Cinnamon, Blueberries, & Other Subjects to fill a Book of Poetry

Chapter 22: Wayside

Seeing Fran was wonderful and having her meet Reese was a dream come true. It made everything feel real. It was nice meeting Sophia too, of course, but meeting her had only left me with a number of questions I didn't think I had the answer to. I couldn't stop thinking about that first meeting, even long after their visit was finished and they'd gone back home. I wonder what it would be like to own a rainbow bracelet. I wonder if it would mean anything. Would it change anything? Or, would everything be the same? I don't think it /should/ change anything, from a logical standpoint. It's just a bracelet. But... I think I wish it would. I think it might be nice to own something like that.

I wonder if Reese owns anything like it.

"Do you have time to talk, Sam?" I frown, snapped out of my thoughts and am less than thrilled to find it's by Jean. Judging by her tone of voice, I assume she expects me to make time.

"Of course." Admittedly I hadn't been getting much work done, but I didn't see any reason why she had to know that. I think that perhaps that's Reese's influence rubbing off on me. I close my laptop, feeling my leg start to bounce.

"I'm going to cut straight to the chase here," I don't think I've ever had a conversation with Jean that she didn't decide to cut straight to the chase, but I keep that thought to myself. "I've had a couple complaints about you." I frown, consciously steadying my chair as my leg continued to bounce.

"Is there something wrong with my articles? I thought you'd liked-"

"No, it's not about your articles, Sam. It's about you." She crossed her arms, sighing as if somehow I was deeply inconveniencing her by not knowing what she was talking about. "I've gotten a couple calls from some friends, some benefactors, of the paper, who've had some concerns about you. They say you've been seen around town with an unsavoury type." I wring my hands in my lap. I know she means Reese. I don't think I like hearing him referred to as 'unsavoury,' but I can't help but think about how I used that same word to describe him and his side of town before. I wonder if I sounded like that too. I think I'll make a conscious effort in the future not to use that word. "You understand, this is the paper in town. We have a certain, eh, image to uphold. So, if there's something you need to tell me.." She's looking at me like she expects something and I think I might know what she wants from me. She wants me to deny, of course, and say I'd never spend time with someone 'like that.' I don't say that. I don't think I could.

"I still don't think I follow, ma'am." She frowns, pinching the bridge of her nose,

"Don't be like that, Samuel." She's never gotten my name right. I go to correct her, but she puts a finger up to stop me, "Someone saw you kissing a man in the park. I told them they had it wrong, because you'd never do something like this. That's what I told them, Sam, because I knew your mother, God rest her soul, and I told them she'd raised you good. That they were mistaken." I felt sick to my stomach. I'd forgotten all about that, it was weeks ago. I had taken Reese to the park and- but it was night time and no one was around. I had made sure of it. "Sam. They were mistaken, right?" She's looking at me and I know what she wants me to say and I know I don't want to say it. I think of anything else to say. I want to tell her to mind her own business. That no, they weren't mistaken, and that it shouldn't matter if I was kissing a man. But my chest feels tight and everything is to much and I just want it to be over, so instead I say,

"Yes." It's one word. Just one word. But I hate myself for it. And, I want to take it back as soon as it's left my mouth, but then it's too late because she's standing up.

"Good. I knew you were a good boy, Sam. We can just keep this little misunderstanding between us then." A good boy. She says I'm a good boy and I know what she means when she says it. She means straight. Because you can't be a good boy and be gay. I feel sick to my stomach and when I stand up, my head feels like it's full of cotton balls. I go to the bathroom. I throw up.