Read by Silas Hawkins
Certain faces fit certain activities. What kind of face does a person who works with gay kids have? Generally female or feline. Mine, I can admit, is bovine. At my son Justin’s gay prom, I’ll be a bull in a chino shop. I told him that one. No reaction. Once he came out, I swear the laughing died. Charity had volunteered. They needed us. Tulsa schools have a legal minimum of adult chaperones for an under-eighteen dance; Justin’s support group didn’t have enough coordinators. Our son didn’t care about numbers; he didn’t want us there. According to him, our job was to dissolve into the wall. That upset Charity until she decided it applied exclusively to me.
“Sit still, watch the punch bowl and come to me if you see Justin smoking.” She brushed lint off my shoulder. “And Clayton, no jokes until the kids have left and we’re cleaning. You’ll embarrass him.”
I could feel her forming a mother-son alliance. So I promised to be invisible. Then what was the first thing she did? Say hi to everyone. Soon enough we were surrounded by Justin’s friends. They shocked me. “Thanks for saving our prom.” “Best parents ever.” “Adopt me.” They were great. It was touching. Beside a tall Goliath of a kid, even Justin was grinning. It was the first sign of happiness he’d shown in weeks. So I relaxed.
“Anything for the lugbutt prom kids.”
Charity locked her arm in mine and pinched me. I tried not to jump. The kids smiled silently; except Justin who looked ready to punch me. Charity patted my arm.
“He means L.G.B.T.”
Fine, I’ll shut up. She leaned towards them and whispered like I couldn’t hear.
“He’s trying to be funny.”
That’s right. Ridicule me to be cool with the kids. I grunted, assuming it was okay to grunt. I felt muzzled.
The tall kid chuckled and the group followed his lead. Justin smiled at the giant. A big smile; a big, honest smile. I’ll be truthful. I felt jealous. Goliath shook my hand and spoke.
“I’m Troy.”
I nodded. In school I knew a Troy that ditched Oklahoma and his pregnant girlfriend. This one isn’t getting my son pregnant.
Justin yelped like he’d been stung. A giant sparkling beehive appeared behind him. As the kids parted, an impossible woman entered the circle.
“Attention drones, Honey B. Potts has landed.”
It was Gene, a moderator for Justin’s gay youth group. Tonight he had transformed into a wonder of entomological womanhood in a black and yellow dress. She… he?... screw it. That doesn’t look like Gene. She batted her eyelashes and took my arm. I flinched. Justin frowned at me. Charity giggled. Honey Potts ignored it.
“It’s just wonderful to have parents here.”
Charity cooed. “Oh, but we’re happy to help.”
Charity talked to Honey as the kids scattered. I watched Justin and his behemoth friend approach the punch bowl. Troy took two glasses and my son reached into his pocket. He pulled out a flask, my flask, the one I kept in the underwear drawer. Why was he shifting through my briefs? Charity saw it too. Her eyes darted to me. She wanted me to stop them. No, this situation calls for a cool-headed mother. Not a dad who’s trying to be funny. Ignoring Charity’s signals, I turned to Honey.
“Are you a wasp or a bee? I can’t tell.”
Charity’s eyes widened. That’s right sweetheart, get over there and demolish that mother-son alliance. Yes, this revenge is petty; satisfying too. Honey smirked.
“How on earth did you make a gay when you can’t even spot a queen?”
Charity tittered like she does when she’s losing a game. I raised my eyebrows twice quickly. She sighed through a smile.
“I’ll get some drinks.”
As she walked away, I continued talking to the bee queen.
“So what’s that kid Troy’s story?”
Her painted eyebrows arched.
“Oh, a protective father?”
Charity had just reached the punch bowl. She was doing her shrugging after each sentence thing as she spoke. She was nervous. It looked like Troy was doing the talking. Justin was sulking. He hunches over when he sulks. He would have snapped a vertebrae if he had looked at the ceiling. Honey Potts’ square-fingered hand squeezed my shoulder. One of her long nails scratched my arm but I didn’t flinch. I wish Justin had seen that.
“Clayton, he’s a good kid.”
“I know. He just won’t relax around me and his mother anymore.”
She laughed.
“I was talking about Troy.”
After a few minutes she left to prepare for a show. And yes, she made buzzing sounds as she went. Charity was still talking and shrugging, shrugging and talking to Troy. Justin was staring at the other kids, wishing we were dead I imagine. Poor Charity. I found a seat in a corner and tried to disappear. It was nine thirty. Another three hours before the kids leave and we start cleaning. Eventually Charity returned with two glasses.
“Our son will probably forgive us on our death beds. If we ask.”
Mother-son alliance broken. Thank God. She handed me a glass of punch. It was mostly alcohol.
“Did you get my flask?”
She smiled.
“And risk a curse beyond the grave? No, but I got most of the vodka.” She raised her glass. “Cheers.”
We felt like a team again and toasted our new understanding. I squeezed her knee when she sat down. She spoke.
“Our son’s got an itch for Mr. Troy.”
“You’re kidding.”
She narrowed her eyes.
“Don’t be a smartass Clayton. I think his father should talk to him.”
Mother-father alliance broken.
“Okay, got any pointers? How was your conversation?”
The music stopped and the lights went out. I downed my vodka punch. I can’t talk to Justin about guys. A spotlight lit up Honey Potts and Troy. That kid was everywhere. What advice does Charity think I can give our son? Honey spoke first.
“Oh yes baby bees, are you ready for the queen of sting bling?”
Son, look at his eyes and not his chest.
Troy lifted his mic. “Let’s keep on track. We’re here to crown the prom king and queen.”
His eyes son, unless you’re on second base.
Honey Potts adjusted her beehive. “We? It takes a queen to make a queen.”
What is gay second base anyway? Oh, Jesus! I gave up on advice and watched the show. Troy looked down at Honey Potts. Even including her beehive, he was taller. He straightened himself.
“I guess I’ll never reach your level.”
Someone in the crowd said, “Oh no he diduuh.” Honey looked him over.
“Sweetie, you may be a head taller than me; but that’s nothing an axe can’t fix.”
For half an hour they did a routine. Justin had doubled over laughing. It was nice to see that. Troy had a sense of humour; that couldn’t hurt my son. Maybe he’d stop scowling so much. Finally, Troy produced an envelope.
“And now the big moment.”
Honey snatched the envelope from him.
“This year’s L.G.B.T. prom king and queen are … Why it’s Mr and Mrs Bolding, Justin’s parents.”
Disaster. “Dancing Queen” played. A spotlight searched the room. Charity drank her vodka in one gulp. On her face, I saw the same concern I felt. Honey Potts continued.
“Oh no children, we are not serving coronation chicken tonight.”
The spotlight passed over Justin. His face looked like it would crack open; the features of a family catastrophe. Charity took my arm.
“Act natural.” She sounded terrified. “Smile. Looking scared will only make it worse.”
The spotlight found us and the room disappeared in a flash. We smiled our way up to the stage as if it was completely natural. We smiled as Troy crowned us. Completely natural. I smiled as Honey Potts exchanged the crown on my head for Charity’s tiara. Completely natural. I smiled as they forced me to curtsey. Completely natural. I smiled as I saw Justin walk out the door. Completely natural. Charity glanced at me. I smiled as I leaned over to Honey Potts and whispered.
“End this quick. My son has just run off.”
In half a minute, she’d brought the lights down and the music up. I’d thank her later. Charity took the back door and I rushed to the front. Justin hadn’t gone far. I found him beside the entrance lighting a cigarette. I’d never caught him smoking.
“When did you start that?”
Bad move. He looked at my head.
“Once you started wearing tiaras.”
“Juuuuuustin!” Charity yelled from behind the building. He snorted.
“It’s like she’s calling a Goddamn dog.”
If I pretended he hadn’t cursed, it was funny. Kind of. I took off the tiara and pointed at his cigarette.
“Give me a drag. I could use one.”
He threw down the cigarette and stubbed it out.
“Stop trying to be cool with everything, dad.”
Ignore the tone and his advice was reasonable. I didn’t want to smoke.
“Son,” I held up the tiara “your mother and I …”
“Juuuuuuustin!”
Damn it Charity. I started again.
“We …”
Justin interrupted. “Are fucking embarrassing.”
That hurt. Strike one. Or two? He’ll get three cursing strikes. I continued, indicating the rhinestone headpiece.
“We didn’t want this.”
He looked away.
“No, Troy did. He said he had a surprise for me. He got everyone to vote for you.”
I should have called Charity by now. But she told me to talk to him.
“You like him, don’t you?”
“None of your business.”
He’s an upset teenager. This is normal. It passes.
“Juuuuuuustin?” Charity’s voice echoed from the parking lot.
“Can you make her fucking stop?”
Strike fuck. That’s enough. I gripped the tiara until one of the rhinestone swirls cracked and fell on the ground. Justin started to light another cigarette. I knocked it out of his mouth. He stepped back and looked surprised. I’d almost hit him. It would have been the first time. I didn’t care.
“Son, this night wouldn’t have happened without us. So ...” So … what else was there to say? I didn’t want to hurt him. Justin stared at the fallen cigarette. He wouldn’t look at me.
“I wish I’d never told you I’m gay.”
Another rhinestone swirl cracked in my hands. Something broke.
“Sometimes I do too. You were much nicer before.”
That was only half true. But Justin had lied as well. That had to be a lie. He looked at my shoes. My palm ached. It was bleeding. The broken tiara swirl had ripped the skin. My hand smacked as I opened it. It was completely red. Justin must have looked up.
“Dad what …?”
He didn’t finish the question. I’d like to know what it was. He stepped forward, took my hand by the thumb and turned the palm upwards.
“You’re bleeding.”
His mouth opened in a loose O. That’s been his worried look since he was five. I wished that I could make my son remember this feeling tomorrow or even an hour from now. I couldn’t cut myself every day to make him care. I shrugged like an idiot.
“It’s fine. The blood’s already stopped.”
He let go of my hand.
“Let’s clean it up. Mom put a first aid kit in the car.”
I shook my head.
“You go inside. I’ll take care of it.”
“Juuuuuustin?” Charity’s voice was getting closer.
He shook his head. “No dad. We …”
“Quick.” I pushed him with my clean hand. “Go in before your mother gets here.”
“Dad. I can …”
“This isn’t a conversation. It’s an order. Go have fun.” I pushed him towards the door. From the corner of my eye, I saw Charity round the corner of the building and stop. I looked at my son. He’ll always be my son. I put the slightly damaged, slightly dirty tiara back on my head. We’ll invite that giant Troy over for dinner. I’ll have to thank him for this.
© David Lewis, 2013
David Lewis grew up in Oklahoma, studied in London and now lives in Paris. His fiction can be found in The 2013 Fish Anthology, Chelsea Station and J’aime mon quartier, je ramasse (http://loserskeepers.tumblr.com/). He’d like to write a novel but only manages to finish short stories.
Silas
Hawkins
is continuing the family voiceover tradition (he is the son of Peter 'Dalek'
Hawkins and Rosemary 'Emergency Ward 10' Miller).
Favourite voice credits: Summerton Mill,
Latin Music USA and podcasts for The
Register. For countless voice clips see links on website www.silashawkins.com
Voice agent [email protected]
Acting agent [email protected]
Comments