Page 87 of Taking Care of You
When I finish, my dad looks devastated. I feel like shit, but I didn’t tell him all that to make him feel bad. I just wanted him to understand why I was laid up in this bed.
He opens his mouth several times, but nothing comes out. I wait him out, letting him digest everything I’ve said to him.
It takes a minute, but he says, “Your mother kicked you out?” I nod. “Koby, I’m so sorry. I should have been there for you. I should have been home more. I could have protected you.”
I shrug, then hiss when my ribs throb from the sudden motion. “You were busy working. I understand.”
“Kid, you’re more important than that job. I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t. But I promise I’ll be there for you from now on. I’ll cut back on my hours and be home a lot more. I have a bunch of vacation saved up. I’ll be here every day, all day, until they kick me out.”
I grab his hand and squeeze. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Your mother has been…insulting you? Abusing you because you’re gay?”
“She never hit me, Dad,” I say, trying to downplay the extent of what she did. She didn’t have to hit me to inflict pain.
“Mental abuse, kid. That’s bad, too. I swear, I didn’t know.”
“You stopped caring,” I let slip out. Even though I know he’s trying, I can’t ignore that his absence hurt me as well. “When I came out, you stopped caring about me. We stopped hanging out. No more wrestling. You started working more because I told you I was gay.”
My dad walks over to grab the chair and sits beside me. “I don’t care that you’re gay, kid. I thought…” Dad pauses and wipes at the tears that have been constantly dripping from his eyes. “I didn’t think we had anything in common anymore. When you came out, that was around the time you started to get more and more into the books. You would miss our Monday Night Raws. And when we did watch together, I felt like you weren’t interested anymore. So I thought I was letting you off the hook. You’re so studious, always have been. And I’m not…book smart. So I didn’t think we could connect. That has nothing to do with you being gay. And I’m sorry I made you feel that way. No matter what, you’re my son and I love you.”
I remember the days he’s talking about. I thought he felt weird being around me, like he wouldn’t see me the same since I was gay. So I wasn’t as enthused about watching wrestling with him. It seems like we both had a big miscommunication that could have been fixed years ago if we’d just talked it through.
“I’m sorry, Dad,” I say past the lump in my throat. All these years we wasted. All the years we could have been closer than close. And I almost died.
“Oh, no, kid,” he says earnestly. “You have nothing to apologize for. I’m the adult, you were too young to know what questions to ask. I should have stepped up and been better.” Taking a deep breath and wiping his face, he looks at me and says, “Can we start over?”
I nod, sobbing, overwhelmed that I still have one parent left. That someone else loves me and he’ll be there for me. I sob because my dad doesn’t care that I’m gay. That he’s accepted me.
The sobbing hurts my ribs and my head so much that I cry more from the pain. It’s a cycle that soon has me in hysterics and my dad has to call the nurse, who gives me something to calm me down.
After the meds kick in, I lie still on the bed, tears slowly leaking from my eyes. My dad comes over and wipes my face, then kisses me gently on the forehead. “Rest, kid. I’ll be here when you wake up.”
Listening to my father, I close my eyes and let the tide of the medication take me away.
I wake up to harsh whispers, but I don’t turn my head in the direction of the voices. I know who they belong to—my mom and dad. I can tell by her voice that she’s sober. No slurring, which she usually does after only a few drinks.
“He’s my son, too. He needs his mother!” she whisper-shouts.
“He needed you before he got hurt!” he whispers back in kind. “You kicked him out, Barbara?! What the fuck were you thinking?”
“It was an accident. I didn’t mean it!”
“Bullshit! You don’t accidentally throw your son’s shit on the front lawn!” I hear a gasp. “Yeah, Nate told me! How could you do that to our son? And just because he's gay? What the fuck, Barbara?!” Crystal’s dad must have filled him in.
There’s silence and I hear sniffling. “Look, let me talk to him, Leonard. I need to apologize to my boy.”
“No,” my dad seethes. “You don’t get to talk to him.”
“It’s okay, Dad,” I interrupt before he can tell her no again. I look in the direction of the door and see my dad almost bodily restraining my mother so she can’t get in.
She gives my dad a smug look, then walks quickly over to my bed. She tries to grab my hand but I move it out of the way,flinching away from her. It’s a natural reaction from years of abuse. My dad sees it and his eyes go flinty.
I shake my head at him, and he says, “I’ll be right outside. I want to talk to the doctor.” I nod then look back at my mother.
I’ll give it to her, she looks distraught. It might be genuine, but she’s done so much harm that I can’t find it in me to feel bad for her.
To cover up the rebuff, she pats the rail on the side of my bed. “How you doin’, son?” I wince when she says that. She practically disowned me when I came to pick up my things. I don’t like that she’s pretending right now.
