Sample Disc

“You-- what?” my mom asks, skin paling. My dad look catatonic.

“I’m--” I swallow hard, vocal chords straining to make a sound, “I’m dating Ryan.”

“You’re kidding-- Boyd, he’s kidding--” My mom says, looking to my dad, “It’s just a joke, Boyd, he’s just joking--”

“No, mom,” I breathe, trying not to panic, “I’m not kidding. I’m serious-- Ryan and I-- we’re… kind of. A couple.”

“Grace. Take Brendon to the car. I’ll pay for the food.” My dad says, and I don’t think he’s breathing, “And you--” he says, looking to Ryan, “You should leave. Now. And you should really not come around our home again.”

“Dad--”

“Brendon Boyd Urie. I did not ask for your opinion. I did not ask you to speak.”

“I know, but--”

“Brendon, lets just go out to the car and we’ll talk more once we get home.”

“But mom--”

“Brendon, it’s fine-- I can leave-- it’s fine.” Ryan says, looking incredibly uncomfortable.

“Ryan, no, I mean--”

“It’s fine, Bren. I’ll uh, I’ll see you later--” He says, squeezing my hand before scooting out of the booth. My dad looks likes he’s going to say something to protest, but my mom places a hand on his arm, silencing him.

“Car, Brendon.” My dad says darkly. I nod, getting up and walking out of the building, watching Ryan climb into his own car.

Fuck.

--

“You’re grounded.” My dad says, like it’s that easy. If I’m grounded long enough, it will obviously take the gay out of me.

“For how long?” I ask, staring at my feet. There’s a spot on the carpet that I’ve analyzed down to a cellular level.

“However long it will take to fix this-- to get your priorities straight.”

“My priorities aren’t the things that aren’t straight.”

“Don’t be a smartass, Brendon!”

And the tension in the room is so obvious now, I’m sure my brothers and sisters can feel it up in their rooms.

“You’re not going to see him again, do you understand me?”

“What? I can’t just not see him.”

“You can, and you will, Brendon. You won’t be using the telephone, the internet, you will come directly home after school, and you will stay home on weekends.” He says, like it’s the fucking law.

“That’s so unreasonable-- You think that will change anything? Grounding me won’t do anything--”

“Well, I guess we’ll have to find out then, won’t we?”

“I guess we will.” I huff, crossing my arms.

“Is this because of us?” My mom finally contributes to the conversation. “Is it-- is it because we did something?” She looks hurt, like she actually thinks that they made some heinous mistake in my upbringing that turned me gay.

And I kind of feel bad.

“No, mom-- it’s not-- it’s not because of you. It’s-- it’s just the way I am. It’s not anyone’s fault. And I‘m pretty sure that I-- I think I‘m kind of, I dunno, in love. Or something.”

Everyone is uncomfortable. It’s too tense, and too quiet, and the stain on the carpet just keeps getting more and more detail.

My dad finally clears his throat, keeping his arms crossed. “Go to your room.”

I nod, because anywhere is better than there. Anywhere is better than watching my mom hold back tears, and my dad pace holes into the floor.

This was such a fucking mistake.

And I wish I could call Ryan.

But of course. I can’t.

--

On Monday, Ryan is waiting for me by my locker. He looks up quickly as I approach, and walks towards me.

“Fuck, Bren, are you okay?” He asks, pulling me into a hug.

“Yeah.” I mumble into his neck, hugging him back.

“What happened?” it’s frantic, and I like how worried he is. Even though that sounds really fucked up.

“I’m grounded. And I’m not supposed to see you, or talk to you, or whatever, but it’s like, you’re Ryan, and I can’t not talk to you. They think that I’m like, sick or some shit, or that they’ve monumentally fucked up with raising me, and that this has to be their fault.”

“You know there’s nothing wrong with you, right?” He asks, looking carefully at my face. I nod, wrapping an arm around his waist.

“So, uh, while I was in solitary confinement this weekend, I was thinking, and, uh, I was just thinking that maybe, I might be in love with you. But only if you think that you maybe love me, too. Because. Y’know. It’d be super embarrassing if you didn’t love me too.”

He looks like he’s studying my face, like he’s trying to understand what I just said, and he nods.

“Of course I love you, you asshole.”

I smile, full, and awkward, and apparently in love.

Good day. This is a very good day.

--

“We want you to see a therapist.” my mom says. My dad is sitting in his chair, trying to look big and scary and powerful, but he mostly looks angry that my mom is trying to compromise.

“I don’t need a therapist.” I huff. My dad looks like he’s going to say something, but my mom shoots him a glance, silencing him.

“Brendon, please, level with us,”

“You’re not listening to me,” I say, and it’s almost a whine. “I love him.”

“It’s not love, Brendon. You’re infatuated, and confused and a teenager--”

“No! You don’t get it! It’s love!”

“Brendon, you’re just a teenager, you don’t know what love is-- you can’t--”

We sound like a bad soap opera on some teen broadcasting channel.

“I’m not an idiot! I’m not sick, and I’m not messed up, and I’m not stupid! I’m in love, and I thought I could trust my parents enough to tell them!”

“Brendon, you sound irrational--”

“I sound irrational?!” I shout, and my mom flinches a little. “You’re trying to send me to a therapist because I’m gay! I’m not going to a fucking--”

“Don’t you dare use that language in my house!” My dad’s voice is thundering, and he’s standing now, towering over me, intimidating, only, not really. “And don’t yell at your mother!”

“Then don’t call me crazy! Don’t tell me I don’t know what I’m feeling, because I’m not a little kid! I can decipher my own emotions!”

“You are still a child, Brendon!” My dad yells back at me.

“No, I’m not! I’m nearly an adult! I’m intelligent, and mature, and I get good grades, and I can keep a job, and I’ve had sex, and I can handle all of it!”

My dad’s face freezes, and my mom gasps, and it takes me a second to realize that I just told them that I’ve had sex.

My mom stammers out a few syllables, then she says, “You’ve-- you’ve had sex-- with--?”

“With Ryan. I’ve had sex, with Ryan.”

Another tense silence, no one is really looking at each other, and I can hear everyone’s breathing.

“Get out.” My dad finally says. I shoot my head up, looking from my mom to my dad.

“What?” I ask, because I didn’t think they’d actually kick me out.

“Get out of my house. I don’t care where you go. Get out of my house. You have disrespected your mother and I too many times. You’re ungrateful, and you need to leave.”

“Dad--”

“Get out.”

My chest clenches, and I nod, grabbing my backpack off of the coffee table, and I walk out the door.

It takes me ten minutes to get to Ryan’s house from my own, and I’m sure I look like a mess, because my parents just kicked me out, and I’ve been crying, and when Ryan answers the door, he looks completely sick with worry.

“Can I-- can I still stay here?”