Sunsets and Silhouette Dreams

Today’s the day, I told myself.
Mom’s downstairs, getting dinner ready, and when we're all settled in, I’ll tell them, no backing out.
Although as soon as I thought that, my mind started going haywire with all the possible things that could go wrong.
“Even if it ends badly, things can't be worse than they are now,” I muttered to myself.
“I hardly see Dad, let alone talk to him, and Mom, well, she’s living in her own world of ignorance.”
I stopped, thinking about all the times I’ve tried to talk myself into going through with it, with this particular argument. Too many to count.
Here comes the counter argument - right on time. What if my dad goes ballistic or something? I’ve seen him throw a punch, and man, does he have a strong right hook.
Sighing, I blanked out my mind and just stared at the ceiling. My reverie was broken when my mom called me down for dinner.
Let’s see if I can go through it this time, I muttered under my breath upon entering the dining room.
“What was that honey?” My mom asked.
“Nothing.” I replied with a smile. “Just wondering what's for dinner.”
“Well you'll find out soon enough. Your father's upstairs, changing, and should be down any minute.”
I soon heard footsteps pounding down the stairs as my father slowly came into view. My father by nature was not normally a smiling man, but today, I could see a slight curve to his lips and his laughing lines wrinkled a bit. I took that as a good omen. Thank God for small miracles.
My mom came out of the kitchen, where she had gone in prior to my father’s arrival. She was carrying a pan covered with tinfoil. I looked at her with questioning eyes.
“Lasagna.” She said, with a smile on her face. “Now, be a dear and get the plates and cups.”
“Yes, Mother.”
I went into the kitchen and got out the plates, then the cups. I carefully stacked the cups on top of the plates. As I headed back into the dinning room, not one cup wobbled. When I set the plates atop the table, I finally came to a decision: today was the day, no backing out, and no changing the subject. I just prayed that they took it well.
Dinner was filled with lighthearted conversation, the board meeting next week, the bake sale my mom was in charge of, how I was doing in school, a normal family dinner. The calm before the storm. While mom was in the kitchen grabbing desert, ice cream, I decided I’d wait until she got back and then I was going to drop the bombshell. Mom soon came back to the dining room, a bucket of vanilla ice cream in one hand, and three bowls in the other.
“Oh dear, I forgot the scooper and the spoons, Kale could you go get them?”
“Sure thing, Mom.”
Back in the kitchen for the second time tonight. I grabbed the spoons and the scooper, my head reeling the whole time. I headed for the dining room, shook my head stopped, took a couple of deep breaths and set off again.
“Here you go, Mom.” I said, as I handed my mother the utensils.
I headed for my seat, and as soon as my ass hit the chair, I knew I couldn’t hold it off any longer. I had to do it now or my resolve would waver.
“Mom, Dad, I have something important to tell you.” I started, as soon as my mother had placed a bowl in front of me.
“What is it, son?” My father spoke.
“You‘ll always love me, no matter what right?”
They just stared at me.
“Right?” I stressed.
“Of course, but what is it? You're scaring your mother.” My father spoke, again.
“Mom, Dad - I'm gay.” I said, all the while staring helplessly at the bowl in front of me as if I could suddenly take those words back, but it couldn’t the cat was out of the bag, so to speak, and no amount of dragging would put it back. My mom and dad just looked at me with blank emotionless faces. My father was the first to snap out of it.
“Son, can you go to your room so you can let your mother and I talk about your little...” He stopped and thought it over for a bit. 'Confession' - that’s the word he ended up using, and it seemed as if he had to force it out.
“Okay.” I replied and quickly stood up, heading for the stairs as quickly as I could, without gaining attention.
As soon as I hit the stairs, I bolted for my room, all the while making sure I didn’t hit the hardwood hard enough to create a noise that could be heard downstairs.
As soon as I reached my room, I closed that door leaned against the back of it and slowly sank down.
“What have I done?” I murmured to myself while I ran my fingers through my hair in exasperation.
Maybe if I go to sleep, I'll wake up tomorrow morning, and everything will be okay, I thought.
“Yeah, that’s it. I’ll just go to sleep, and everything will be okay in the morning.” I whispered softly.
I then picked myself off the floor, walked the little bit of distance to my bed and let myself fall face first onto it, not bothering to change. I closed my eyes and within minutes, I was out like a light. In a dreamland where I could be who I wanted to be without any consequences.

~.~.~.~.~.~.~

I woke up the next morning dreading it; dread filled my skin, my blood, my bones I could feel it in every nerve, every pore of my being. It was everywhere, and it wasn’t letting go. I guess that’s what happens when you come out to your parents the night before, and they don’t say a word - only send you to your room.
My door suddenly burst open, causing me to emit a slightly girly scream. My mother looked at me as if I had two heads before raising an eyebrow at me and opening her mouth to speak, but thought better of it and shook her head instead saying “Rise and shine honey, breakfast is ready and you‘ll need energy for the day ahead."
Some things never change. “Okay, I‘m going to take a shower first if that’s alright.”
“Your food will get cold if you do that.” She chided. “Just come and eat, and you can take a shower later.”
“Okay.” I gave in, and got off my bed, following my mother down the stairs and towards the dining room, where my father was already waiting. That was weird, he rarely had time to have breakfast with us on any given day and here he was, waiting patiently as if he had all the time in the world.
As soon as we were all seated, my mom began pouring egg on each of our plates and then adding bacon and a hash brown. Soon we began eating within a comfortable silence, the feeling of dread subsiding because it seemed nothing bad was going to happen, at least for now. Halfway through, my dad cleared his throat, gaining our attention.
“Son, your mother and I...” He began, oblivious to the fact that the feeling of dread came back full force, as soon as he uttered the first syllable.
“Well, we decided to send you to Fairway Clinic.”
“Fairway Clinic,” I repeated curiously. “Isn‘t that a type of straight camp?”
“It‘s a facility established to help teens get over their…” He cut off, unsure of how to word it.
“This is just a phase and many teens go through it. The clinic will help you get over it, and you‘ll come back home soon.”
“Why are you doing this?” My throat was suddenly dry, but I managed to speak.
“To help you get better, this is nothing but a phase and the therapists and nurses will help you get over it quickly and before you know it, you‘ll be back home.” My dad said in a soothing tone.
“But I don‘t want to leave!” Wow. That sounded pathetic, even to me.
“It’s for the best, son.” A stronger, firmer but still soothing tone. It was as if he was trying to not scare me.
“I‘m not going and if you think I‘ll go willingly then you can…” The doorbell rang cutting off my last statement.
“They're a bit early.” My mother said to my father in that tone she always uses when she’s dealing with something unpleasant.
“Well, that’s for the best, don‘t you think?” He was already halfway to the door.
“Who‘s early?” I asked both of them in a confused voice.
“The people from Fairway.” My dad answered the question while opening the door. I barely registered what he said, but I understood all too well. At the door stood two slim but still strong-looking guys, all dressed in white.
“What? Am I going to a mental institution?” I said hysterically, preparing to bolt. I think my father sensed this, because he motioned towards the guys, and they came at me.
The next few moments were blurry and unexpected. All I remember through the adrenaline-fueled haze was that my father was quietly muttering, “I'd hoped it wouldn't have had to come to this.”
Soon, the two guys from Fairway had me restrained, and when they were sure I couldn’t run away, they turned towards my parents encouraging them to say something before they took me out of here and into the waiting car…bus…van... who knows?
“I‘ll miss you, take care, you‘ll be home soon enough.” My mother said to me through tears, and then hugged me, and kissed me.
My father came next. “Son, this is just a phase I‘m sure of it, these people - they will help you get better and then you‘ll come home but remember: they can‘t help someone who doesn‘t want to be helped - nobody can."
As they took me out of the house, I spared one last glance towards my parents. I must say - even though I was supposed to be mad at them for what they were doing, it still hurt to see them like this, my mother in hysterics with my dad holding her, with a blank face on, although I knew that underneath it he was hurting, after all, his only son was about to get shipped out to who knows where for God only knows how long. Soon they settled me into the white van. Inconspicuous much? One of the guys chuckled and said, “Yeah, most parents don‘t really like people knowing where their child is going hence the white van and clothes.”
I blushed, embarrassed I had voiced my thoughts out loud.
“That makes sense.” I mused. “But what keeps people from finding out when the kid comes back?”
“Mostly the fact that the kids, teens whatever, don‘t get out of there until they turn eighteen.” The same guy from before answered my question.
“Most parents think it’s a phase and that it can be ‘cured’ out of them but really it can‘t so most stay in there till their parents can‘t afford to keep them there any longer or they turn eighteen and when most do they're so mad at their parents they never go back to where they lived before, if they get the chance.” The other guy, the one that was driving spoke, offering his two cents as well.
“Can‘t you get fired for telling me all this?” I asked, genuinely curious as to why they were telling me this.
“We just escort you to the facility, and anyway, it‘s not like you're going to tell them.” He turned around. “Are you?”
“No, sir.”
The driver chuckled, “Most don‘t. After all, you‘ll need all the advice you can get to keep your sanity at that Godforsaken place.”
“Why do you work doing what you do if you don‘t agree with what their doing?” This was getting curiouser and curiouser.
“You're right, but we like helping young lads and ladies like you, offering what normality we can in such a hostile environment.” They said in in sync and with such honesty I was taken aback.
“I take it that I‘m not the first to ask that question.” I asked, humor coating my tone.
The one on the passenger seat burst out laughing, while the driver let out a chuckle and then responded.
“No, you're not, most ask the same question and we were getting this question asked so regularly, we decided to rehearse the answer.”
“Nice.” I said, a smile now adorning my face.
“Although, I must say the 'lads and ladies' part made you guys seem slightly like pedophiles.” I couldn’t help it; by the time I got to the end I burst out laughing so hard tears came out.
“We haven‘t quite gotten that response before, but we‘ll take it” The driver said, referring to my comment as his partner was still laughing.
“What are your names anyways, it‘s kind of awkward to keep referring to you as 'You guys.'”
The guy on the passenger seat finally stopped laughing and turned around, offering me his hand.
“Name's Evan, and my numbskull of a partner over there is James.”
“Numbskull... at least I don‘t bottom.” James mumbled to himself, probably thinking we couldn’t hear him... but we did. Evan was slowly turning red and we all went quiet.
“So you guys are together, I take it.” I said, when the atmosphere in the van suddenly inched towards awkward.
Evan scratched his head and then answered me very slowly, all the while looking at James out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, we are, but you can‘t tell anybody.”
“You guys are acting like I would judge you. You seriously think I would tell anybody, after all the time we‘ve spent together?” I was fake sobbing by the end, for effect of course.
“We‘ve only been in here twenty minutes, kid.”
“Oh...” I said awkwardly, slowly taking my hands off my face, the most forlorn expression I could muster showing on my features. Evan burst out laughing, of course he would, and James suddenly looked at him with a ‘what in the hell’ face which caused me to start laughing, and Evan to laugh even harder - I swear he snorted a couple of times. That’s how the rest of the trip was spent: sharing jokes, laughing till we cried (well, me and Evan did), playing I-Spy and other dumb games like that. It was enough to take my mind off the upcoming events, at least till James suddenly stopped the car, and turned around facing me. He then looked at Evan, who did the same. With the looks on their faces, I knew better than to talk.
“We're about two miles from the facility, we need to tell you a couple of things before we get there.” Evan was the first to speak, and I had never heard him sound so serious.
“One.” James started “When we get you off the van, we'll be holding you like we did when we took you out of your house, so you have to struggle and look mad.” He gazed at me questioningly.
“Struggle and look angry, got it.” I said nodding.
“Next.” It was Evan who spoke this time. “Don‘t try to talk to us while we're inside unless we initiate it, we don‘t only drive people here since there’s two sets of drivers, so we do odd jobs around the place.”
“Third, on the inside we're not the only ones to help you guys out, there’s about 15 of us in a staff of 400, so it’ll be hard but look for them.” James stopped and looked at Evan.
“There are many telltale signs, many will start talking to you as if you were somewhere normal, others wear colorful t-shirts underneath their uniforms, make friends with these people, they‘ll end up helping you tons in the long run.”
“Most of all,” They said in sync, making me smile.
“Don‘t give up or give in, you have to promise us that.”
“I won‘t.” I said a sad smile on my face. Evan ruffled my hair, and then turned around, his face tense.
“There was another boy, a couple of years ago, he made the same promise but couldn‘t keep it, when we drove him home he was all straight-like but it was all an act. A couple of months later, he committed suicide. Evan took it pretty hard.”
“Don‘t worry, I‘ll survive this with my gayness intact and won‘t let the stress and junk get to me.” I aimed the last part towards Evan and I swear I saw his lips twitch upwards.
“Atta boy.” James said and ruffled my hair just like Evan had before turning around and flooring the accelerator.
The rest of the drive was silent, each of us absorbed in our own thoughts. Suddenly the car stopped, and I looked upwards. The place didn’t look like a prison like I thought it would, but instead it was like a rehab facility, thank God for small miracles.
While I was staring, trying to take in my last glimpse of the outside world, James was talking to the guard controlling the entrance. Then we were off again, heading towards the small patch of light on the otherwise dark grounds. The car then stopped, for the last time I thought, and James turned off the engine. They got off and headed towards my door, grabbed me and proceeded to walk towards the door.
Right before the door was set to open, James whispered, “Game Faces, Boys.”