Daddy’s cheek and gently guide him until we’re eye to eye. “I was a really bad boy, and I owe you an apology, sir.”
Daddy shakes his head, vehemently disagreeing. “You’re Daddy’s good fuckin’ boy!”
“I try to be, but I wasn’t a good boy just now. I’m sorry I called you heterosexual. I know that’s a cross no man should have to bear.” Leaning a little closer, I give him a kiss, right on the corner of his mouth. “You’re not straight, and I thinkthat’s great.” I give his chin a little tickle. “You’re also not gay, but that’s still okay.”
“Is that poetry?” he whispers, sounding amazed, staring at me like the heart-eye emoji. “Did you write it for me?”
“Yes, sir. Just now,” I say, feeling pretty damn proud.
“That’s James fuckin’ Joyce,” Bubba announces, earning a scowl from both Daddy and myself. He turns to Ezra and grins proudly. “Bet you didn’t think I even knew who that was, did you? I’m real smart, pretty boy. I can usually guess half the questions on Jeopardy.”
Ezra blinks at him. “What is ‘I’d rather use battery acid as lube than discuss poetry with you again,’ Alex?”
“Aussie?” Dallas has a serious look on his face when we lock eyes. “Seriously, baby. You ain’t got nothing to apologize for.”
“You might not need me to apologize, but I need to do it. I’m very sorry for erasing your sexuality, sir. It was thoughtless.” I brush a thumb against his cheek and smile. “I love my bisexual boyfriend.”
“Boyfriend,” Dallas repeats, his eyes blasting out love like a spotlight. It almost feels too much. Too many emotions rushing at me like rolling rapids. Too much intensity for a trailer park twink to bear. He brings my hand to his mouth and plants a gentle kiss on top. “And I love my gay son. I love his big, gay heart.”
“Umm, Austin?” Ezra says, but fuck Ezra. He’s been making everything about him long enough. This moment belongs to me and my Daddy, and he’s giving me this look I can’t quite read.
“What’s wrong, Daddy?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I just . . . I think there’s something I finally need to do. For you.” Closing his eyes, he lets out a sigh. “For me. I’ve been keeping quiet for years, but I’m tired of our lives constantly being an uphill battle. I’m picking you, Aussie. I’m yours, if you’ll have me.”
“Dallas,” I whine.
“Seriously, Austin—” Ezra attempts again, but Dallas looks up and glares at him.
“Bubba, you better get your boy in check, because if he interrupts us again, I’ll—”
“Ah, hell,” Bubba interrupts, looking past Dallas, toward the wall. “Well, that ain’t fuckin’ good.”
Dallas looks behind me at the sofa and the color drains from his face. “Aussie, baby, I want you to go to the bedroom.”
I scowl at him. “You’re putting me in time out? For what?”
“Please? Just go. Go to the bedroom, put on some clothes, and wait for me to—”
There’s a loud, eardrum-piercing pop that shatters the silent setting of the cabin. When I whirl around, Mom is standing in front of Dallas, and she's holding a gun. It’s aimed at the ceiling,and light filters in from the hole she just shot through the wood. The rope Ezra was using to restrain her is tied around her waist like a leash, but the multiple loops used to lock her in place have unraveled, and she moves the gun, pressing it right against Dallas’ heart.
“What the fuck do you mean you pick him?” she growls. “Picking a man isn’t an option. Picking my goddamn son isn’t an option. You’re sick. This is sick, and I’m not going to allow the sickness to spread. Move out of the way, Dallas.”
My jaw drops, because what the fuck? I mean I know I essentially kidnapped her and made her sleep in a spacious toolbox for a few hours before releasing her into the wilds of metropolitan Tulsa, but I never tried to physically harm my mother. I didn’t try to kill her.
All that aside, where the actual fuck did she get a gun? Oh, wait. That’s Ezra’s, isn’t it? I mean it has to be. It’s hot pink with rhinestones glued down the top of the barrel. Did the dumbass set it down on the couch before he came over here to shoot the shit? He cannot be that stupid. It isn’t twinkishly possible. I know this. While I know that I know it can’t be true, the rosy-red hue of his cheeks is all the proof I need.
I point a judgmental finger at my alleged best friend. “You stupid motherfu—”
“Shelly,” Dallas interrupts, his voice cool and collected. “Baby, you don’t need to do this.”
“Apparently, I do. Apparently, I have to hold you hostage just to get a second of your attention.” She waves the gun at me, a bit too flippantly, if you ask me, which you probably should, because I’m the one it’s being aimed at now. “You may have slipped the ring on my finger, but he’s the one you wanted to give it to, isn’t he? I spent the first year of our marriage trying to understand what I was doing wrong, but it was never me. It was him. My son. My own flesh and blood.” She narrows her eyes and aims the glare at me. “You’re worse than those goddamn Menendez brothers. At least they had the decency to put their wounded mother out of her misery. You’ve dragged this out for years. Do you know what that’s like? Having your own flesh and blood actively trying to ruin your relationship?”
“You’re literally aiming a gun at me,” I say. “Yeah, you could say I understand what you’re feeling.”
She stares at the gun and then at me. For a moment—the briefest moment—a look of remorse rushes across her face, but it’s here one second, gone the next. She lowers the gun so it’s not aimed right at me anymore, then closes her eyes and huffs.
“Why are you here?” I ask. “Howare you even here?”
