Chapter 25 #2
I gag, and then I have to focus my attention to keep myself from throwing up.
“Sweet mother of God.” Scrubbing my hand over my face, I groan.
“Listen, as much as I’d love to unpack this little mid-morning picnic you’ve just laid out in front of me, there’s a time and place for discussions about erections and elections. This is not the time for either.
The truck door opens, then closes, and I lock eyes with Maybelline, who takes my hand and squeezes tightly. “I like you, Ezra.”
I squeeze her hand back, and there’s a strange, unfamiliar warmth spreading through my chest. “I like you, too, Maybelline.”
“Let’s give them a show, okay?”
I nod. “Three, two …”
I click play on my phone. I’ve got the speakers as loud as they’ll go, but with the wind, it’s not very loud at all.
As we twirl from around the school bus, I realize Maybelline must be having trouble hearing the music, because her moves are a step faster than mine.
I don’t let the misstep ruin the moment, though.
I’ve waited too long for my Daddies to come back for me, I don’t give a shit about us dancing out of step.
While Annie laments her car crash of a life, I twist my hips at impossible angles, making my cheeks clap here and there.
Through it all, I don’t look up. I can’t.
If I look up, they might be laughing, and then I’ll never get through this.
So, we continue. Maybelline and I twist and turn like no tomorrow, our steps now perfectly in sync.
Honestly, if we ever get our acapella band back together, I think she’d be a fabulous addition.
The song slows down, and I approach the truck, still not looking up, mouthing about walking on, walking on broken glass. When I finally reach them, I look up, and then my heart stalls, because Bubba and Johnny aren’t here. My parents are.
Paul Edwards is just as regal as ever, standing there with his shitty three-piece suit, staring at me with a smug smirk, like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.
He’s not just sneering, he’s seething. Disgusted.
The way my father is staring at me, I have no doubt if Barrett released the hold he has on him, my father’s hands would be around my throat in seconds.
My stepmother is somehow both at his side and standing in his shadow all at once. Her lot in life, truthfully. It’s all she’s ever been, and it’s probably all she’ll ever know. A life of nothingness. Her eyes are older now, and her hair is graying at the roots.
“I don’t understand.” I look to Ladonna for answers, but she’s too busy glaring at my father to notice.
“What the fuck was that filth?” my dad asks, staring at my unnecessarily slutty overalls. “And what the fuck are you wearing, boy?”
I wince. I don’t want to hear this again. I don’t want to see them again. It hurt enough, last time. But I’ve moved on. I’ve let them go. They’re supposed to stay gone.
Warmth bursts in my heart, but it isn’t warm enough to keep me steady, and I stumble back, falling down on my ass.
“They’re clothes,” Ladonna answers for me when it’s clear I can’t speak.
“He’s wearing clothes. Those are the prettiest pair of overalls I’ve ever seen, and he stitched them himself.
” A lie at best. She’s the one who did the sewing.
I just sat there beside her chair, telling her about my life while holding her thread.
“You hurt him. Now, you’re going to pay. ”
My father looks at Ladonna, one accusatory eyebrow arched. “Excuse me?”
“Are you hard of hearing or something?” She turns her attention to me.
“Is he always this slow on the uptake?” She must see how badly I’m struggling, because she positions herself between my father and me, then snakes an arm around her back, pulling me flush against her, and I bury my eyes between her shoulders.
I was expecting happiness. I was hoping my daddies would be here, but all I got is a dad who never gave a damn about me, and a stepmom who never liked me at all.
“The way I see it,” Barrett chimes in, reaching down and grabbing my wrist to help me up. “You’ve both been accused of assholery and general motherfuckerdom.”
“Goodness gracious,” Ladonna says. “Where in the world did you learn to talk like that?”
He smiles at his mother. “Casablanca. It was playing on that big glass box they had in their living room.” He glares over at my parents, and every trace of kindness fades from his expression.
“Y’all are lucky Johnny ain’t here, You’re even luckier Bubba’s MIA.
I’m pretty sure he’d saw your head off with a handsaw. ”
“Is he a queer too?” Dad asks. “I’d like to see that fuckin’ fairy try.”
Pete looks over at me. “Fairy?”
“It’s a gay slur,” I whisper before hiding my eyes again.
“I don’t know what slur means, neither, but it’s clear whatever the hell it means, it upset you. Did he hurt your feelings, Ezzy?”
Hearing someone else call me Ezzy feels like a jump start to my senses, waking me up from an endless sleep.
I lock eyes with Pete and nod my head. “He used to hurt my feelings a lot. Then he found out I like guys, and they kicked me out.” I bite my lip, wanting to say the worst thing he did—what he did to Mom—but I can’t get the words out.
Pete glares at my father, but I’m still hiding behind Ladonna, so I can’t see Dad’s reaction.
“My brother loves that boy, and you hurt him. I ain’t going to do shit to you, but if I were you, I’d get myself right with whatever maker I believed in, because I’m pretty sure Johnny’s going to end your life. ”
A car’s horn honks, startling us all, and when I turn around, there’s a small, silent Prius, slowly creeping closer. In the front seat, Bubba’s big, blue eyes are searching the land, and when he finally spots me, his eyes fill with tears.
“Daddy,” I whisper, and the moment his door opens, something snaps inside me.
I find myself running, leaping into his waiting arms, melting into his chest. His lips are kissing all over my forehead, and he’s telling me what a good boy I am, and how much he missed me.
I look up at him, my cheeks just as wet with tears as his, and I lean in, kissing him gently on the lips.
“Ezzy,” he murmurs before kissing me again. “Oh, Ezzy.”
I hide my face in his neck, listening to his breath as it rattles in his chest. He’s holding me so tightly, I’m worried he’ll crush my bones to dust, but oh-fucking-well. Crush them. Break every bone in my body, and I’d still come back, asking for more. Because this is Bubba. My Bubba. My Daddy.
Something metal presses against me, and when I look down, I realize Bubba is on crutches, and his leg is just kind of hanging there, not moving.
“Bubba? Are you okay?”
“I will be, baby. I’m so much better now that I’ve got you.”
“Put me down. You’re going to hurt yourself.”
His lips slam against mine, leaving me breathless as he slips his tongue into my mouth. We’re essentially tongue-fucking each other, and Johnny’s whole family is around, but I don’t give a shit. Daddy’s kissing me. Daddy still loves me.
“Ez,” Johnny whispers, and as his hand touches my back, static sparks up and down my spine. “Baby.” His lips journey up and down the back of my neck, his hand roaming all over. “God dammit, Ezra.”
“Jonathan,” I whine, lifting my head to look at him, but he just touches his forehead to mine, giving me the most intense stare I’ve ever seen in my life.
“That was you, last night, wasn’t it? In my dream.”
“You remember?”
His hand cups my cheek. “I remember every single second we’ve ever spent together.”
It’s clearly a lie, because there’s lots of stuff he doesn’t remember, but that’s not what matters right now. All that matters is this. Them. Back in my life, right where they belong.
“Missed you,” I whimper.
“I missed you, too.”
“Where were you? I waited for you to come find me. I waited so long for you to find me.”
“I know,” Johnny says. “You waited so well, Little Dick. I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, bro.
” His lips are all over. My cheeks and forehead.
My chin and nose. When his lips rest right against mine, my father groans in the background, but I don’t care.
I don’t give a fuck about his externalized homophobia.
Not when I’ve got the homosexual dream playing out in front of me.
“Fucking sick,” my father mutters. “A bunch of goddamn deviants, the lot of you!”
Johnny rears back his arm and slaps my father in the face, open-handed, so it’s even more of an insult. What grown man wants to be backslapped in front of his wife, unable to defend himself?
“If you ever say anything like that again, I’ve got a shovel and a whole lot of land to bury your ass under. Don’t test me, motherfucker.”
“Where did I go wrong?” Ladonna laments.
“I’ve got one son complaining about mother-effer-dom, and now this one is dropping emmer-effers like it’s acid at a swinging sixties rave.
” She stares at my stepmother, her cheeks red with embarrassment.
“I hope you won’t think poorly of them. They’re good boys, you see, they just get a little emotional sometimes. ”
“Men,” mom agrees with a chuckle.
“Can’t live with them, can’t erase them from the history books.”
I shake my head. “She’s just as awful as my dad, Momma Ladonna.”
Rage flashes in Ladonna’s eyes, and she glares at my stepmother. “I guess my boys are right. You really are a motherfucker.” To my surprise—and low-key amazement—Ladonna rears back her hand and slaps my stepmother across the face. “Shame on you.”
“Are you proud now?” my father barks at me. “Your stepmother just got slapped in the face, all because you’re a goddamn queer.”
“You don’t get to talk to him,” Bubba growls, but I shake my head, because even with as scary as it is, maybe we need to finally have this discussion. Maybe I need to air out some of my hurt. Maybe in doing so, I can heal the ache that’s festered in my heart.