Turning

“Dad,” I shrieked down the dark wooden stairs. I perched myself on the top step and propped my head in my hands. My head stung painfully, my body felt like led, and my throat burned. I was not supposed to be out of bed. “Dad! I am dying here!”
My dad, a thin man in his late thirties with salt and pepper hair and a shadow of a beard faced up the stairs. He was balancing a class of orange juice in one hand, three white pills with the other, and a stack of cream folders between his elbows and hips. He thrust the cup and pills at me, an ‘are you happy’ look on his face.
“Thanks Dad,” I said sarcastically. “You did that in such a short time. Glad to know I am so important to you.”
“You’re welcome, son,” Dad replied and stomped down the stairs to retreat to his study. He always spent his time in there, looking over cases. I didn’t blame him. How else would a single gay lawyer take care of his sick homosexual seventeen year old son?
I popped the pills into my mouth and drowned them down with the orange juice. As soon as the pills were down my throat I started feeling a little better.
“Fast working pills,” I muttered to myself and slid down the stairs, too lazy to get up. My rear was sore by the time I had gotten to the very last step. I may be an honor student but that did not mean that I always had great ideas. This was not the best, but certainly not the worst one. I had a long history of bad ideas.
“Stop making so much noise, Harley,” Dad called from behind the closed door of his study.
I stuck my tongue out in his general direction even though he could not see me and scrambled to my feet. I brushed a bit of imaginary dust off my gray jeans and padded barefoot into the kitchen.
The kitchen has always been my favorite area of the whole house. Not even my bedroom could rival my love for the kitchen. Some say it’s because I love to cook for others. I think our kitchen is what got me cooking.
The walls and counters were pale blue and the tile floor was forest green. The fridge was a stainless steel monster and the island counters were perfect for dancing on. The rest of the…actually, what do you call kitchen appliances? Just appliance? Anyways, the appliances were always changing places on the wrap around counter and were every shade of the rainbow. The kitchen was the least colorful room of the whole house. Dad wanted to change the pain at one point; I nearly bit his hand off.
My intention was to make something yummy to eat, like my world famous Kimchi. Not that I was here, I no longer wanted to cram anything down my throat. Not even water. The thought of food made my stomach do more flips than Shamu the whale.
I retraced my step floor and bolted through the first door in the hall that stretched to the right, the one with the Mona Lisa replica hanging next to it. I, personally, thought that the Scream was better.
My room was pretty normal compared to the rest of the Candyland house. It was spacious, with silver-blue walls and hardwood floors. A twin bed with Wicked bed sheets (didn’t every gay boy like Wicked?) was in the center of the room. The writing desk that held my pen collection and laptop, blue bean bags, and CD/DVD shelf were positioned against the walls, surrounding the bed. Scattered all over the walls were pictures of my child hood with my best friend Asher, who I hadn’t seen since I was thirteen. He moved right after I had realized that I was gay and in love with him.
Most people would think that we would skype or exchange emails. Trust me, I’ve tried many times. I never got an answer from him. Last year I decided to give up. I had been trying for three years, which was way too long. I don’t know what I was hoping for. This sort of thing happened all the time to people. They move to a new place and get new friends and a new life and forget about the past. Hey, it’s no big deal. I no longer care.
Okay, maybe I do. Just a little bit. A teeny tiny bit. It would be nice to have someone to talk to. Dad was amazing, but I didn’t feel comfortable talking to an almost forty man about boys that were almost half his age. Also, Also, I couldn’t explain that all of my friends were lesbian (girls) or gay (still girls!) because the entire straight student population thought I wanted to look at them or were insulted that I didn’t want to look at them. That would be one awkward conversation. I’d rather keep my problems all to myself until Asher comes back (secret meaning: never going to tell).
“Harley! Stop leaving things on the stairs!”
What did I leave…oh! Right! The orange juice. I had a bad habit of leaving things where they were. My mind worked too fast for me to remember things like that. It drove Dad nuts thought. I just think it’s because he hasn’t been on a date in months.
Not that I was one to talk. I haven’t been on a date since I was fifteen and trying to test if I was really a boy lover by going on a date with the head cheerleader. As soon as her bubble gum smelling lips touched mine I knew that I was one hundred percent not straight.
I’ve never thought of girls in a romantic way. They were just…blah! Most of the ones at Daweson High School cared more about their looks, breasts, and status than about the person they are dating. Besides, I’ve never been attracted to their sickeningly sweet giggles or jumbo melons, not to mention their overall bitchy personalities. There were like feral gorillas in skirts and heels.
There was only one thing I envied about girls. They could catch Asher’s attention in an instant. He used to be surrounded by girls even as a young teen. While I hissed at adults to stop pinching my cheeks or messing up my red hair, Asher had a girl on each arm. I think it was because I was more flamboyant than any other gay male in town, so they treated me as if I was a little girl. It isn’t my fault that I loved silver glitter and used purple clips as a substitute for bow ties that Dad never had any time to buy.
My nickname among my friends is Porcelain (my friend are Gleeks) because of my really pale Irish skin. It wasn’t insulting and far better than Fag Bag, which was more popular. They got that special nickname from my book bag, which was a bright orange messenger covered with a layer of lace flowers and spider webs. It was against their religion or something for a boy to like flowers. I was actually grateful for the nickname. At least they weren’t beating me up or stuffing me into lockers.
However nice or not nice my school life was, it is a gift from heaven to be able to stay home all day! I’d have a relaxing day watching old Ewan McGregor movies and listening to the ‘80’s music like Motley Crue and Guns N’ Roses. As soon as I belly flopped onto my soft bed, my cell phone rang the choirs of Singing in the Rain.
“Harley Kassof speaking,” I answered lamely. Everyone teased me for answering the phone like that. They said I sounded like an adult.
“Hey, Porcelain,” Ivy, my best girlfriend, said. “Why weren’t you at Homeroom?”
“I’m sick,” I told her and coughed a little bit to prove it. “Don’t you have Latin?”
“Nah, Vandermaly is sick,” Ivy explained. “We have control over the class because the sub is such a loser! Anyways, I was hoping that you hadn’t died. You never miss school. It would be a bother to plan you funeral on a short notice.”
Ivy was one of the few girls I could stand. She had an amazing personality and a witty tongue. Her sense of humor was different as well. Ivy was the first girl I met at school and was by far the coolest, next to me, of course.
“Make sure to hang yellow banners and posters of Andrew Van De Kamp,” I told her sternly. “If you throw me a manly death party I will burn your eyes out!”
Ivy giggled as if I was joking. “I’ll make sure I’ll invite him! As long as I get you CD and DVD collection.”
“It’s all yours,” I promised. “Will-”
My throat closed up and all the air I had escaped. I dropped the phone and wrapped my hands around my neck, trying to shake off an invisible hand. Ivy’s cried for me from the other side of the line. I rolled off the bed and hit the floor, banging my bed on the wood.
Air rushed into my lugs in long breaths. I felt light headed, as if I was going to pass out at any moment. I reached numbly for my cell and help it loosely up to my ear. “I…need to…sleep. Bye…Ivy…”
“Harley!”
The phone fell from my hands and I fell into darkness.