“Sure bloody looked like it, son.”
“I would never harm him.Kyle.You remember him, right?We grew up together, he stayed over most weekends.”
“Of course, I remember him, you dozy fool.”
Ahh, a mother’s love.
“Okay, good.You have to believe me when I say we weren’t fighting.What I’m about to tell you, you might think is much worse, and I will understand if you want nothing more to do with me.”I swallow hard and will myself on.“I was kissing him.Or about to, anyway, before we heard the sound of a camera.We were drunk and stupid, I know.But I love him, Mum.And I will do anything for him.”
Mum is silent.That’s not good.It’s never good when Mum is silent.She walks over to me, and I brace myself for another dig in the arm, but she hugs me.
“I’m so glad you're a lover and not a fighter!”
“Mum!”I say as I struggle to get out of her embrace, yet internally my heart is bouncing up and down with joy.I want to cling to her.I want to hold her tight, like I used to when I was a kid.But if I do that, I will truly know how alone I’ve been these past few years and, well… can’t handle that.So I break free and smile at her.
She kisses the top of my head before releasing me.
I look at her, and then her face turns stern.“But you cannot be a footballer and gay.Not in this world.It is too dangerous for you.”
“Mum, it’s okay.I’ll figure it out.I’m just thankful you took it better than Dad.”
“You told your father before me?”
“No!”I sputter.“Well, yes, but only because he saw the picture first.”
“Hrm.I guess that serves me right for shopping for the family dinner this weekend.”
“Mum, you’ve known I was gay since forever, though,” I say, letting out a small laugh in spite of the situation, untangling the confusion.
“Yes, I know that dear, but I didn’t know you were in love.And with another footballer.Our Kyle.How brave of you both.”
She hugs me again, and I don’t fight it this time.
“You must stay for dinner.I won’t hear no for an answer—oh, I know,” she says, a wild look in her eye.I can already see where this is going, the cogs literally turning in her head.“Invite Kyle too.”
Dad walks through the door, saving my ass.
He slams a dozen or so different newspapers down on the counter top.
Or not.
“‘Fighting Lads on Tour,’” he says, pointing his finger at the headline, then slams it on the floor.“‘Young Lions Try to Kill Each Other.’”He does the same action again.Over and over with each headline—each one more ludicrous than the previous.Physical media seems to be leaning into the fighting, and some of the rage-bait ones are trying to imply something more intimate.Kyle and I are getting pelted from both sides, and now my dad is—well, he’s being Dad.I don’t want to look at my mum, I just hope she has my back.And while I’m not looking at her, I can pretend she does.
“Dad, you and I both know what really happened.”
“But,” he says, and now his eyes light up, “This is even better.You can stay hidden away, lean into the bad boy persona.”
I can’t believe what I’m hearing.
“You know, your father has a point, son.”And there it is, the sound of my heart being pierced.My family is drawing the bow; my life is the target.Bullseye.I feel rage build up inside of me.Words wanting to come out and for once, I let them.I pace around the kitchen table and look my mum in the eye.
“You too, Mum?”
I look at them both now, disgusted.“You would rather I hide away, and pretend to be a violent thug, than the person who I really am, who doesn’t hurt anyone?I didn’t think that was how you raised me.”
Before they can say anything I storm off outside, wiping tears from my face.
A wet nose lands on my hand, initially starling me.I open my bleary eyes, and there he is, our family Dalmatian dog, Dereck.I scratch him behind his ear, and he leans into it, panting and wagging his tail.
