Can't Go Back
It was a ratty motel room, but for twenty-four bucks a night, Sasha didn’t figure he could complain to the management. All of the money in his pocket had gotten him two nights in this fleabag motel, a greasy meal from the diner down the road that he had barely touched, and two cups of the world’s worst coffee. All that and seventeen cents to spare. He pushed the change around on the table’s surface absently, thinking that in the morning, when he cashed in his plane ticket he could exchange it for two train tickets back home, and maybe have enough left over for breakfast. The dull scraping of metal against the already scratched wood-like surface of the table continued as his fingers arranged the coins into patterns: penny, penny, nickel, dime; dime, penny, penny, nickel; nickel, penny, dime, penny…. Sasha chewed absently on the fleshy pad of the thumb not stroking the planes of the coins and stared out through the gap in the tattered beige drapes.
Although the room had a truly spectacular view of the parking lot, he wasn’t really watching the asphalt shimmer in the light drizzle that had begun to fall. He wasn’t listening to the coins scraping against the table, or the rhythmic breathing coming from the figure on the bed. No, Sasha was deeply lost in thought, and even a casual observer could tell that they weren’t pleasant ones.
Today, or rather -he hazarded the briefest glance at the clock, glaring just after three in the morning in an unpleasant, sickly green digital display- yesterday had been the worst day of his life thus far. It had been an epic failure. And now, here he sat, in a disgusting motel room running the events over and over in his head. What it all came down to was his own stupidity. He had become complacent and forgotten to keep his mouth shut. He hadn’t had to for months, and the instinct for secrecy, for deception had slipped away.
It had been going too well, really. Much better than Sasha had expected. His mother too, if the relieved sighs he sometimes caught were any indication. He hadn’t been home for more than a day or two at a time in almost three years. He lived and worked in Chicago, earning residency status for cheaper tuition as he worked his way through school. The occasional Christmas or weekend during the summer were all the time he’d managed to spend in Vermont. Sasha puzzled for a moment why then, he still referred to that house as “home.” It wasn’t really. He knew that now. But in his heart, he had somehow thought that the house where his parents lived would always be one of the places that he could call home.
The hardware store that his older brothers ran was doing well, the football team his father coached had made it all the way to the state finals, and his younger brother was both an honor student and a baseball star. There was talk of scouts coming to check him out next season if he kept up the training. His mother, ever the picture of the nineteen-fifties housewife, was near invisible, only surfacing to clean up the odd mess or serve a meal. All was well in the Beckett home.
Five days in, and Sasha thought that he was golden. His father hadn’t been around much, already doing his best to kick his players into shape for the season to come. And, miraculously, Sasha had not been challenged to a single fist fight, wrestling match, or throw down by either of his older brothers or his father. Sasha found that he was comfortable here, relaxed, and enjoying his downtime. Unfortunately, that was also his downfall, because he decided to be comfortable, complacent, and honest. Oh, honesty, that virtue that rarely graced the Beckett household. Deception and quiet compliance were among the most treasured tools in this family, right behind strength, power and the perpetuation of old fashioned, right-wing values.
He had known that it was a bad idea to come back to Vermont.
It all started innocently enough, with Sasha surfing the web and mostly ignoring his younger brother, Brian. So, he was distracted into honesty when his brother asked, “What are you doing?”
“Adam’s birthday is next month. I’m looking for a present.”
Sasha missed his brother’s bemused expression. “Who’s Adam?”
He couldn’t suppress a slight smile to himself. “Adam’s my boyfri-” and then, with a horrible moment of clarity, Sasha remembered where he was. Oh, this was going to be bad. It was going to be bad soon, and it was going to be bad in large amounts.
It wasn’t Brian’s fault, not really. Sasha didn’t blame him, not for a second. He always knew how this would end. Brian was just shocked. He was certain that he had misunderstood. It couldn’t be that his beloved big brother was… was gay. It was unfortunate that this shock happened just as their father came home, with both older brothers in tow.
Sasha closed his eyes and stopped breathing for a moment, praying to whatever gods would listen that the last few minutes would just rewind, that he hadn’t just been outed. His stomach felt sick, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, but he still felt oddly detached from all that was going on. It felt as if all the blood rushed away from his extremities. His face felt clammy, his fingers and toes went cold, and his hands started to shake. He closed his laptop unsteadily, and sat stoically as he was berated. He was told that he was wrong, sick, evil… The litany continued and all Sasha could think was that life as he knew it had come to an end, and he was strangely apathetic. A sharp smack to the side of his head brought him back to the situation at hand. He was shoved roughly to the front door and saw that his things had been stacked down at the end of the driveway. A rough shove from behind sent him tripping down the stairs and he ended sprawled in the dirt beside the walk. He was told that he wasn’t welcome here anymore, that the Beckett family only had three sons, and that he had exactly three minutes to evacuate the premises. His older brothers looked like they meant it. Brian looked sad and confused as he watched Sasha’s disownment through the blinds from the safety of the living room. His mother stood silently behind his father, listening to him scream foul names at her third born son.
Sasha picked himself up and walked away from that life a little more bruised, a little more battered, and a little more jaded. It all happened so quickly. One moment he had a family -brothers, parents- and now… now he had one bag of clothing, one ancient laptop computer, and seventeen cents. A glance at the still sleeping figure on his bed told him that, no, that wasn’t all he had, because he still had Adam. His beautiful, wonderful Adam had dropped everything and hopped a plane the second he heard that Sasha was upset. Sasha couldn’t imagine anyone loving him that much, so much that he, lonely third child of a bigot and a ghost, was their number one priority. It boggled his mind some. His own father couldn’t bring himself to love him. His brothers had thrown him out like so much trash. His mother stood idly by, watching the destruction of her family. Adam dropped everything, bought a last minute plane ticket, and flew eight hundred miles to show up at his door in this flea-bitten excuse for a motel just to give him a hug, to make sure that Sasha was going to be okay. He wondered vaguely if anyone had ever loved his father like that. Probably not, Sasha decided. Maybe if they had, his father wouldn’t be such a miserable bastard. His mother either, he figured, or she wouldn’t be a ghost, cooking and cleaning and fussing over an ungrateful bigot. But Adam -Adam loved him. Adam loved him with such intensity that it took his breath away sometimes. That kind of love couldn’t be wrong or sick or evil. That kind of love was worth fighting for.
Sasha looked back to the bed as Adam began to stir. Adam reached blindly for the cold spot that Sasha had occupied when he fell asleep, and, disconcerted to find a distinct absence of warm body, woke fully. He sat up groggily and ran a hand through his mussed curls, blearily focusing on Sasha as he sat at the table near the window. “Hey.” Adam’s voice was thick with sleep, and still carried a clear note of concern. Oh yes, Adam Hart loved him. Sometimes Sasha wondered why.
Although the room had a truly spectacular view of the parking lot, he wasn’t really watching the asphalt shimmer in the light drizzle that had begun to fall. He wasn’t listening to the coins scraping against the table, or the rhythmic breathing coming from the figure on the bed. No, Sasha was deeply lost in thought, and even a casual observer could tell that they weren’t pleasant ones.
Today, or rather -he hazarded the briefest glance at the clock, glaring just after three in the morning in an unpleasant, sickly green digital display- yesterday had been the worst day of his life thus far. It had been an epic failure. And now, here he sat, in a disgusting motel room running the events over and over in his head. What it all came down to was his own stupidity. He had become complacent and forgotten to keep his mouth shut. He hadn’t had to for months, and the instinct for secrecy, for deception had slipped away.
It had been going too well, really. Much better than Sasha had expected. His mother too, if the relieved sighs he sometimes caught were any indication. He hadn’t been home for more than a day or two at a time in almost three years. He lived and worked in Chicago, earning residency status for cheaper tuition as he worked his way through school. The occasional Christmas or weekend during the summer were all the time he’d managed to spend in Vermont. Sasha puzzled for a moment why then, he still referred to that house as “home.” It wasn’t really. He knew that now. But in his heart, he had somehow thought that the house where his parents lived would always be one of the places that he could call home.
The hardware store that his older brothers ran was doing well, the football team his father coached had made it all the way to the state finals, and his younger brother was both an honor student and a baseball star. There was talk of scouts coming to check him out next season if he kept up the training. His mother, ever the picture of the nineteen-fifties housewife, was near invisible, only surfacing to clean up the odd mess or serve a meal. All was well in the Beckett home.
Five days in, and Sasha thought that he was golden. His father hadn’t been around much, already doing his best to kick his players into shape for the season to come. And, miraculously, Sasha had not been challenged to a single fist fight, wrestling match, or throw down by either of his older brothers or his father. Sasha found that he was comfortable here, relaxed, and enjoying his downtime. Unfortunately, that was also his downfall, because he decided to be comfortable, complacent, and honest. Oh, honesty, that virtue that rarely graced the Beckett household. Deception and quiet compliance were among the most treasured tools in this family, right behind strength, power and the perpetuation of old fashioned, right-wing values.
He had known that it was a bad idea to come back to Vermont.
It all started innocently enough, with Sasha surfing the web and mostly ignoring his younger brother, Brian. So, he was distracted into honesty when his brother asked, “What are you doing?”
“Adam’s birthday is next month. I’m looking for a present.”
Sasha missed his brother’s bemused expression. “Who’s Adam?”
He couldn’t suppress a slight smile to himself. “Adam’s my boyfri-” and then, with a horrible moment of clarity, Sasha remembered where he was. Oh, this was going to be bad. It was going to be bad soon, and it was going to be bad in large amounts.
It wasn’t Brian’s fault, not really. Sasha didn’t blame him, not for a second. He always knew how this would end. Brian was just shocked. He was certain that he had misunderstood. It couldn’t be that his beloved big brother was… was gay. It was unfortunate that this shock happened just as their father came home, with both older brothers in tow.
Sasha closed his eyes and stopped breathing for a moment, praying to whatever gods would listen that the last few minutes would just rewind, that he hadn’t just been outed. His stomach felt sick, and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears, but he still felt oddly detached from all that was going on. It felt as if all the blood rushed away from his extremities. His face felt clammy, his fingers and toes went cold, and his hands started to shake. He closed his laptop unsteadily, and sat stoically as he was berated. He was told that he was wrong, sick, evil… The litany continued and all Sasha could think was that life as he knew it had come to an end, and he was strangely apathetic. A sharp smack to the side of his head brought him back to the situation at hand. He was shoved roughly to the front door and saw that his things had been stacked down at the end of the driveway. A rough shove from behind sent him tripping down the stairs and he ended sprawled in the dirt beside the walk. He was told that he wasn’t welcome here anymore, that the Beckett family only had three sons, and that he had exactly three minutes to evacuate the premises. His older brothers looked like they meant it. Brian looked sad and confused as he watched Sasha’s disownment through the blinds from the safety of the living room. His mother stood silently behind his father, listening to him scream foul names at her third born son.
Sasha picked himself up and walked away from that life a little more bruised, a little more battered, and a little more jaded. It all happened so quickly. One moment he had a family -brothers, parents- and now… now he had one bag of clothing, one ancient laptop computer, and seventeen cents. A glance at the still sleeping figure on his bed told him that, no, that wasn’t all he had, because he still had Adam. His beautiful, wonderful Adam had dropped everything and hopped a plane the second he heard that Sasha was upset. Sasha couldn’t imagine anyone loving him that much, so much that he, lonely third child of a bigot and a ghost, was their number one priority. It boggled his mind some. His own father couldn’t bring himself to love him. His brothers had thrown him out like so much trash. His mother stood idly by, watching the destruction of her family. Adam dropped everything, bought a last minute plane ticket, and flew eight hundred miles to show up at his door in this flea-bitten excuse for a motel just to give him a hug, to make sure that Sasha was going to be okay. He wondered vaguely if anyone had ever loved his father like that. Probably not, Sasha decided. Maybe if they had, his father wouldn’t be such a miserable bastard. His mother either, he figured, or she wouldn’t be a ghost, cooking and cleaning and fussing over an ungrateful bigot. But Adam -Adam loved him. Adam loved him with such intensity that it took his breath away sometimes. That kind of love couldn’t be wrong or sick or evil. That kind of love was worth fighting for.
Sasha looked back to the bed as Adam began to stir. Adam reached blindly for the cold spot that Sasha had occupied when he fell asleep, and, disconcerted to find a distinct absence of warm body, woke fully. He sat up groggily and ran a hand through his mussed curls, blearily focusing on Sasha as he sat at the table near the window. “Hey.” Adam’s voice was thick with sleep, and still carried a clear note of concern. Oh yes, Adam Hart loved him. Sometimes Sasha wondered why.