mark was gay.
like really gay.
especially for chris evans.
mark's parents, the fletchers, were homophobic.
like really homophobic.
like against same sex marriage to the point where they had stickers on their car about it.
as you can guess, mark hates his family.
he hates them with a burning passion as they march past two guys holding hands, scoffing as they do so. mark gives the guys an apologetic look before trailing behind his family. he hates them as they glare at somebody with a girlish face and masculine clothes, once again offering up the same apologetic look. he hates them, hates them, hates them. his mom, dad, and nine year old twin brothers. hates them for their total ignorance.
"mom, you know its incredibly rude to just glare at people in the middle of a michael's?" mark says in a low whisper, basically hissing at the form of his uptight mother.
"you do realize that they're fa-- there are so many homosexual people here today, mark," his mother replies, watching her husband sifting through the different types of ink pens.
"who cares what they are? respect them like you would anyone else. you're the one who taught me that," mark says, sitting on a cardboard box that has an instant ice cream maker inside.
"but mom said that they're gay, so that means they're against the bible," matty says, frowning at his dissimilar twin brother. they were paternal twins, but always dress the same in an attempt to look alike.
"people who are against the bible are sinners. don't you pay attention in church?" jonny asks, setting down a roll of fluorescent duct tape.
"you can't tell their sexuality just by looking at them," mark says, dusting some dirt off of his khaki pants. they'd just come from church.
"sure you can," his mother says, running her fingers through her stereotypical white mom blonde bob. have some creativity, mom, mark thinks, frowning at the rest of the family's dark hair.
"joan? what are y'all talking about?" mark's father had stepped away from the fancy artists' pens and back towards their family's buggy.
"nothing important, honey."
"are you sure?"
"yes, matthew. keep doing what you're doing, i'm gonna take the boys and check out the yarn."
"okay. don't buy too much," his dad says, dragging his feet back over to the pens again.
the rest of the fletchers made their way to the yarn aisle, where they came to an abrupt stop in front of a ball of plum purple yarn.
"what a delightful color!" their mother exclaimed.
"so mom, what by someone's appearance makes them gay?" mark asked immediately after his mom's fit of excitement, his face turning serious. his brothers had started poking one another, arguing over something that sounded childish.
"sweetheart, you can just tell. like if you look at them, there's something... quirky about them. i can't explain it, but you can see that sinfulness in their eyes," his mom said, feeling the texture of the plum yarn.
"really mom? sin in their eyes? what does that even mean?" mark asked, standing in the middle of his brothers who were about to start a fight with each other.
"don't question her," matty says, seemingly forgetting all about his brother.
"and why shouldn't i? nobody is always right."
"she's our mom, dude. you just gotta respect her," jonny says, looking down at his shoes.
respect her when she won't even respect a stranger. yeah, sure, she could be right about those people. they could be queer or something. but she doesn't know that and continues to disrespect someone she doesn't know. mark thinks. matty hits at mark's pants, attempting to get to jonny. people make their way down the aisle, and his mom still fusses about yarn. life goes on. nothing changes. mark suddenly feels miserable.
"hey mom?"
"yes, sweetheart?"
"i'm gay."
"very funny, stop trying to make a point," his mom said, her voice tense.
"i'm serious. did you expect that? did you see the sin in my eyes, mom? am i quirky? tell me, can you just look at me and tell that i think guys are hot?" mark's mom had turned around, and all of the craft store seemed to silence itself.
"my son is not a sinner," she said, a mixture of anger, disappointment, and fear tainting her cerulean eyes. mark realized he had his mom's eyes right then, and not his father's dull blue ones.
"your son isn't even a christian."
mark really struck a nerve then, because, low and behold, his mother put down the yarn. joan fletcher, president of her town's knitting club, had set down her yarn to talk to her son. her gay son. her gay, atheist, sinner son. "dear god, forgive me for what i'm about to do," mark's mother stepped towards her son, raised her hand, and hit her son. and mark let her hit him.
"i hope you come to your senses one day, mom," and then mark walked away from all of them. out of the aisle and out of the closet, feeling confident. he stomped out of that michael's and into a new life.
