The G(r)ay Area

Part Eighteen

Part Eighteen.

Aiden age 15.

"Is there a reason you've been so closed off lately?" Dad asked, pulling out of the driveway.

I started out the window at the rain sliding down the glass and tried to act nonchalant but it didn't seem to be working. "No."

"Aiden, you can talk to me."

Not really. "You wouldn't understand."

"I was your age once."

But you weren't gay. "Things are different now, dad. I'm not like you."

"There's nothing wrong with that, Aiden."

If you only knew. "Really? Sometimes I feel like you don't want to be around me because I don't like to change the oil in the car or play sports or whatever."

"Is that what you think?"

"Yes, it is."

Dad stopped at the red light and turned to look at me. The car behind us had its bass up loud. "I don't know how to talk to you, Aiden. I don't know what you like to do or who your friends are or..."

"Or what?"

"Do you even have a girlfriend?"

"Dad-"

"I'm not trying to pry, honest. I just... don't know you anymore, Aiden."

"You've never tried, dad. You spend all your time in the garage and if you ever wanted to do anything with me, it's something you want to do."

The light turned green and dad said nothing. He started driving again and things were fine. At least for a few seconds. For those seconds, everything was calm and quiet and fine. Not great, but fine.

Then everything changed.

There was a moment of complete silence before the crash. Metal twisted, glass broke, and... I wasn't quite sure but something hit my arm.

On reflex, I squeezed my eyes shut and I was glad I did. I hated blood, hated broken bones, hated seeing the car smoking.

"Aiden... Aiden, are you okay?"

My head hurt and I felt sluggish. It was like someone hit me on the head. My arm kept throbbing.

"Aiden, talk to me."

I took a deep breath but nothing came out. My lungs felt constricted and weak. My throat ached with each breath, no matter how deep my breath was. I coughed and it sounded wet, like something was trying to get out.

"Take it easy, Aiden. You're okay."

I coughed again and winced at the pain in my chest.

"Easy, buddy. Take it easy."

I couldn't move at all. I couldn't pry my eyes open to see anything. I was afraid I was going to die.

Tires screeched on the wet blacktop not far from where we were and dad gasped. I wasn't quite sure if I heard it or just imagined it. But it scared me more than anything ever had.