I stared at my parents like a deer in headlights; I knew stuff spread fast in this town, but goddamn. "That's...not what happened," I managed to say.
"Son," my dad said slowly, like he was afraid to say the words out loud. "Are you a...homosexual?" The way he asked it would've been funny if I wasn't freaking the fuck out.
For a moment, I considered denying it, but instead said, "Yeah, Dad. I'm gay. Alright?" I exuded confidence I didn't feel, internally bracing myself for their reactions.
"No, you're not," my mom said sternly.
"We didn't raise you this way, Connor."
I fought the urge to roll my eyes or start shouting at them. "You're right. You didn't raise me to be this way because I was born gay."
My dad let out a long, deep sigh. "This is a lifestyle you're choosing to lead. We can fix it."
"We'll take you to the therapist the Hastings boy's parents sent him to," my mom chimed in, her voice too high-pitched. "Our church also has that one summer camp, what's it called? Teens for Truth?"
"It's just not natural."
"The bible says..."
"...are looking for attention..."
"Marriage is a sacred institution that..."
"...mentally ill..."
"...because we've allowed you to watch those disgusting shows and God knows what you do on that phone..."
My parents' incessant rambling just all started blurring together. I couldn't get myself to focus on their words, to listen to their narrow worldview. I just stared through them, like I wasn't actually a part of the conversation. No, it was just some movie I was watching that had nothing to do with my real life.
Finally, they went quiet and stared expectantly at me. I didn't even know what they expected me to say. "Sorry I've chosen to be gay" or "You make some excellent points! I've changed my mind?"
Then, my dad added, "You can ask for God's forgiveness."
I lost it then. It was like the weight of the entire universe came crashing down on me and I exploded into red. "Fuck your God!" I shouted, shaking.
I was barely aware that my mom had started crying. My dad got off the couch, his face a deep shade of crimson. "What did you just say?" My dad was so angry that his words came out as barely more than a whisper, and as anyone can attest, quiet anger is so much worse than loud, screaming anger.
I swallowed my fear. "If God hates me for how I was born, then he's not my God!"
I stormed out of the living room, up the stairs, and finally into my bedroom, where I slammed my door shut so hard a framed photo fell off the wall and shattered.
I had never really felt very connected to my religion, or religion in general; it was something that had always been pushed on me for as long as I could remember. I hadn't questioned it when I was younger because I didn't realize I could. As I got older and saw the ways in which Catholicism was weaponized, I began wonderingâdid I really believe in any of it? Did I believe in God?
The whole message of Christianity was supposed to be about love and forgiveness, so how could all of these people, my parents included, use it as an excuse to justify hate? Why would I pray to someone who would send me to hell for things that were out of my control? If God was real, if any of it was real, the way it was interpreted was wrong.
Hatred and intolerance were in direct opposition to the religion supposedly spewing it.
Even in my skepticism of the entire concept of God, however, I felt guilty for what I'd said. I didn't regret saying it, but that little voice of Catholic guilt in the back of my mind began itching. I tried to scratch it away by thinking about how pissed off I was at everyone.
I paced around my room angrily for a bit, my fists clenched. Tears sprang to my eyes and I didn't bother wiping them away. Eventually I just collapsed onto my bed and screamed into my pillow.
I should've known. None of what happened that day should've been surprising. I'd seen it happen before, with others. For some reason I thought maybe I'd be the exception, that people would just see me for me and everything would work out.
But that's not how life worked, at least not around here. Everyone saw how you were different before they saw how you were the same.
Once I finally got myself to calm down, I pulled out my phone. In the middle of my parents trying to pray the gay away, I'd finally gotten a text back from Josh, as well as a few from Liv. I opened Josh's message first.
My parents know.
So do mine, I texted back. Are you okay?
He didn't answer right away, so I looked at my messages from Liv, all a different version asking me how I am and if I needed anything.
I texted her, So, my parents know now.
She responded immediately. O shit. What happened??? Are you okay???
I gave her a brief synopsis of what went down.
Now what? What do you think they'll do? she texted back.
I have no idea.
I tried calling Josh, but he didn't answer.
At around dinnertime, I heard one of my parents knocking on my door, but I yelled at them to go away. I knew we wouldn't be able to have a constructive conversation. They wouldn't change, and neither would I.
***
The next morning I somehow managed to force myself to get out of bed and get ready for school. My parents had already left for work, so I was at least able to enjoy a little bit of peace.
When I went into my closet to pick out an outfit for the day, I eyed the gift box Liv had given me. Hesitantly, I reached for it and pulled out the "gay panic" t-shirt.
Since everyone already knew, why not just lean into it? I pulled the shirt on and stared at my reflection. I know it's stupid to think this because no one really looks gay, it's just something that people are, but at that moment I asked myself, Do I look gay?
I thought back to the outfits people wore at the club we went to back in December. They all dressed differently, but somehow all of their outfits and hairstyles and makeup looked so...them. Like, they just knew who they were and somehow their clothes reflected that.
I also thought back to what Lois Carmen Denominator had told me in the bathroom of the club. The only way through it is to never apologize for who you are.
This is really just a long-winded explanation of how I ended up deciding to raid my mom's makeup.
The problem was, of course, that I didn't know anything about how to apply makeup. Liv and my mom made it look so simple and effortless that I thought I'd just kind of figure out. But, after trying and failing to use different eyeshadows and eyeliners, I gave up and washed it all off.
Then, I called Liv.
"Connor?"
"Yeah, hi."
"What's going on?"
"Um..." I paused. "Are you ready for school?"
"Pretty much. I was just gonna swing through Starbucks. Why?"
"Can you not do that and instead come over? And um...bring makeup?"
"Be there in 5." No questions asked, just pure loyalty. Gotta love her.
Liv, always punctual, showed up in front of my house 5 minutes later at 7:28. I met her at the door and saw she carried a fluffy pink makeup bag.
She noticed my shirt immediately. "Oh, Connor! It looks so cute!" She smiled at me as she walked inside.
"I probably should've asked, but..." She got close to my face, like she was inspecting it. "You want me to cover up that zit?"
I self-consciously put my hand over my forehead. "No! Ugh, now I'm not gonna be able to stop thinking about it."
Liv's mouth formed an O. "Sorry! I just kind of assumed..."
"It's fine," I said quickly. "Listen, I um...I want you to, like, do my makeup. Give me eyeshadow or whatever."
"That's not code for something, is it?"
I rolled my eyes. "Liv, you've asked me so many times to do my makeup and I always said no. Now, I'm saying yes. Okay?"
"And you want to wear it to...school?" she asked slowly, like she was mentally trying to piece it together.
"Exactly."
Liv grinned at me. "Okay, Mr. I Don't Give a Damn About My Bad Reputation! Let's do it!"
We went to the upstairs bathroom, where I sat down on the toilet seat. "I want it to, like, shove the gay down their throats but in a subtle way. Does that make sense?"
"Not even a little."
I pointed to a color. "What about that one? It's kind of shimmery. Or maybe that one? Wait, what's this?" I picked up a tube of some sort of makeup and examined it.
"Connor, as much as I love the backseat driving you're doing because it's honestly adorable, please just let me work my magic. Also, we're gonna be late if you don't stop trying to touch everything."
I pulled my hand back and allowed her to do whatever she was going to do to my face. It was actually really relaxing as she gently moved the brush over my eyelids. It felt like what I imagined being at a spa was like.
After about 10 minutes, Liv announced, "Done! My gorgeous, gorgeous best friend. Take a look."
I got off of the toilet and walked over to the mirror. My eyes widened when I saw my reflection. It was relatively subtle. She'd used a very light blue eyeshadow that sparkled, as well as some darker blue eyeliner that she just kind of smudged along the top line of my lashes.
"Do you like it?" she asked.
"Yeah." I got closer to myself in the mirror. "Yeah, I do. It's cool."
"Are you starting to have second thoughts?"
"Yup, so we should leave before I wash it all off and change my clothes."
Since Liv's car was already at my place, I decided to just ride with her. As she drove, she asked, "How's Josh doing?"
"I don't know. I haven't heard from him since yesterday afternoon. But his parents know, too."
"You should send him a pic."
"Honestly," I said, "I don't know how Josh would feel about...all of this." I gestured to my face and shirt.
I didn't say it out loud, but what I really meant was that I thought that maybe Josh would be embarrassed by me. Josh was more stereotypically masculine. He didn't seem the type of person who'd have any interest in makeup, or in seeing me wearing makeup.
I wasn't even entirely sure how I felt about it. I was just sort of in a "if they're going to talk, give them something to talk about" mindset. I didn't feel any more or any less like myself.
A few minutes later, we pulled into the school's parking lot. Liv turned to me. "You ready?"
"Not at all." But I unbuckled my seatbelt, grabbed my backpack, and got out of the car.