I was shaking. Sweat formed on my brow. As I look into my mothers’ withered blue eyes I debated whether to tell her my secret. Her thin bleached blond hair hung limp over her fluid filled body. My mom was suffering from liver disease and was awaiting a transplant. This was a hard time for my mother already and to throw something like this at her was unthinkable, but this secret was eating me from the inside out. After all, my mother said she’d always support me no matter what.
I never expected her to react this way. After all, this home has held many secrets before, my mom “quitting” smoking and hiding unlit single cigarettes under the edge of the island counter top, my sisters phone conversations that were so secret she slept with the device, my step dad’s secret stash of adult magazines between the mattress and box spring. Unlike these trivial idiosyncrasies, my secret was one that HAD to be shared.
My mothers’ eyes were fixed on the small television screen absorbing Judge Judy as she did every night. I sat down beside her on the queen sized mattress shaking like I was pleading my case in front of the judge. Before I knew it the two words left my mouth “I’m Gay.” The silence that followed made me question if I’d even said it. She turn towards me, and simply said “No your not.” Her voice was sweet. “You loved catching bugs at the cottage. Your rooms a mess, and you love to be around girls.” She muttered as her blue eyes filled up with tears. An uncomfortable silence filled the room. The silence was broken by a change in my mothers’ persona her timid empathetic sad look transpired to one of anger and rage as she abruptly stood up. She said looking me dead in the eyes “No fags are welcome in this house. Get! Get! Get out!” She glared at me in my now waterlogged eyes as I began to gather my belongings. She grabbed my arm and said “no absolutely not” Her voice was now harsh as stern as if She were the judge herself slapping the mallet down again and again. “You’ll leave my care the same way you came into it. With nothing.” I cried on my front steps, sitting on my welcome mat something to remind me I wasn’t welcome anymore. My secret was out. With drenched eyes I began to pray for a retrial.
