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[tales-of-people-i-once-knew-blog]

“Thomas Not Tom: Part I”

Thomas knew there was something different about him that everyone in his life wouldn’t understand. Once, when he was 13, he had attempted to talk to his mother about the funny dreams he had about Bryce Sanders. Bryce was a charismatic upperclassman that Thomas sat by in his 5th period English class. But as he expected, his mother subtly encouraged him to keep these dreams to himself.”You’re just going through a phase.” She would suggest, to Thomas’ dismay.

Tall but thin, Thomas wasn’t the type to join in the athletic programs as his older brother had. In truth, he related more so to Karen, his younger, more popular sister. Both were artistically inclined and enjoyed writing. However, Karen preferred to portray herself as vapid, despite having excellent grades. Thomas never understood why she felt the need to do this but suspected it was simply because she was insecure.

How could he blame her when he himself felt as though he was balancing a double life. To his family and friends, he was an average 15-year-old guy. He went to the movies, went to the school football games, and even endured watching “NYPD Blue” with his dad as he would bitch about Thomas’ failure to remember to do the dishes.

But when he wrote in his notebook, he fantasied about threesomes with Bryce Sanders and Cleveland Indians player, Grady Sizemore. He drew sketches of fashion ensembles he dreamed he would someday wear. He imagined himself as “Trisha”; the outrageous and vivacious woman he wanted to dress as when he escaped his hometown.

He dreamed of leaving the endless cornfields and gray skies of Andover, Ohio and escaping to endless nights of excitement in some far off location such as New York or Los Angles. Somewhere he could be accepted for who he wanted to be without any fear. “One day”, he would write with a hopeful grin he couldn’t help but make.

“Just three more years”, he thought as he settled into the old plaid chair in the den after dinner. The chair had been around even before his brother, Brian, was born 19 years earlier. Its material was now rough, stained, and torn in various places. But Thomas felt an undeniable “at home” comfort from sitting in it despite its many flaws.

It was half-past nine and NYPD Blue would be on soon. but his dad still hadn’t arrived home from work. Thomas and his sister resembled their father with both having with his dark brown hair and eyes, pointed nose, wide smile, and tall stature. But neither of them had quite acquired his interests in politics, hunting, and sports.

“GET IN HERE, TOM.” he dad bellowed from the kitchen at a quarter past 10. Thomas froze, tightening his grip on the arms of the plaid chair. “NOW!”, his father insisted.  Thomas flashed a hopeless look at Karen, who looked back equally terrified. They both knew his tone meant trouble. And both knew getting on dads bad side was never in their best interest,

“Your show is on, Daddy!” Karen yelled back, attempting to lighten the mood. Karen had always been a daddy’s girl. Most of the time when he was in a bad mood, she just needed to smile and speak in her baby voice and their dad would visibly soften and flash the smile that both Thomas and Karen had inherited. But tonight was different.

“DON’T MAKE ME TELL YOU AGAIN, TOM!”, his father yelled once more. Thomas jumped from the comfort of the plaid chair and uneasily entered the kitchen. He immediately froze in fear seeing his dad sitting at the kitchen table putting a cigarette out with one hand and clutching to one of Thomas’ notebooks in the other.  “Fuck!” Thomas thought as hands grew clammy and he held back tears.

Had his father read about his fantasies involving Bryce Sanders and Grady Sizemore? Did he see his sketches of ensembles he imaged he would wear as “Trisha”? Did his father now know who he really was?

Thomas mustered the courage to look at his mother who was turned with her back to him, washing the dishes as she remained silent and unmoving. He stared at the back of her blond, square head, and silently prayed she would turn around and say something. “Oh, calm down, Mark.” She’d say. “Head on into the den and I’ll bring you a beer.” Acting as if nothing was wrong was a skill she had perfected in the 20 years she and his father had been married.

His father grunted and stood up. Thomas stiffened and turned back towards him. As his father walked towards him adjusting his belt,  Thomas felt his dreams of escaping fade. “WIll I be stuck in this hick town and have to get a job with my dad and brother down at the plant? Will I have to spend the rest of my life driving home under gray skies and hide who I am from everyone forever?” He felt an invisible but heavy weight on his chest as these thoughts washed over him like a tsunami.

“Well what do you have to say for yourself, Tom?” his father asked, breaking Thomas from his internal panic attack. “I can’t do this anymore”, he thought. “I can’t hide who I am and wind up stuck in a miserable life... I need to say something.”

“It’s Thomas,” he said under his breath.

“What?” his father questioned with an emphasis on the “w” as he said it.

Thomas straightened and looked at his father in the eye; “Thomas. Not Tom.” he said sternly.

“My name is Thomas, Dad. And I’m gay.”

A loud silence filled the room. Karen, who had been eavesdropping from the den, quickly picked her jaw up from the floor. Their mother spun around from her diligent dash washing and stared at Thomas helplessly.

“Washin dishes don’t make ya gay, Tom.” His dad started. “I told you to do the damn dishes for your mom and here you are sittin like a bump on a log and letting her do em!” he said sternly. “Now don’t make me have to tell you again!”  he yelled as he reached out his arm, handing over my notebook.”And here,” he concluded, “you left your school stuff in my truck.”

Stunned, Thomas took the notebook as his father brushed him and into the refrigerator, grabbing a beer before heading into the den and settling into the old plaid chair.

Thomas stood there and stared down at the notebook for what felt like forever.

“Snap outta it!” his mother hissed in a hushed voice.

In that moment, Thomas knew three years was too long to wait. He placed his notebook on the table, next to his father’s ashtray and walked out of the door, unsure where he was going, but feeling as if his life had suddenly taken an irreversible turn.

#Gay Fiction #LGBTQ #Straight against hate #Short Stories #i am thomas