Chapter 5: A Little Boyfriend
1368 Words
On the way to our “consultation” with the assistant principal of Noah’s school, I called my brother, Bill.
“Hey, bro,” I said.
“Hey ho.” He sounded distracted or annoyed or both.
“We picked up Jack’s parents at the airport,” I said.
“Oh.”
“I’m thinking about inviting them to Mama’s house for Sunday dinner. Thought y’all would like to meet them.”
“Oh.”
I waited for Bill to decide if he was going to talk or not. It took him at least a minute to warm up to the idea of having a conversation over the phone. Forget about e-mail, or texting, or f*******: updates. Answering the phone once in a while was the extent of his infatuation with modern technology.
“So, what do you think?” I asked after the silence grew.
“You sure it’s a good idea?”
“Not sure what you mean.”
“Wiley, I know you talk about getting married and stuff, but you know that’s never going to happen.”
“Why do you say that?”
“It’s illegal in the state of Mississippi, to start with. And it’s just, you know…”
“It’s just what?”
“It’s not right, Wiley. You know how I feel. I’ve gotten used to the idea of you having yourself a little boyfriend, but don’t ask me to go any further. It’s your life. Do what you want. Just don’t rub our noses in it.”
“It’s just a Sunday dinner,” I pointed out.
“Did you ask Mama how she feels about it?”
“I thought I would ask you first.”
“She’s not a big fan of your little boyfriend, you know.”
“Why do you always refer to him as my ‘little’ boyfriend? It’s not like we’re in grade school!”
“Whatever.”
“We’re engaged, Bill.”
“So you say.”
“We are!”
“Since two guys can’t get married, I’m not sure that means a whole hell of a lot, but I guess you can call it whatever you like.”
“What is it with you?”
“I know you don’t like my ‘Baptist gasbag bullshit,’ but my beliefs are important to me, and one of those beliefs is that marriage is between a man and a woman, the way God intended it, like the Bible says. I’m never going to change my mind on that. I’m trying to be polite to you and keep my mouth shut, but I feel like you’re always mocking me and mocking my religion and making fun of everything I believe in. Especially after what you wrote about me in that goddamn book of yours.”
“I don’t make fun of you.”
“You’re always making fun of me.”
“That’s not true,” I said. Well, not completely true. Okay, somewhat true. I was never shy about expressing my opinions, one of the things that made me wildly unpopular. “I want to be happy too. I want a family, and I’m sorry if that offends you.”
“You have a family, bro. We’re your family, not some carpetbagger from Boston. We don’t know really know anything about Jack or his people. I’m sure he seems nice enough and all, but you never know. And to be honest, and since we’re talking about it, I’ll just come right out and say I don’t like him being around my kids.”
“And that’s because…?”
“God knows what those people are capable of.”
“Those people?”
“You know what I mean. If you keep bringing him to Mama’s house for Sunday dinner, Shelly and I may stop going. I don’t like him around my kids.”
I fell silent, glancing sideways at Jackson.
“Someone’s not happy,” Bill observed after a long silence.
“Would you rather I not bring him to Sunday dinner?”
“Ain’t like you never bothered to ask how we feel about it.”
“Oh.”
“I ain’t trying to be mean.”
“Oh.”
“I’m just telling you how I feel.”
When I hung up, I kept my face turned away, hoping Jackson hadn’t been listening.
But of course he had been.
“What was that about?”
“Nothing,” I said.
“He doesn’t want my parents to go to your mama’s house for Sunday dinner?”
“You could say that, and you would not be entirely wrong.”
“For real?”
“You know how he is.”
“My parents won’t go if they’re not wanted.”
“I’ll ask Mama.”
“You have to ask your mama if it’s all right for you to bring your fiancé’s parents over for dinner? Seriously?”
“I hate it when you use the word ‘fiancé.’”
“Why do you trivialize our engagement?”
“I just don’t want to rub people’s noses in it.”
“We’re engaged now. I’m not just your boyfriend anymore. I’m your fiancé.”
“It sounds so…”
“Straight couples don’t trivialize their engagement. Why should we?”
“I’m trying to get along here.”
“Trying to make your family happy.”
“Is there anything wrong with that?”
“Aside from the fact that most of them are clinically insane, no.”
“They’re not insane.”
“They just think gay marriage is going to destroy Western civilization. Or something.”
“It’s not like Boston down here, you know.”
“You could say that again, Wiley, and you would not be wrong. Are they mad because we’re going to that protest?”
“I haven’t told them about that yet.”
A small group of activists had recently announced plans to picket (yet again) the headquarters of the American Family Alliance, headquartered in Tupelo. The Alliance produced hard right wing radio programming heard from station to station across the South. One of its programs, Truth Hour, routinely demonized the gay community and “Nazi homosexual activists” like myself who were trying to “ram their agenda” down America’s throat at the “expense of religious liberty.” Or…something. The host of Truth Hour had recently suggested that the children of gay couples would be better off in a Romanian orphanage. This came just after a segment on the desperate need to restore the “gold standard” lest we trigger the economic collapse of the United States economy by our infatuation with a “pretend money.”
Since the Alliance was a “Christian ministry,” it had many, many listeners and admirers.
“It’s not like our previous protests have done any good,” I pointed out.
“So you’re not going to go because your family might be mad?” The disbelief in Jackson’s voice was evident.
“I’m just pointing out to you that nothing ever changes down here, and I sometimes think nothing ever will. We haven’t even finished the Civil War yet.”
“That doesn’t mean you can’t try to do something about it.”
Jackson had become quite the activist over the past two years. I had grown disillusioned, because nothing we did seemed to make the slightest difference.
“So you’re not going?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“Well, that’s the problem right there. If you can’t be bothered to fight for your own rights, why should anyone else? It’s not like you’re just going to wake up one day and there will be ‘freedom across the land.’ You have to make it happen. Isn’t that what you always say?”
“I’ve been known to spout a lot of bullcrap.”
“This is your rights we’re talking about. Our rights. This is about our family and all the gay families in this state. That’s something worth fighting for. And it ain’t bullcrap.”
I looked out the window and did not answer.
- Writer
