Early the next morning my pops saw Justin's dad at a diner twenty miles out of town.
"I found Kurt over at the Empire." he said quietly as he stirred his tea.
"Yeah?" I responded, looking up from my cereal.
"He uh... He said he didn't know where Justin was." His soft voice carried the painful acceptance of his own failure. "He's down at the station now."
The story I was told and the way (as I would find out much later) that it actually happened varied greatly. Apparently my dad had followed Kurt's truck to the diner about two hours before sunrise. When Justin's dad parked my dad did as well. They met cordially in the safety of the dark parking lot. My dad informed him that there was a warrant out his arrest and that he should probably head home before things got out of hand. Justin's dad told him to "screw off" and as a result my pops had no choice but to beat the shit out of him. He then called 911 to have the paramedics scrape the scum off the pavement. By the time they arrived my dad was long gone, and had alerted the police that their suspect would be arriving at the hospital shortly. The department thanked him, and notated in their report that Justin's dad had been involved in a bar room brawl three hours prior to his hospitalization. The whole town knew the truth, but because of who my dad was, no one said a word. Nor was there any reason to.
I wanted to kill that sleaze bag for what he did to Justin. For causing him so much pain for so long. He deserved to be thrown in jail and have that same sort of mental and physical anguish projected onto him again and again, everyday for the rest of his miserable life. There was no way though that I would stoop to his level. I was going to testify against that bastard, and I wasn't gonna let anyone tell me otherwise.
I spent the early part of the morning buying shit for my dorm room and trying desperately not to think. My mind was so fatigued from all that had gone on that I could barely remember who I was. My mom and dad went to the library just after I got back from the store, leaving the house all to me. It was a good thing too, because my morning went from bad to worse very quickly.
I was lying on the couch trying to zone out when Kyle flew into my driveway like a bat out of hell. His car door slammed violently outside the living room windows. The front door swung open and flew shut just as fast. A gust of air blew the mail off the coffee table and onto the floor.
"I am so fucking screwed!" he screamed at me, "You have no idea the fucking shit that you started here. No idea!"
I was totally caught off guard by his assault. Unable to speak, I just stared at him. Then the pile of mail on the carpet. Then at Kyle again. It was way too early to be getting yelled at.
"I am never ever going to pull myself out of this one. I'm done." he yelled but just a little bit quieter than before. I watched as he suddenly realized how loud he was being and did some reconnaissance of the downstairs to make sure no one else was home.
What's going on?" I asked finally, a defensive tone ringing in my voice.
"You wanna know what's going on. Well, let me tell you." he said sarcastically, "You have totally fucked up my life."
I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. Kyle stormed back and forth across the wood floor of the foyer.
"My brother decided to check his email this morning. No big deal except for the fact that my mom was on the family PC. So... guess who decided to hop on my laptop? You guessed it. And guess who happened to stumble upon my browser history in the process?"
"Oh shit." I said as I felt the color drain from my face.
"Brian just found two weeks worth of gay porn on my computer." he said with an angry smirk.
"How do you know?" I asked.
"Oh... let me see." The sarcasm had still not faded from his voice so I knew this was about to get worse. "Maybe because when I came home he called me a 'goddamn fagot-ass queer' and told me that I was a disgrace to him and my mother and my father." Kyle choked back tears as he said this.
This could not be any worse. Kyle's family have always been a little further right than mainstream. When I say a little, what I mean is that they are religious to a radical degree, stockpile firearms, and have a picture of Richard Nixon in their hall. Right up there with Jesus and the family patriarch. They had two smart, handsome sons to be proud of. One was a star football player, the town heart-throb, an academic scholar, and a war hero. The other mirrored his brother with near perfection. To say that having evidence of pornography under their roof, let alone gay porn, would have rattled Kyle's parents to the core would be a gross understatement. It would absolutely shatter them.
"Oh shit." I repeated in absolute disbelief.
"Is that all you have to say? Huh? You fucking dig something out of me that I had no problem ignoring up until this point, get your jollies, and then throw me away like a spent rag."
His face was red. His eyes were moist with rapidly forming tears. His hands were clenched into tight balls. Every muscle was tense with rage. I sat up, totally shocked by what was going on. How was I supposed to tell him what to do, when I was terrified of the exact same thing happening to me. It was a nightmare come true. Probably one of the most horrifying things to ever run through my mind had now become a reality. Only it wasn't happening to me. It was happening to my best friend. And apparently it was my fault. I had a hard time denying this fact. I wanted to though; to formulate excuses so I wouldn't have to deal with the truth that I was partially responsible for Kyle's downfall. I wanted to say "well you shouldn't have been taking a risk like that" but how could I?
"Oh god," I mumbled, "I am so fucking sorry. I don't know what to do."
He let out a grunt like an angry steer before storming off into the kitchen. I waited a moment before following. Kyle sat on the counter with his legs dangling over the edge. His head hung down as he watched the pendulous motion of his feet. Each sigh that escaped his mouth made the air heavier.
"What am I supposed to do." he muttered beneath his breath.
"I don't know." I said just as quietly.
"Me either." he replied looking up. His expression had changed from rage to fear.
The tension in the atmosphere evolved as quickly as it had appeared. He was no longer yelling, and his face no longer bore an accusation of guilt. It was almost as if he was saying 'What's the point? It doesn't matter anymore.'
"When do you leave?" I asked before suddenly remembering that his answer would carry a weight I was not prepared for even during the best of conversations.
"The day after tomorrow." His eyes fell back to the floor.
Yeah... Like that was gonna solve anything. Go ahead and leave; never come back-- just like they want. Before I knew it Kyle was going to be gone. Off in a foreign land waiting to die. My mind swirled from Justin, to Ryan, to Kyle, to me, to Kurt, to Emmy. From the cold solemn glances of my father, to the bigotry of Brian's words. From my own mother's Mom's cautious outlook of life, to the unconditional love that radiated from Ryan's mom. I... We.... He.... They... It was too much, and soon there would be nowhere to turn.
"Kyle, If you leave..." I began, "No, there are no 'ifs'. You can't leave."
He made a disturbing noise halfway between a laugh and a cry.
"I have to," he said, "I don't have a choice."
I bit my lip... I knew there was no argument to be made. He really didn't have a choice. In two days, my best friend and first true love would become a marine. My thoughts slipped back to the situation that awaited him at home.
"Do your parents know?" I asked.
"They probably do now!" Kyle said with an agitated laugh. "Brian has never been one to keep people's secrets... you should know that."
I thought back to five years ago when I backed over the neighbor's cat with the tractor. There was one witness who promised he wouldn't tell a soul. In thirty minutes the whole town knew. And then a terrifying thought crawled slowly through my mind, like a cloud that wouldn't move past the sun. How would this affect me? What would my parents think now that they knew I had been hanging around with a 'fag' for years. Would they suddenly be forced to question how much they knew about their own son... I mean, I had only ever had one girlfriend, and that was in middle school. A hot fear ran through my veins. A selfish fear... with for one second a selfish solution. Never.
"Kyle. If you need me to do anything. Tell me. I am so fucking scared." I paused, "If this gets out you'll be..."
"I know," he said calmly, "I'll be long gone by then."
We sat in silence for a moment. A long moment full of sighs. I had never seen him like this before. He seemed eerily at peace. Responsible. He seemed like an adult. Soon though I realized why: the course of Kyle's life had been changed forever. His fate which up until this morning hung in limbo between small town life and love, had been decided. He had but one path ahead of him and it led far away from this place.
"I got my stuff before I left," he said, "I am gonna sleep in my car down by the camping lodge until I have to go."
I opened my mouth but a jumble of words fell out. I listened as they piled up on the floor, forming a mountain of apologies, professions of love, and open ended questions. Kyle just sat there. Helpless. I reached out my arm to touch him but he drew back.
"Don't touch me." he said angrily.
An expression of pain shot across his face. I hurt with him.
"Kyle." I said before realizing that there were no words left to be spoken.
Spinning on my heals I took off for the direction of the broom closet. I grabbed the biggest grocery bag I could find, and brought it back with me. My hands buzzed through the air, zipping into cabinets and darting out of drawers. I grabbed chips, soda, canned peas, zip lock bags, bread, Little Debbie snack cakes, bananas, and paper towels. Anything and everything that came within reach as I whirred through the room went into the bag. I pulled things out of cabinets that I hadn't touched in years. Trash bags, can openers, shoelaces, air fresheners. It was as if the more stuff I could jam into that bag, the better off everything would be.
"Eric," Kyle said firmly, "Stop."
I dropped the bag at his feet and began to weep.
Outside the window I watched the dark storm clouds in the distance roll over the bare fields. The rain had stopped, but it was most certainly not over.