A Beautiful Moment Amongst The Rain

It soon became a tradition, to go to your house and on the weekends and have dinner with your father. You never told me about your mother, nor did your father. So I never asked.

I assumed that you had never told your father about your sexual orientation, it was a silly assumption really. I figured that that sort of thing was a personal thing, something you hide from your family, a given. Like when you first have sex, smoke, drink, do drugs, anything that seemed too taboo for your loved ones.

All of that adbruptly ended one sunny Saturday at your fathers house.

"Let me tell you what, it was a relief getting Andrea out of that school. It was nothing more than trouble for her," your father said with a sigh.

"Dad, stop. We don't need to talk about that now," you said quietly, a sense of urgency in your voice.

"It's fine, we are past that part in our lives right? I mean, you got better, all the counseling I paid for, the talks and intervention. You got better, you're not sick anymore."

I looked over at you, you were silently staring down at the tablecloth, playing with the ornate fabric. I felt uncomfortable, not sure of what to say or do. So I sat mute, as your father went on.

"Did she ever tell you Tabitha? How she got that dyke disease from that all girls school? You'd think, a Catholic school of all places, would be safe from those degenerates right?"

You looked venemously at your father now, "Dad, stop it!"

He waved you off, not the least bit interested with your input, "Chill out honey, I'm talking now."

You returned to your previous posture, frowning as he criticized your past. Your past which is your present. I thought to change the subject, to clear out the air.

"So, have you served anyone famous?"

A shot in the dark really.

He smiled, "Sure have, but later, I"ll tell you later. Let's stay on topic girls, shall we?"

You groaned, rolled your eyes and buried your face in your hands. I remained idle.

He went on, talking about how sick it was for girls to love girls, to have intimate relations. I'm not sure what he expected from me, a certain reaction maybe? It felt like he was testing me, testing us.

"So Tabitha, what is your opinion on all of this?"

I froze, unsure of what to say, I only stammered.

"I know, I know, it's a large subject. But your opinion is important, my own daughter won't face the facts of it all."

He smiled, as pleasent as it was intended to be, it felt cold and calculated. As if, he could read me and my raging hormones and sex drive.

"Dad, Stop...now!" you cried out finally, "You talk so much of how sacred a man and a woman are, well what about those Catholic priests who go out and molest little boys?!"

That set him off instantly, "Don't you dare talk about such things in my house! Just because a few mess up, doesn't reflect the entire religion or group of people!"

"Are you guys Catholic?" I asked, not sure why I had.

""He tries to be," you said bitterly, "But he's too much of a bigot to commit."

Your father shot you a cold stare, letting it chill and linger in the room.

"I prefer not to carry a title or denomination, but we're God fearing people, right sweetie?" he father said, sounding proud.

You rolled your eyes and sighed.

"Well, that is enough politics wouldn't you say? Who wants dessert?"

He got up and sauntered out of the room, as if what had been brought up was a casual conversation piece. We just stared at each other, but you quickly averted your gaze, eyes darting off like a scared gazelle in the thicket.

It was after that, I decided not to come out to my parents. Your father showed me just a taste of how bad it could be. Who would have thought being yourself was a bad thing?

We stopped by the park, I hoped that we would talk. But moist skin and passionate lips silenced any audience of a conversation. You felt so needy, so rushed and desperate, as if you were trying to convince yourself of something. It was loving, sweet, yet it felt distant. As though I was making love to someone else.

I fixed my make-up afterwards, but you didn't bother.

"What's the point anymore?" you had said harshly.

I shrugged, finished applying my lipstick, and let you drive me home..

"Goodnight," I said softly, wondering if all that had happened had somehow, suddenly changed you.

After I heard you drive away, I snuck up to my bedroom, and cried.