And So It Began
Chapter Two
By Redcurrantish
Well. A quick warning: don't read this if you're not allowed to. This is going to be about same sex relationships, so if you find that at all offensive, you'll probably be better off reading something else. And of course the author maintains all rights to the story. Do not copy or use without written permission.
Otherwise I'll be very happy to receive any feedback that you may have. You can contact me at: redcurrantish@yahoo.com
Enjoy!!
I woke up to the sound of my mother tinkling around downstairs, throwing open the cupboards and taking out various pots and pans. I took no pleasure in remembering that I had agreed to go to Germany the night before. I wondered whether I could still tell my parents that I was having doubts. Unless there was more to wanting me to go abroad than the chance to pad my CV, I was certain that I could still say no. I just hoped for what certainly must have been the zillionth time that they hadn't heard the rumor. Having my parents learn that they had a gay son didn't appeal to me much. Particularly since I still wasn't sure if I actually was.
I was still consumed by this line of thought as I trudged down the stairs some fifteen minutes later. My mother was making crepes. I think she thought they were more sophisticated than pancakes. I kissed her cheek quickly and walked into the dining hall, where I was confronted with four smiling faces. My dad was talking in his rich baritone voice to a couple with a daughter. I had the impression that he was bragging.
"Now if it isn't the boy himself." My dad laughed. "Have a seat."
I smiled weakly at my father, realizing suddenly that he had invited the Richards over. Looking at the table, I noticed a pile of brightly colored books. Of course. Language books.
"Oh those," said my father, noticing my gaze, "the Richards brought them. Why don't you thank them?"
"Of course," I said, turning to the others. "Thank you so much." I smiled at them, but I felt a bit irritated that my father had thought he needed to remind me. Not to speak of the fact that I thought it was a bit soon to already be getting going away presents. Particularly since I still had misgivings about going abroad.
"Our pleasure. Laura doesn't need them anymore, and well, we're so excited for you. I've been thinking of nothing else since your mother called me yesterday morning." Mrs. Richards smiled up at me.
I was puzzled. I hadn't even known that I was going yesterday. Had my parents just assumed that I would go along with their plan? I was a bit upset, realizing that they had been right: I had gone along.
"Look Kevin," my dad said hurriedly. "Why don't you take a seat. Laura can fill you in on all the details while you eat. And I think it's time that I gave Colleen and Gary the tour of the house."
I heard him begin the tour of the house, stopping at the same places, and uttering the same comments, that I had heard so many times before. Like actors the Richards began (and I was confident would continue) to deliver perfectly timed oohs and ahs, exclaiming at the rugs from Turkey, the chandelier from Venice, and the tiny Zen garden that my dad had been inspired to make after a trip to Japan in the early nineties.
I wondered where I fit in his speech, and whether he would find it convenient once he got to Illinois, to refer to me as his child in Germany. He would do a good job romanticizing my life there, once he didn't have to see it. Maybe he would even quote Goethe. My dad may work in business, but he had had a classic liberal arts education, and if he wanted to sound cultured, he would do just that. .
I sat down reluctantly, uneasy at the obviously contrived situation. This poor girl had been forced to come to talk to me. I considered telling her she could leave, that it was all right, that I was going and didn't need to be convinced. There really was no point in staying if my parents were so eager to see me leave. But I couldn't very well throw her out, not with her parents in the backyard. So we talked. Or rather Laura talked. She was good at that.
Because of course my mother had been right: Laura was adorable. In the excessive, all American way which only really blonde girls are truly successful at pulling off. At least that's how I saw it. She was very preppy, a fact that shouldn't have annoyed me, because I did as much shopping at Abercrombie as anyone else. But she wore her polo shirts with a confidence I never possessed. She had also just visited Cape Cod, and I swear she spent the first twenty minutes discussing her parents' yacht. I guess she had missed the States.
My mother peeked in a few times. She was all happy and beaming that Laura and I were talking together. It was actually kind of cute. Germany hadn't even come up, and to tell you the truth I wasn't particularly eager for it to. I didn't know much about the country, and I didn't see any real reason to go into it now. I had a vague idea that people there wore leather pants (not the sexy kind) and drank a lot of beer, neither of which interested me.
"So, I hear you go to St. Matthew's."
I suddenly realized that there were worse things to talk about than Germany. I nodded, hoping that she would get the hint and start talking about her yacht again.
"I guess you hate it."
She just wasn't going to change the subject, was she? And then it hit me. Perhaps she -- knew. There was no reason why she shouldn't. She hadn't been here for very long, but that kind of gossip travels. Even I knew that. I sighed. Perhaps she had known about - it - the whole time.
I was afraid to look up. I had accepted that everyone at St. Matthew's had heard about the rumor now, but not that someone in my own home would - in fact very likely did. I shivered.
I must have really looked terrified then. I'm sure she had been planning on confronting me, but then she just shrugged and mentioned something about how I might discover that things would be different in Germany. Or some such similar platitude.
But then she started to say some interesting things. No. Interesting was the wrong word. Infuriating would be closer to the point. Like she began raving about Germany. She talked a whole lot about her friends back there. Something about how Lisa was into volleyball, and about how Moritz was practically an alcoholic.
Honestly I tried to drone her out. I mean let's face it. Laura was the typical popular girl. Which was great for her. But I wasn't anything like that. Her friends would not be my friends. That simply wasn't how things worked. So why should I pay attention? What would she ever know about how my life was going to be? She wasn't a closeted gay boy. (Not that I was admitting anything. Just for the sake of argument...) I barely spoke to classmates here. And that was in English. There was no way my life would get any better in Germany. And I didn't need to listen to her talk about how excellent it was there.
So I left. Very politely of course. I made some sort of excuse about having to meet somebody at the library for a school project. I think I looked just nerdy enough for her to believe me. I then decided that I might as well go to the library, just to be on the safe side and picked up a few books. Science Fiction and Fantasy. I'm into the whole escapism thing.
The whole meeting with Laura hadn't made me feel any better about myself. So she was blonde and bubbly. I didn't doubt that she had had a great time there. Supposedly some people have a great time in high school in the US. Hadn't my class's gym teacher stood before us just this week, telling us nostalgically that high school had been the best time of his life? That it would be the best part of our lives? And I know he wasn't the only one who felt that way.
When I returned I found my mother outside waiting for me. She looked worried.
"You weren't meeting anyone, were you?"
"What? Of course. I --."
"Answer me young man."
I slumped down.
"No, I wasn't."
"You don't have to lie Kevin. I do wish that you had showed a bit more enthusiasm though."
I nodded, wondering if she was feeling guilty for suggesting that I leave home. She was silent for a moment. I had the vague impression that she wanted to tell me something, but was afraid.
"Mom?"
"Why don't you have a look at your new German books?"
A few days later my mother's behavior was explained. I was on my way downstairs, when I heard my parents speaking in murmured voices. They sounded upset. When my name was mentioned, I decided to listen.
"Did you get any more phone calls?" my dad asked.
"No, just that one. I'm so terrified that he'll call again, and that Kevin will pick up. He's so sensitive."
"Hmph. He did get himself into this mess. Staring at boys."
I frowned, not liking where the conversation was going, yet unable to turn around. I had to know what they were saying about me.
"Maybe, I don't know. He probably didn't even realize it. He's -"
"Gay?"
"We don't know. It could have been a prank."
"More likely a well meaning altar boy. And when have you ever heard him talking about girls?"
"He doesn't talk about anybody."
"Well I doubt he would be talking about boys in front of us."
"Do you think we should talk to him? I don't like the feeling that he's hiding something from us, and now we're hiding something from him, and..."
"I'm not having that conversation. How can I ask my own son if he's gay? If he's not... I don't think he would forgive us. He's so sensitive already. I wouldn't have forgiven my father if he had asked me that when I was a teenager."
"Now that is a conversation I would have loved to have heard."
My dad laughed.
"You're right. We shouldn't trouble him... He's had enough problems at school. He'll tell us when he's ready. I'm just so worried, Bill..."
"Hey, come here."
I heard the concern in their voices. I felt guilty that my mother was crying now, that my dad needed to comfort her. I turned around, going back upstairs, grateful for the thick wall-to-wall carpet.
The next weeks flew by. I spent all my time working on German. I still couldn't believe that somebody had actually called my mother. Things were good with her, but I hated the knowing glances she passed me from time to time, or the way she made a point of choosing movies with impossibly handsome male leads. "Do you want to watch the movie with Josh Hartnett or Lindsey Lohan, honey?" I missed the time when I had felt free to think about Michael constantly, not having to feel guilty. The days when I hadn't analyzed my every thought, or worried that my every thought was being analyzed. But more than that I was very worried that somebody would call again. I only hoped that next time I could answer the phone.
I also started exchanging letters with my host family. My mother hadn't been too thrilled (that's an understatement) once she found out that I hadn't even learned anything about my new host family, particularly since Laura knew them personally. Maybe she felt guilty about wanting me to go to Germany. I was doing my best not to sulk though, and pretty soon I got my first letter from them which seemed to appease my mother somewhat. By this time I regretted not grilling Laura more thoroughly, since she was now back at the Cape, so I was excited to learn some facts about them as well. My host brother to be was my age: we would be in the same class at school. My host mother taught kindergarten, and my host father did something with computers. I wondered whether that would make him more likely to accept my obviously introverted side.
It was all going great until I got a picture of them. I know they never meant to terrify me with the picture taken at the beach in Mallorca, but there you go, I'm sensitive. I think everyone's already decided that I'm too much so. But I definitely hadn't expected to find that my host brother was gorgeous. Really he was very tall. He had dirty blonde hair. Long curly dirty blonde hair. I mean really -- were they expecting me to be comfortable living with this guy, who was as far as I could tell practically a model? How soon would it be before I gave myself away? A month? A week? The first day? Or would I just blow my cover the second my mother put us on the phone together and I realized I was speaking to a god? And no it didn't help that in the photo he was wearing Speedos (I thought it was just a myth that European men wore them) that outlined every -- never mind.
I was in a particularly bad mood when the phone rang one day. I had finished the school year a while ago, and sitting all day at my desk trying to conjugate verbs in German bored me. I had acknowledged to myself that I was gay. My reaction to the picture of my host brother had sort of confirmed it, which didn't exactly make me want to jump up and down.
Maybe I should have been relieved, that my parents weren't upset with me, but most of the time I was just angry that somebody had outed me. I didn't even know who had called. I was beginning to get strange looks from my mother. She felt sorry for me. And I couldn't stand that.
I walked into the kitchen to answer the phone, wondering where my parents had gone. The house was completely empty. I hated when they left without telling me. I only went to the library, and whenever the phone rang, it was never for me. I picked up the receiver, frustrated that I had to act as my parents' personal secretary.
"My parents aren't home now.".
"I don't want to talk to them."
"What?"
"Look. I want to talk to Kevin.'
I was silent.
"I'm guessing you're him." He laughed.
"Yes, I am." I was a bit puzzled that someone was calling me. That never happened. I couldn't recognize his voice either. I didn't think he was an acquaintance. I suddenly remembered that somebody, somebody whom I didn't know, had wanted to speak to me. Somebody I was sure I didn't like.
"You called before, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I did. You're hard to reach man." He laughed again.
I was sure I knew who it was now. I still don't know exactly how it all happened, but I lost all self-control. He sounded so nice, and I just couldn't stand that he was calling to hurt me. I began screaming into the receiver.
"You told my mother I was gay! Gay! How could you? One thing is tormenting me at school. But at home? Are you just so bored because it's vacation? Well maybe you're right. I do like boys. There. Happy now?"
There was a shocked silence on the other end.
"Look Kevin, I'm really sorry. You're clearly having problems, but -".
"Don't apologize to me. You've done enough."
"My name is Frederick Montgomery."
"You're giving me your name?"
"A friend told me to call you."
"A friend? Who was it? Christina? Meg? Not Michael himself?"
"I don't know any of those people."
"You know I'm being sent to Europe?" I continued, ignoring him. I wasn't going to have him deny anything now.
"Yes. That's why I called."
The voice actually sounded happy now. Like he wanted to talk about that. I couldn't believe his nerve and hung up. I slid slowly down to the ground, my back bumping into the handles of the drawers.
I was shocked that he had called again. I guess that it was good my parent's hadn't been home. I really didn't think that he'd be calling again, not after the way I had yelled at him. I stifled my tears.
I had never admitted to anyone that I was gay before. (I don't think my non-denial when my mother questioned me counted as any major form of outing myself.)
The thing was, he had actually sounded - well, sort of nice. His voice had been deep and reassuring. I wasn't going to forget the name Frederick Montgomery anytime soon. But he had mocked me, admitted (more or less) that he had been responsible. And I had still felt so attracted to his voice. His voice! I guess it was clear that I was gay. And had very bad taste. He was obviously exceedingly homophobic. I blinked desperately, but now the tears really began to fall, and I made my way back to my room.
And here I was now, on a plane for heaven's sake, headed to Germany. I still wasn't the bit used to the idea that in a matter of minutes I was going to have to speak another language and sleep in a new home. I was still quite shocked that I was even coming here in the first place.
My thoughts drifted to Michael. Somehow my thoughts were always coming back to him. He had been startled when he had learned I was leaving. I think he even looked a bit apologetic. But of course the whole thing was a compliment to him. His girlfriend was chasing boys - previously accepted as straight - out of the country for his sake. And now I would never see him again. Until that first high school reunion. When would that be? Eleven years? Sixteen?
I was startled out of my thoughts as the captain began speaking. Once he began speaking in German, I had to strain to make out what he was saying, even though I had just heard him say it in English. Somehow I hadn't prepared myself for this difficulty. I mean I knew that the language would be different -- I had studied my German for Dummies book. In fact I had stuck post-its around the house, labeling the furniture and any other objects I could find - because, of course, once I knew that Kerze meant candle, I would be all set for the year, right?
As soon as I walked into the baggage area after the plane landed, I saw my host family standing behind a glass screen, watching as I stood waiting for my luggage to come. I would have recognized them, even if Kristoff hadn't been waving a smile American flag. Or if his mother hadn't been carrying a sign that had my name written on it in big, block letters. Kristoff's body, his lean toned limbs, certainly had already become engrained permanently in my mind. It was a shock for me to see him move. I waved to him awkwardly. What was the opposite of an anticlimax? He looked excited to see me, pointing me out to the two people next to him. His parents. My host parents. Clearly Kristoff wasn't only a picture; I was suddenly filled with apprehension at the prospect of spending an entire year with him. There was no way this could go well.
If there had never been any doubt that I would not know it was them, there was even less that they would fail to recognize me. I was the only person in the tiny airport who had packed enough things for an entire year. I sensed my host family's eyes on me. What were they thinking? Were they examining my clothes? I had on a huge sweatshirt. And sweatpants. Things I never wear. But I had wanted something comfortable. I guess that made me American. Nobody else seemed to be wearing anything close to comfortable.
My attention turned to the people around me, who were almost without exception German. Most were businessmen. No doubt they made their way from Frankfurt to Hanover all the time. I watched them wait patiently in line, every now and then rushing together to examine another black rolling Pullman that had appeared on the baggage carousel. Some stood in groups chatting in low voices. I stiffened at the harsh, guttural sounds of the language. I hoped I would grow used to it with time.
Eventually though I managed to retrieve my huge turquoise duffle bag from the carousel. The glass doors opened and I stood face to face with my new family. For a moment I just stared at them, but then I felt myself being pulled into a hug, which I gladly returned, wanting desperately to forget about all the pains of the last few months, and hoping that just maybe, I would be able to here.
I hope you enjoyed it. This is my very first story, so I'm curious to know what you thought. I love hearing from you! You can contact me at: redcurrantish@yahoo.com