All It Is, Is Just A Name

Soft light filtered through the screen of cherry blossoms. I can see the bench my Grandfather had built sitting peacefully under the cherry tree his father had planted. It was stunning. But what something was different…Who is that? Someone was seated on the bench, a guitar in their hands. My feet seemed to have a mind of their own and before I knew it I was sitting down next to the person. It was a boy, he looked up and I was struck still at the sight of his unforgettable silvergrey eyes. A smile spread across the boys face and I found myself smiling back just as broadly. Then he turned his attention back to the acoustic on his lap. Soon a familiar song filled my ears---

Why is the ground shaking? “Wake up!”

I open my eyes to see my father standing over me a shit eating grin plastered on his face. With my ears still ringing I sit up on my forearms and whine at my dad, “Ow, My fucking eardrums!”

Still smiling like the Cheshire Cat he replied, “Watch your mouth young man.” Before he skipped out of my room. He is such an odd one. Well you do get it from somewhere. Why does my conscious always have a point? Because one of us has to be smart. Sometimes I’m convinced that I have a mental illness but then I just remind myself that really insane people are the ones who think nothings wrong with them. But then again where’s the fun in sanity?

Tossing the covers off I slide out of bed wincing as my feet hit the freezing hardwood. This morning my routine was far from normal. Last night I had written out a list, which was creatively titled if I do say so myself.

Ending The Lies
Tuesday: Wear my clothes, state my true opinions and end my relationship with Katy Holmes. Goal: Feeling comfortable in my own skin, getting kicked out of ‘the group’ and no longer being molested by a Paris Hilton wanna be.

Wednesday: Switch elective from Novels to Art III, meet new people, talk to dad about my sexuality. Goal: Picking up old hobbies, make real friends and come out of the closet.

Though I would feel better if I had a longer plan it would have to do. Hopefully the outcome isn’t as bad as I think it might be. Shaking off those thoughts I walk over to my closet, which is wardrobe #2, and took out a red and gray flannel, some red drainpipe jeans, and my original high top Chuck Taylor’s. Taking the clothes with me I cross the room to my dresser and grab a black BVD, boxers and socks.

Happy to have my own private bathroom I take a quick shower and smile as I put on the clothes. I felt extremely girly as I blow dried my hair. But I wanted it to lay straight instead of wavy. Was it just me or did that sound super gay to you too? I took out my contacts thinking that if I was going to do this I might as well do it all the way. Once the square black frames were in place I looked at my reflection contemplating lining my eyes. Deciding to compromise I rimmed a thin line of gray Kohl on each bottom lid. As I put away the eyeliner I noticed my long forgotten box 'o' lip rings. I took out two red hoops crossing my toes as I attempted to fit them through the barely noticeable holes. Finally I was satisfied with how I looked and skipped spraying on that tag shit enjoying that I smelled like him. It was a mildly girly scent, coconut and vanilla, I’d bought the same shampoo and conditioner for the last three years.

Then I headed downstairs to get something to eat.

"Lookin' savy my boy." He commented, that same idiot grin still in place.

I simply nodded my head and continued fixing my breakfast. As I was buttering my toast I started humming Shut Me Up by Mindless Self Indulgence, by the time I was pouring my coffee my dad joined in, "The bass, the rock, the mic, the treble I like my coffee black just like my metal and I can't wait for you to shut me up in a minute, minute!" At the end of the song we both busted up laughing and finished our breakfast.

For some reason the average breakfast I shared with my father threw me off. I guess it was because of how different today was going to be and how much my life would change. The fact that those average breakfasts could be limited to only one more, that is, if my father took the news of my preference for dick badly. Needing to escape my head space I yelled a goodbye and left the house. I was tempted to just walk but because I was running late I got into my black 1967 Volkswagen bug. The familiar rumble of Roxy’s engine and the sound of Chevelle was a subtle comfort. But as I parked my car I was stopped by a wave of uneasiness. This time I gave into temptation and did something I hadn’t done in a very long time. Leaning over I opened the glove compartment and took out a pack of American Spirits, a lighter and my old bottle of Playboy cologne.

It was like I’d never quit in the first place. The cancer stick fit just the same between by left index and ring finger, it only took on try to light it; flick and inhale. I didn’t even cough as I took in my first lung full of nicotine in over a year. Honestly I had no clue why I’d kept the stuff. I started smoking because I had subconscious stress and I had quit because I wanted to make the varsity soccer team. But as the trade mark calm settled in my veins I was glad that I had. Taking a couple more drags I stubbed it out slipping the halfie back in the pack along with the lighter. I spritz myself loving how the spice cologne mixed with the smell of cigarettes and him. Placing my paraphernalia carefully back in its hiding spot I grabbed my messenger bag and left the safety of my V Dub. I took one last deep breath before I turned to face the inevitable. Wish me luck.