2. Salem
TWO
SALEM
Ah, Willow Bay. Who’d have ever thought I’d willingly return to the place of my youth? Not me, that’s for sure. I guess the solid bullying of my formative years wasn’t enough for me, and I’m back, but this time I’m not a skinny little weird boy with glasses. I’ve had quite the glow up, thank you very much. While I never got any taller and I certainly haven’t muscled up, I grew into my looks and embraced my queerness. Now anyone who doesn’t like me can fuck right off.
Driving down Grant, the main street through town, brings back a flood of memories, some good and others not so much. A shiver runs through me, but I shake my shoulders out to center myself. I’m not a kid anymore. I’m a grown-ass adult. Granted, I’m groveling back to my parents, unemployed, and more single than I’d like. Ugh.
Stopping at a red light, I glance at the businesses lining the street. Most are exactly the same as the last time I was here, but there’s a construction truck stopped in front of the old Jimmy’s Bar location. Hmm. Did someone finally buy it? Maybe we’ll get a fancy new restaurant like the ones in the city. That would be nice. This town could use a little upgrade. Allegedly it’s safe and a nice place to raise kids, though I’d beg to differ. Nothing about my childhood was nice.
The front door of the bar opens and two men walk out, followed by an older guy in a hard hat. The two younger guys, dressed in faded jeans and t-shirts despite the cold weather, are lick-your-lips gorgeous. Well, well, looks like little Willow Bay is indeed getting an upgrade. Knowing my luck they won’t live here though, or they’re straight. They’re probably just visiting or investors or something. Either way, I may need to swing by later and investigate. Maybe I could end this pathetic months’ long dry spell before they leave town.
The light turns green and dread settles in my stomach as I drive on. The closer I get to my childhood home, the more angst I feel. I’m sweating and nearly hyperventilating by the time I turn onto Maplewood Avenue, just four houses away from facing my father’s disapproving face.
The car slows to a crawl, coasting since I’ve taken my foot off the gas. They don’t know I’m coming—I couldn’t bring myself to announce my failures ahead of time—but my mom will be happy I’m back, and my dad will too, albeit with a heavy dose of ‘I told you so.’ Yay.
I pull into the driveway and blow out a long breath as I cut the engine. It’s Saturday, so I’m sure they’re both home. All right, Salem. Shoulders back, chin up. You’ve got this.
I grab my bag from the passenger seat, tossing it across my body, then exit the rental car I paid for with the final dregs of my credit card limit. I sold my car six months ago for cash to pay rent for two more months. It’s been a rough-ass year.
Painting an artificial smile on my face, I trudge up the driveway and climb the three steps to the door, pressing the doorbell like a solicitor with vacuums for sale .
A few seconds later, the door opens and my mother’s face goes from irritation to shock to pure joy. “Salem!”
She throws her arms around me, dragging me inside. Laughter bubbles out of me, erasing the melancholy I’ve carried for weeks now.
“Hi, Mom.”
She steps back, her hands on my arms. “What a surprise. What are you doing here? Why didn’t you call? I didn’t cook.” She cups my chin. “Oh goodness, boy. You’re pale and skinny. Don’t they have food in the city?”
“Mom.” I shake my head, gently pulling her hand away. “Can I stay for a while?”
Her brow creases. “Of course, but why?”
“Who’s at the door?” My dad’s bellowing voice comes from the family room. “We don’t need any more cookies, Delores.”
“It’s Salem.”
“Salem?”
I hear his heavy footfalls on the wood floors before I see him, but the old man rounds the corner into the formal living room, a worried look on his face.
“What’s wrong?”
He knows. Why else would I show up unannounced? Not once since I took off for wild pastures have I turned up without calling first.
“Um, a lot of stuff hasn’t really worked out.” My throat clogs with emotion I refuse to release. “I lost my job, and I haven’t been able to find anything to replace it.” I focus on my mom’s face. “I couldn’t afford my apartment anymore.” I shrug. “So I came home.”
“Oh, sweet boy.” Mom wraps her arms around me, pulling me into her bosom, and suddenly I’m ten years old again, fighting back tears. I sink into her embrace, putting down my ever-present armor for a few minutes. I don’t dare look at my dad.
“I just need a place to land for a bit while I figure things out,” I say into her shoulder. “Is that okay?”
“Of course it’s okay,” Mom says. “You’re our child.”
“The apartment’s empty,” Dad says. “You can stay down there.”
I cautiously look up, hoping to see something resembling acceptance. Ours is a tense relationship, filled with obvious love but plenty of judgment and disappointment too. He didn’t think he’d signed up for a feminine, headstrong gay son, but I’ve often reminded him that having kids is a crapshoot. I definitely didn’t request a stern, uptight, sports loving dad, but hey, the universe has a sense of humor.
His expression is… neutral. I’ll take neutral.
“Thanks, Dad.”
Nodding, he steps forward, his shrewd eyes scrutinizing mine. “Are you sure you’re okay otherwise?”
“Yeah.” I’ll leave out that the reason I clung so tightly to my failing lifestyle was being hung up on the gaslighting, narcissistic asshole I spent two years of my life trying to please. Those scars can’t be healed by concerned parents. “Can you just say it now so we can get past it?”
“Say what?” he asks.
“That you told me it wouldn’t work out. You told me it was a stupid idea to head to New Onyx with nothing but my high school degree and my graduation money. You warned me every year since that the cost of living was rising and the job market was getting more competitive. You were right, so can you just get out whatever it is you want to say about it?”
My mom rubs my back while Dad just creases his brow. “Son, I don’t know why you think I’d kick you while you’re down, but you’re wrong. ”
“Oh.”
“I’m sorry things didn’t work out, but you gave it a solid try. You made it there on your own for almost ten years. It shows you’re tenacious and resourceful. I’d never scold you for that.”
I blow out a breath, releasing all the tension I’ve been holding since I decided to come back. My eyes sting with unshed tears, but I blink them back.
“Thanks, Dad.”
He half smiles, which is a lot of emotion for him. “You’ll have to clean up down there. It’s been empty for two months.”
“I’ll wash the bedding,” Mom says.
“No, Mom, I can do it. You’re not taking care of me. As soon as I get a job, I’ll pay rent.”
“Nonsense,” Dad says. “You’ll figure things out soon enough. Until then, welcome home. The only thing I ask is that you don’t make too much noise after ten p.m. And no weed. The smell makes me nauseous.”
“I don’t smoke.”
“No? I thought all young people did.”
I shake my head. “It makes me too sleepy.”
My mom brushes her hand over my hair. “Are you hungry?”
“Yeah.”
“Shepherd’s pie?”
My stomach rumbles in response. “I’d love it, Mom.”
Her face lights up. She loves cooking for her kids. “Give me an hour. Towels are in the apartment if you want to shower and relax first. Do you need a snack? I have cookies.”
“Lots of cookies,” Dad says. “She can’t say no to those cute little girls at the door.”
“I’ll take some cookies.”
She loads me up with bottled water and two boxes of my favorite cookies before sending me down the back staircase to the basement apartment. I got lucky that they don’t have a tenant right now, otherwise I’d be in my childhood bedroom right next to their bedroom.
Once inside, I set my stuff down and plop onto the slightly dated but very comfy couch. It’s dark down here, with low ceilings and a faint musty smell, but it’s home. My siblings and I spent most of our lives down here playing video games with friends or watching movies. My sister Brooklyn had her sweet sixteen party here and me and my older brother Aspen crashed it with silly string. A smile tugs at my lips, remembering the shrieks from the girls.
That was the night I realized I might be gay. My seventeen-year-old brother couldn’t stop talking about the girls in their nightgowns and pajama tops. All I heard from him was boob talk and how nice girls smell. I had zero physical reaction to ten scantily clad teenage girls, and I was almost fifteen at the time.
When he told me, in graphic detail, about his first sexual experience and what a girl’s naked body felt like, I was fascinated by the fact that he’d engaged in such a grown-up activity, but I had no curiosity about what a girl felt like. I did, however, catch glimpses of the boys during gym class and how their junk bounced in their shorts when they ran. I usually sat on the sidelines, feigning an asthma attack—never mind that I don’t have asthma, it gave me a great vantage point.
My first sleepover with my friend Jackson solidified what I already suspected. We compared dick sizes, which became touching each other, which eventually led to blow jobs. There was no point denying it anymore. I liked boys.
I tried to be interested in girls. Lord, did I try. Bless sweet little Bethany Newton for going to homecoming with me. She made it very clear that making out and feeling under her dress was acceptable. Jackson and I had promised each other we’d do something with the girls. Neither one of us wanted to be gay, so after the dance we took our dates to the lake and tried making out.
Yeah, that was… embarrassing. Bethany was primed and ready for action and my dick was in hiding. The girls offered blow jobs, which we both accepted, and I got through it by watching Jackson. Of course it felt good to have someone’s mouth on me, but the disconnect wasn’t lost on me.
After months of secretive groping and blow job sessions with my friend, I decided to come out, but Jackson didn’t, distancing himself once the kids at school started adding gay slurs to the list of things they could bully me for. Good times. I lost a friend and my only gay sex outlet.
I grab my phone from the coffee table and scroll my contacts. Bethany is still there, but I erased Jackson in tenth grade. I heard she’s married with two kids now. We’re not even thirty yet.
My memories drift back to my parents’ expressions when I came out. Dad, slightly disappointed, Mom uncomfortably supportive. Aspen told me they all knew it, but Dad was probably holding out hope that it was a phase. Can’t blame the guy. He was raised in the Bible Belt by strict Baptist parents. In spite of that, he’s done his best to understand and accept me, even if I suspect he’s still hoping it’s a phase.
After a few minutes of indulging in the memories, I pull myself up and head to the tiny bathroom for a shower. Tonight I’ll enjoy Mom’s cooking and soothe my wounded ego. Tomorrow I’ll start figuring out how to put my life back together and get the hell out of this sleepy town.