Heart in A Cage

Despite the cool wind coming in through the open window, I was sweating all over. My body was clad in nothing but boxers, but – for some reason – I felt trapped. The white sheets tangled around in my legs scratched at my bare skin. My arm was thrown lazily over my eyes, preventing me from seeing anything except stars behind my eyelids.

A jumble of thoughts buzzed around in my head, and I hastily turned on my side, burying my face in the pillow.

I couldn’t stop thinking about Lukas. I wanted to remove him from my mind – I really did – but he kept popping up, like a stupid Jack-in-the-Box. His face seemed to be imprinted in my mind, and the harder I tried to ignore it, the more vivid the image became. I remembered the way his inky black hair had stuck to his forehead; the way his muscles flexed under his skin when he’d pulled himself out of the pool… It was all so realistic.

All the past feelings that I’d shoved deep inside of me were starting to resurface. I’d spent the past six years of my life trying to not think of love and relationships. When I saw a couple walking down the street, I turned my head and focused on something else. If Tyler ever talked about a “hot babe” I mumbled something incoherent and pulled him away from the topic. Though he’d never bugged me about it, I’d always wondered if he’d suspected. But how could he? There was only person who had known, and she was long gone.

I guess I first started suspecting I was different was when I was around ten years old. I’d always preferred spending time with boys over girls, and this was normal at the time, of course, because all the boys knew girls had “cooties.” Even so, I knew there was something about me that was different from the others boys. Of course, being ten, I didn’t pay attention to thoughts like this, and continued on with life.

It was when I turned eleven that I knew for sure there was something off about my feelings. I was having my first boy-girl party, and I had spent all day helping my mom decorate the house. I’d been so excited, jumping from place to place, fretting over small things and throwing tantrums in general. Mom had laughed at how strange I was acting, but, nonetheless, she made sure that the party went exactly as I wanted it to.

After I’d cut the cake and we all had a fair amount of sugar running through our veins, Mom told us to go into the basement and play until the pizza arrived. All the boys shouted and whooped, running down the stairs and throwing themselves onto the couches. The girls all giggled and sat in one corner of the room, gossiping about who-knows-what.

I think it was Logan Monte who suggested ‘Spin the Bottle’. Logan had an older brother who was in high school, and he was the only one of us who knew what went on at the older kids’ parties. He told us that his brother got “all the girls” by playing this game and that kissing felt really good. So, trying not to laugh hysterically, the boys called over the girls and we explained the game to them. All of them looked genuinely surprised and rather embarrassed, but they said yes.

And so it began.

Throughout the whole ordeal, I sat with my arms crossed, praying that the bottle wouldn’t land on me. Of course, when one doesn’t want something to happen, it usually does. So I was picked to kiss Mary-Anne Bollard, one of the most popular girls in the fifth grade. She was pretty with rosy cheeks and long, brown hair that she let flow around her shoulders.

As Mary-Anne crawled across the circle to get to me, all the boys looked enviously in my direction. I shriveled up into myself, praying that the earth would open up and swallow me.

“Are you okay?” Mary-Anne whispered, only mere inches away from my face. I nodded my head jerkily, and she smiled. With her face tilted to the right, she came forward.

Our lips met.

And I felt…nothing.

A wild rage bubbled up in the pit of my stomach. Why I wasn’t I happy? Why didn’t this make me excited? Mary-Anne’s lips were soft against mine, but it felt uncomfortable. Wrong. It was the kind of feeling I got when I wouldn’t look where I was going on the stairs, and mistake the floor to be another step; I would feel upset and the oddness of the situation would gnaw at my insides. This is how the kiss with Mary-Anne felt like, and, though it seemed like it went on forever, she finally pulled away and went back to her spot.

Nobody seemed to notice my discomfort and the game went on.

My confusion grew in the coming months, and, whenever I imagined the kiss in my mind, I would think not of Mary-Anne, but of Logan. His flaming red hair and green eyes would flash in my mind, and I would press my lips tightly together, willing myself to stop feeling so excited.

Even when I was a little kid, my dad and I never got along. He often told me that I should get involved in sports, but they didn’t interest me. He was rarely home, as he always had to go into different states for his job. So I spent my childhood days with my mother.

I remember the particular day I confessed to her about my feelings. It was summer, and I was soon going to turn twelve. Mom and I were sitting in the backyard, on a sheet she’d spread out on the green grass. She lay on her stomach, reading, while I drank lemonade and skimmed through a comic book. The sun’s rays beat down on my bare back, and, every now and then, my mom would ask if I wanted anything to eat.

Finally, after she’d asked for the fifth time, I flipped out and yelled, “I don’t want anything, okay!”

Confused, Mom turned around and looked at me, her forehead scrunched up. She sat up and put her book down, marking her place with a bookmark.

“Hon?” she asked, scooting closer to me and rubbing my back. “What’s wrong?”

I shook my head and leaned against her, tears making my vision blurry. “I’m dirty.”

Mom listened to me as I explained to her about what I’d been feeling. I told her that, every time Dad saw someone he didn’t like, he would mutter ‘faggot’ under his breath. I confessed that I’d asked Logan Monte what faggot meant, and he’d explained that it was the worst thing you could be. I told her I was a sinner.

I sobbed into her chest, and though I apologized numerously about being dirty, she told me that it was okay. She whispered in my hair that, no matter who I liked, I was still her son. She told me not to tell my father anything yet, that he wouldn’t understand. And, at that moment, I’d never loved anyone as much as I did my mom.

But now she was gone. And she’d taken my secret along with her.

*

The next morning, I woke up to find that I’d slept in again. I was a little disappointed that Lukas hadn’t come to my window again, but I knew that he didn’t need me anymore. He had Deon. Things had gone back to normal.

Aunt Karen was sitting in the kitchen, skimming through the newspaper, when I came downstairs. She smiled her bright smile and tucked a piece of blonde hair behind her ear. “Hello, love,” she said, patting the chair beside her. “Come sit. I’ll make you some breakfast.”

I went and sat down, crossing my legs at the ankles. A yawn escaped me, and I ran a finger through my wet hair. “Where’s everybody?” I asked quietly, scratching at the tablecloth.

“Your uncle took Nelson and Kelvin to the football field. There’s a game going on over there today.” The microwave beeped and she turned around, her face confused. “I don’t know where Deon is. I’ve tried to call him, but his phone’s off.” She shrugged. “I’m sure he’s fine.”

I nodded, my mind elsewhere.

After I’d finished eating, Aunt Karen took away the dishes and then sat down beside me again.

“Connor,” she started, looking at me with a genuine smile. “I was wondering if you could head over to Grandpa Byron’s house today. It’s just that he needs help with mowing the grass in the front yard. And he hasn’t been feeling particularly well, so…”

My mind seemed to bolt into action at the thought of Grandpa Byron. Ever since I’d come to live with the Walters, I hadn’t visited him once. He was, after all, my dad’s dad, and I realized how rude it was of me to not give him a second thought.

I nodded, getting up. “I’ll go do that.”

As Aunt Karen called out to be home for dinner, I exited the Walter home and started my walk over to Grandpa Byron’s. As I’d known from day one, Grandpa Byron didn’t live too far away from us, and so it took little to no time to arrive at my destination.

The layout of his house was the same as the Walters’, except Grandpa Byron’s was a little smaller. As I came closer, I could see that the grass in the front yard needed to be cut; it almost reached up above my ankles. There were no cars parked in the driveway, and the house generally looked as though it had been out of use for a while.

As I rang the doorbell, I had the urge to hop from foot to foot. I didn’t know if I should be nervous or not, but I made sure my face had nothing but a neutral expression on it.

The mahogany door opened slowly, and there stood Grandpa Byron. He wore a button-down shirt and khakis, and held a white cane in his hand. As he saw me, he somewhat smiled and opened the door further.

“Come on in,” he muttered, shutting the door behind us.

The house was cool, and there was a faint smell of fresh paint in the air. We both walked into the living room, and I sat down on the couch. Grandpa Byron seated himself in an armchair across from me. It was silent for a moment, as I looked around and got familiar with my surroundings.

“How have you been?” Grandpa Byron asked, pushing his glasses up his nose.

“Good, I suppose,” I mumbled, trying to smile. Abruptly, I said, in a rather loud voice, “So Aunt Karen said you needed me to mow the lawn.”

He nodded, pointing his finger outside. “Just the front yard. The lawn mower is in the shed, at the back. If you need anything, I’ll be here.”

I quickly nodded, and exited through the back door. The lawn mower was heavy, but I managed to drag it into the front yard. After reading a few instructions on the side, I looked for the cord that I was supposed to pull. It hung loosely by the side, and I yanked it, hard, hoping the machine would work. A few more tries later, the damned thing finally came to life with a loud roar. The silence was abruptly broken as the deafening rumbling filled my ears.

Halfway through, my phone vibrated in my pocket. Shutting the lawn mower off and leaning against it, I flipped open the phone to see I had a message. It was from Deon. My face took on a confused expression as I wondered what he could want. A little hesistantly, I pressed 'View' and the words appeared on the lit screen.

hey. going camping next weekend.
me, you, lukas, and pete. up for it?

Pete? I thought, confused. But my curiosity flew away when I stared at Lukas’s pixelated name. Swallowing thickly, I quickly typed a message saying that yes, I would like to come.

And though I tried to tell myself that I wasn’t excited – not in the least bit – the fluttery feeling in my stomach grew as each second passed.