As soon as I enter, Mum wraps me up in a big hug and then holds me by my shoulders, “Look at yer.Those fancy diets they have yer on have made yer too thin.”I laugh at this.Mum is always trying to feed me up.Well actually, anyone who enters her home—within three minutes, she’s shoving some home-baked goods into their hands.“Come an’ take a seat in t’ living room, kettle is already on.”I want to cry with happiness.I have not only missed my parents, but I’ve also missed the homely northern accent and good bloody tea.The excuse Londoners have for tea is borderline barbaric.And sure, youcanbuy the proper tea bags down there, but somewhere in the making process, they turn the boiled water into piss or something.
I head into the living room and see Dad already sitting in his usual seat, a small distance from the TV, watching the sports news with a cigarette in his mouth, the ash dangerously close to falling.The familiar sight of my old surroundings—the floral wallpaper, which has been yellowed over the years from his smoking, the fabric three-seater sofa, the huge TV on the wall, and the coffee table with the white table cloth and handmade coasters—makes my heart swell.
I sit in my old spot, the left side of the sofa, and tuck my legs under my body, head resting on my arms.“Who’s playing today, Dad?”I ask, knowing that football talk is the safest talk.Not that I could talk to him about anything else.
“The Singers are playing City,” at that word, he spits into his ashtray.
“Oh, do you want to put it on?”I hear myself asking.There’s a tug in my chest.I know AJ is playing, and there’s something inside me that wants to see him in his element.Sure, he plays for the enemy, but… Actually, there are no buts.
“Watch t’ Cit’eh?On my bloody telly?No fuckin’ chance.Unless they’re playing Union, that shit will not be on my telly.”
“What if they’re getting beaten?The Singers are no slouches and they’ve got that newly promoted bounce.”This is all true, the Singers, after the halfway point of the season, are sitting one point above my club in eleventh place out of twenty.Far away from the “trap door” of the bottom three places that will send teams down a division.I watch my dad ponder this thought.He might hate City as much as I do, but he loves watching them lose, which, admittedly, is few and far between.
“No.I’m not doing it,” he says flatly.
“Coach says I need to watch them and the Singers as we’ve got them coming soon.I have to see how their defenders play under pressure.”It’s a lie adjacent to the truth.Coach has said I need to watch more games, even ones from different leagues, so I don’t feel too bad about it.At this, my dad’s eyes light up.
“Have yer made it onto t’ team then, lad?”he asks.
“Kind of, I’m on the bench against the Blues.”
“Hev!Hev, c’mon in ’ere,” my dad bellows, and Mum enters with a tray of teas.
“What’s with t’ racket?”she asks, setting the teas down on the coffee table.
“Our son here has only got a game against t’ Blues.”
Mum embraces me in another hug.“Why didn't yer tell us?”
“I just found out, and wanted it to be a surprise.”
“Oh, yer are a good son,” she says, pinching my cheeks.
“Dad was just about to put the City game on so I could scout the two teams.”At the name of City, Mum makes the sign of the cross and Dad spits into the ashtray again.Some people have religion.My family has football.Which if you ask them, is just as serious.
Reluctantly, Dad puts the game on.The very first image ishim.AJ.He’s changed a lot since we were kids.He’s somehow becomehotter.I had played a few games against him, but seeing him in ultra-high definition altered something inside of me that I didn’t want to think about.He was a good-looking kid, all our classmates would say it, but he never had a girlfriend.Neither of us did, but I had my own reasons, being gay and all.His squid black hair is held back by a light blue band and his deep brown eyes are set perfectly against his tanned skin.Something inside my stomach turns.I’m still mad at him, I can feel the burning deep inside myself, but yet, there’s something else there too.My first thoughts about seeing him are that he’s showing off.But no, that’s unfair.I’m jealous that he’s confident enough to go out onto the pitch looking like that.Anytime a player doesn’t look hyper masculine, they get torn online by the fans, for not looking manly enough, and here he is now, sporting a David Beckham style headband and looking like a damn runway model.
“Look at that ponce!”my dad shouts, spit flying out of his mouth to accentuate his point.
“Dad, that’s AJ!”
“Who?”he asks.And I know he knows who he is, he’s being stubborn.Choosing to forget who he is because he plays for City… and dare I say, looking likethat.Just another reason I don’t think it’s wise to come out.
“Kyle’s childhood friend, remember?”Mum adds.
“There is no bleedin’ way someone born on this estate would play for City.”He also must remember AJ lived just off the estate, in one of the big houses.Choosing to forget for the sake of his pride is certainly achoice.
I, for one, would never hold grudges.My mind drifts back to AJ, and how nice it would be to see him.I refuse to be like my dad.Maybe if I did see him, I can tell him how disappointed I am in him for picking City over everything we stand for.Myother brainthen wonders what it would be like to stand opposite him, look into his eyes, and my fingers innocently brush the hair out of his face.
Dad grunts, forcing me out of my daydream.
“When I got transferred to London, he got transferred there.”I don’t mention that he lived in the nicest house just off the estate, what’s the point of rubbing even more success into his face.And besides, I know he remembers.
“More like ’is parents bough’ ’im a spot.There’s no way ’es good enough, let alone better than yer,” Dad says.At least he remembers how rich AJ’s family is.Convenient timing, remembering only for fuel for his insult.I let out a sigh and glance over at Mum who shrugs helplessly.It’s like Dad is refusing to acknowledge AJ, as if he’s some sort of traitor.No, I’m not going to take a deep dive intomyinitial feelings of betrayal and where I get my stubbornness from.
My dad’s reaction to AJ’s stunning good looks is another reminder that I can never be my authentic self around him.I have tried to come out in the past, but every time the words got jammed in my throat.He’s never been accepting of the LGBTQIA+ community, and I’m sure he never will be.I feel another piece of barbed wire tighten around my heart.When I’m home, I feel myself slipping back into the wretched box I forced myself into, in an effort to stay safe.
I think Mum knows I’m gay.We’ve never had a discussion about it, and not that I think she shares the same views as Dad, but I have never broached the subject with her.It’s just she’s never asked me about girlfriends, like Dad does.
