Busboy Tips

A Gay Flash of Fiction

At seventeen, Bart paid for his sister’s abortion with the tips he earned from bussing tables.  Bart had a work ethic because he was given no choice in the matter.  The divorce had further strangled their finances and managed to make Bart feel even more like the extra mouth to feed.  His father was ruthless in his obsessions over money, and while raising a family was obviously tough, especially with a breakup and alimony, his father had no problem rewarding himself with the game of golf, new cars, rings, and things meant to keep up appearances.   Bart’s anger at his family had manifested in an over-zealous attempt to take care of himself financially even while he was in high school.  He got a job as soon as he was legally allowed, and from that day on, he never asked for another dime.  He gained financial independence that then allowed him to make a case for obtaining additional personal freedoms.  By the time he heard the announcement during homeroom his junior year that The Lofts were looking for bus people, he jumped at the chance.  He knew the restaurant was above the only gay bar in Lancaster County. 

Bart worked hard, dropped a lot of trays with glassware, and charmed more than his share of men.  He snuck down into the disco at the end of his shift, stole beer from the snack bar cooler to add to his duffle bag stockpile in his bedroom closet, and learned what it meant to be 17 in a gay bar.  He grew up fast.  His family noticed the growth, the financial responsibility he was undertaking by saving his money, but they also noticed a level of maturity, an ability to listen and to comfort, that seemed to come from someone much older.  It was as if Bart had grown ten years in twelve months.  Because Bart had also learned that new secrets, big secrets, needed bigger stories, bigger lies and a better performance; he became a master of the cover-up.  He was able to spin a tale quickly and assuredly in order to throw any questioner off track.  His mother could find him in bed on a Sunday morning, naked with another boy, and Bart would have his mother making them both breakfast within minutes allowing her no chance to think anything was odd.  He had succeeded in the years of high school to come into his own both academically and artistically.  He actually learned how to be perfect.  Even if he failed, cheated, stole, got trashed, he had a story that kept him perfect in the eyes of his family.  It was boon for a boy unused to praise and success.  He fed on it like an addiction.

There was something appealing for a family to watch a once loner son who couldn’t do anything right turn into the person who could do no wrong.  While the rest of the family, who had always known success, began to trip and falter, Bart became a beacon of fortitude, strength and success, a compassionate listener who remembered well what it was like to hurt.  He’d felt nothing but hurt for so long he was content to watch as other family members started sharing in that hurt, sharing in mistakes, and bad choices, judgment and condemnation.  Bart was the person they came to, the person they knew who would understand. 

Two months before his mother, equating having a gay son with her past infidelity, confessed to her newly discovered gay son that she had had an affair with the landlord’s son in South Africa, his sister had called from college asking for help.  Despite the bitter relationship he had had with his sister in the years prior to when they both were in high school, Bart always admired her popularity, her beauty, and her essential kindness.  She had asked him to escort her during the halftime show her senior year, the year she was up for Homecoming Queen.  She was also considered ‘hot’ and by default, he had some minor level of respect when he got tp 9th grade.  Yes, he was her brother. They had fought with tooth and nail when younger, and while she couldn’t protect him from the anger and vented frustration Bart received from his father, she did empathize.  For all those years, that was enough because that’s all he could get. 

Bart listened on the phone while his sister asked for the money.  There was no question as to whether he would help her.  She needed help.  He had the money.   He sent her a check and outside of eventually getting the money back, it was never mentioned again.  Bart became a confidant for his sister first, his mother followed.  His stepmother, then eventually his father.  Bart was the person to whom each confessed their demons, their regrets, and their desires.  Whether it was something essential in Bart, whether it was his being gay, his being an addict, his having suffered and suffered, he was the person to whom people turned. 

Bart’s sister called for help one more time.  She had just left her husband at a campground in the tent they pitched for their first anniversary and was heading down to Pittsburgh to stay with Bart.  She was leaving her husband.  That night.  She couldn’t take it anymore.  Bart already knew why, had heard the story, that she was still in love and again in contact with her high school sweetheart, her first fiancé, her West Point grad who was serving time in Desert Storm.  Their wedding had been cancelled, her husband was a rebound, and now she was getting back on track and would be in Germany with him within three weeks.  When she left Bart to head back to their hometown, it was to their maternal grandmother she turned.  Bart’s maternal grandmother who was furious with her daughter for having kept Bart’s sexuality a secret from her was always and still was the nurturer of the family.  It was Bart who inherited her genes.