18. Caleb
18
CALEB
T he sun streamed through the curtains, casting a soft glow over my room, but the warmth did nothing to lift the heavy cloud of despair that hung over me. I never skipped school, ever. When I did, my teachers called because it was such a rare occasion. I attended school even when
I was sick because AP teachers gave pop quizzes, and I had no intention of ruining my chances of being valedictorian because I wasn’t present to take a quiz.
But today, none of that mattered. I was depressed over a boy. The last time I was absent, Bradley had cheated on me. Here I was, sulking in misery as history repeated itself with the same story, just different faces. Marcus had left me for a tall, muscular, and extremely aggressive man, and there was no way I could compete with a guy who was the opposite of who I was.
I lay on my bed, one pillow over my head, letting the tears run like a leaky water fountain onto my other silk pillowcases. I just wanted to be alone. I couldn’t believe I’d done it again. I failed my test from the universe. How could I be so bright in every area of my life but be a complete fool when it came to matters of the heart?
Three hard taps on the door broke my chain of thought. "Go away," I replied, my voice muffled by the pillow.
"It’s your mother, Caleb. Are you okay because you only miss school during an existential crisis?" My mom was sweet as pie and never raised her voice. When I told her I was gay, she simply said, "And?"
My father had a tougher time with me being the only boy, but my mom pulled him aside, and ever since that day, he’s been on board. He was delighted when I assured him the family name would go on and that I’d have a son even if I had to adopt one. He even offered to pay for a surrogate, and I accepted the offer because surrogacy isn’t cheap. My sister and I have different fathers, but my father is the third guy she married and, hopefully, the last. He’s been amazing to us both. Her first marriage was annulled and happened when she was eighteen, and she didn’t even consider it a marriage.
So even though I wanted to tell my mom to go away, I couldn’t because she had just been too good to me. "Come in," I answered, sitting up off the bed and drying my tears. My mom slowly opened the door. She was always camera-ready, and today was no different.
She wore a yellow and white sundress with yellow pumps. Her hair was in a bun, and today she wore pearls. My mother loved pearls. It wasn’t a coincidence that Pearl was her middle name. Marie Pearl was my mother, a fashionista with never a hair out of place. She sat beside me, pulled some tissue from the box on my desk, and dabbed my eyes.
"What happened? Are we having boy trouble?" she asked, her voice soft and concerned.
"I’m going to kill Marissa. I wish she’d keep her mouth closed," I said, a hint of frustration in my voice.
"Son, you can’t be gay and a murderer. You’re going to have to choose. The ladies at the book club will not allow me to continue to be a member if my children have committed more than one of the big sins. They will kick me out, and you know I can’t do without my blueberry tea, petit fours, and cozy mysteries," she said, a small smile playing at the corners of her mouth.
We both burst into laughter. My mom knew what to say to snap me out of my funk. She wasn’t lying, though. Her women’s book club participants had strict rules about whom they let in.
"If you don’t want to discuss it, I understand," she said, her voice gentle.
"Yeah, I want to keep this one to myself, mom," I replied, my voice filled with a mix of sadness and determination.
"Sure, just know I’m here if you need me. Now put on your clothes and head to school. It would be just your luck if Mrs. Johnson gives a quiz and you must settle for being salutatorian. Now that would be a travesty. Who even remembers the salutatorian?" she said, her voice filled with a mix of humor and concern.
"I know, right?" I said, a small smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. She kissed me on the cheek and then left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I didn’t want to go to school because I didn’t want to see Marcus, but I knew I would have to face him eventually. I figured I’d get it over with so I could move on with my life. I took a deep breath, steeling myself for what was to come. I knew I had to pull myself together, to face the day with the same determination and resilience that had gotten me this far.
As I got dressed, I couldn’t help but think about Marcus, about the moments we had shared, the connection we had forged. I thought about the way he looked at me, the way he made me feel, the way he made my heart race. And I thought about the pain, the betrayal, the heartache that came with loving someone who couldn’t love you back.
I splashed some water on my face, washing away the remnants of my tears, and looked at myself in the mirror. I saw the pain in my eyes, the sadness that lingered just beneath the surface. But I also saw the strength, the determination, the resilience that had always been a part of me. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed out the door.
The walk to school was a blur, the world around me a haze of noise and motion. I kept my head down, my eyes focused on the ground, as I made my way to my first class. I could feel the weight of my classmates’ gazes, the whispers and stares that followed me as I walked down the hall. But I didn’t let it bother me. I had bigger things to worry about, bigger battles to fight.
As I sat down in my seat, I couldn’t help but scan the room, my eyes searching for Marcus. But he wasn’t there. A mix of relief and disappointment washed over me. I was glad I didn’t have to face him just yet, but I also couldn’t help but feel a pang of longing, a yearning for the connection we had shared.
The day passed in a haze, the lessons and lectures blurring together as I struggled to focus on anything but the pain in my heart. I went through the motions, taking notes and answering questions, but my mind was elsewhere, lost in a sea of memories and regrets.
As the final bell rang, I gathered my things and headed out the door, my steps heavy with the weight of my emotions. I knew I had to face Marcus eventually, to confront him about what had happened, to get the closure I needed to move on. But I also knew that I wasn’t ready, that I needed time to heal, to process, to find my footing again.
As I walked home, the sun beginning to set, casting the world in a soft glow, I made a promise to myself. I would not let this break me. I would not let the pain and the heartache define me. I would rise above it, I would learn from it, and I would emerge stronger, wiser, and more resilient than ever before.
Because that’s who I was. That’s who I had always been. And that’s who I would continue to be, no matter what life threw my way.