When I awoke I was very groggy. At first I thought I had died. There was a light on overhead and there was some kind of strange padding on my arms. I looked around. Maybe, I thought, I would see angels or something. Instead, I saw my mother. “Oh no,” I thought, “I’m alive. Damn.” I looked away from her, and there was my father. “Shit,” I thought.
“Why didn’t you just let me die? That’s what I wanted,” I complained weakly. I turned on my side and wouldn’t look at either of them. I hated them, but they wouldn’t leave. They simply sat there, my mother crying softly, and my father staring out the window.
“Can I see Peter?” I finally pleaded.
“Yes,” my mother said quietly and went out of the room.
When she came back she said, “I called the Bradleys. Peter is coming tomorrow morning. He said to tell you he would see you in the morning and he…he loves you.”
“Thank God,” I thought. I nodded and tried to go back to sleep. When I awoke again, my parents had gone and there was a nurse by my bed, giving me a shot in the butt.
“I’m giving you some penicillin so you won’t get an infection in your wrists.”
“Why are you giving me a shot in the butt to protect my wrists? Shouldn’t you give it in my arm?”
“No. This is the way it’s always done for this medicine. Are you feeling better? Would you like something to eat?”
I suddenly realized that I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. I was ravenous. “I guess, if I have to live, I should eat. I don’t really fancy suicide by starvation.”
She laughed and went out of the room. In a few minutes she came back with a tray. I suppose they thought that what was on the tray would be healthy for me, but what I really wanted was two cheeseburgers and a milk shake. However, I ate the soup and the fruit, I nibbled on the withered salad, I drank some juice and milk, and I ate the little bit of custard which I imagined was intended to be dessert. Nothing had any taste at all, and I wondered if that was because the food was so bad or because of something they were putting in my body.
After I ate, I was desperate to pee, but I couldn’t figure out how to do it with the bandages and the IV, so I pushed the little button to call the nurse. When she came, I was embarrassed to tell her what my problem was, but she didn’t seem to think anything of it. I suppose when you’re in the hospital you have to surrender all your privacy. Lord, I hoped I would be out soon! Anyway, she gave me something to pee into and told me to just put it on the table when I was finished, so I did. Then I rolled partly on my side, because I can’t sleep on my back. I never could. I briefly wondered what I would do when and if I did get out of the hospital. Would I try again? I had no idea. I think the nurse must have given me something to make me sleep because it didn’t take long at all before I was gone.
In the morning, I woke up when a new nurse came in, cheerfully saying, “Good morning!” I mumbled something in return, but then realized I had to take a shit—soon! In my befuddled state, I couldn’t remember what a polite word was, so I just said I had to go to the bathroom.
“To pee, or something more?”
“Something more.” I felt pleased with myself for not having to use the “S” word. She came back with something that looked like a deformed basin and said, “Roll on your side.” I did, and she pulled up the totally inadequate little gown I had on and stuck the basin under me. By then I was completely embarrassed. She told me to roll back, covered me a little (thank God) and gave me some toilet paper, telling me to push the button when I was through.
I had never tried to shit lying on my back before, and I was afraid I would miss the weird basin, but I succeeded and pushed the button. The nurse was very professional. She took the basin away, felt of the pulse in my neck, took my temperature and blood pressure and then asked if I would like some breakfast.
“Yes,” I said, “but could I have something better than what I had last night?”
She asked me what I had had, so I told her. She laughed and asked me what I wanted. I told her and she laughed again, but I didn’t feel like laughing. I was still very angry and sad.
“Well, I’m not sure you’ll be allowed to have all of that, but I’ll see what I can do.” Soon she came back with a tray which had scrambled eggs (tasteless), bacon (too dry), cereal (not enough milk), and juice, but I ate anyway. Then I lay back and wondered what time Peter would come. I so needed to see him.
I must have dozed off for a little while, for the next thing I heard was the door opening, and there stood Peter! “Oh God, Peter, I’m so glad you’re here! Can you come and sit on my bed?”
He came over, sat down and gently gave me a hug. My mother suggested that the adults leave for awhile so Peter and I could talk. They did, and we talked for nearly an hour about what had happened and why and what might happen in the future. I told him about being slapped by my father, which he already knew, and feeling so lost and alone.
Peter comforted me for a long time, reminding me that I wasn’t alone. Then Mr. Bennett came in and apologized to me about how he had handled the situation at school. I’m afraid neither Peter nor I was very polite to him, but he seemed to understand, and he went off to the solar to see our parents.
When the adults came back, I said I needed to rest for awhile. I really didn’t want to talk to anybody but Peter, and I couldn’t do it with them there. Before they left, Peter leaned over, gave me a hug, and then he kissed me on the mouth, very gently. I heard a little gasp behind him. He pulled back, gave me a big wink, smiled a little, and left. I smiled inwardly, but not so anybody could see.
They returned in the afternoon and I did say a few words to Mrs. Bradley and Peter. Was I still trying to punish my parents? I think now I probably was, but at the time I was still too angry to talk with them.
While they were there, a man in a white coat came in and introduced himself as Dr. Cushing. He asked to see me alone for a few minutes, so everybody left again.
While he stood gazing down at me, I looked back at him. He had a pleasant face with a little smile on it. I guessed he was about 50 years old and his hair was turning white. He brought a chair over to the bed, sat down, and gently took my hand.
“Christian, do you know what a psychiatrist is?”
“Oh, no,” I thought, “he’s going to try to cure me.” I just nodded my head.
“I’m here because I usually talk with kids who come to the hospital after trying to commit suicide. Generally, we talk about why they did it, who they were angry at, why they felt so alone…Things like that. I read in your record that you believe you are homosexual. Is that right?”
I nodded. “So’s my friend, Peter.”
“Oh, OK. Have you done sexual things with Peter?”
“Yes Sir. But it’s been more than sex. We really love each other.” I thought, “Here it comes! The cure!”
“Well, Christian, I imagine you know that some people believe homosexuality is a sin and a sickness. I don’t.”
I looked up at him, surprised. “You don’t?”
“No, I don’t. I believe that in most cases, it is something you’re born with. Have you known for a long time that you were homosexual?”
“Yes, I think I’ve known since I was probably four or five that I was different from most of the other boys. I couldn’t put a name on the difference until I was in fifth grade, when one of the kids asked me if I was homosexual. Since I didn’t know what it meant, I said I didn’t think so, but then I looked it up in the dictionary, and there I was, right on the page. It was a shock.”
“Would you be surprised to know that is a very common experience?”
“Yes, I guess I would. I thought Peter and I were kind of rare.”
He smiled. “Not nearly as rare as you think and as you will find out as you grow older. Now, can you tell me what triggered your attempt at suicide?”
So there I was, suddenly telling a complete stranger everything, about Peter and how we found each other and what we did, about the shame I felt after doing it, about school, about Rodney, about Carl, about my parents’ reaction to me telling them, about the words they used to describe what we were doing, about my father slapping me, about feeling totally alone and desperate.
“I just didn’t see any point in going on living. I thought my parents hated me, and I’m still not sure whether or not they do. I knew that they didn’t trust us any more. I knew I was going to be teased and bullied in school, and I was just tired of living what I thought was a lie.”
“Maybe it was a bit of a lie until you told your parents, but obviously you had strong reasons for not telling them. The problem now is how to get you and your parents, and most likely Peter and his parents, reconciled to all of this so that you can go on loving your parents and them loving you. What would you think about having a few meetings with the four parents, Peter, you and myself to see what we could work out?”
“I don’t think it would do any good.”
“Why?”
“Because my parents won’t even consider the possibility of me being queer.”
“But that’s what we have to overcome, and we never will unless we talk about it.
“Do you truly think it would do any good?”
“I never know, but quite often it does.”
“Then I suppose we could try it. I couldn’t feel any worse, but I don’t want Peter to get hurt too.”
“Let me look out for Peter. All I ask of you when we meet is that you be honest and say what you really feel, even if, at the time, you think it will hurt people. OK?”
I nodded and he left the room, returning a few minutes later with the three adults and Peter. After he had told them what he had in mind and they reluctantly agreed to it, Peter and his mother decided to leave us alone until the next day. Before they left, Peter gave me another hug and another kiss, a little harder this time. I smiled up at him and they left.
Both my parents stood looking at me for a minute. “Gloria, could I have a little time alone with Christian?” my father asked.
She nodded and went out of the room. I turned on my side so my back was to my father.
“Christian, you don’t have to say a word, but please listen. When I was a boy, my father beat me…often. I hated it, and because if it, I hated him. I didn’t realize until much later that his father had beaten him because he thought that was how fathers were supposed to discipline their children. I resolved that, when I had a child, I would never, ever lay a hand on him. And until the other day, I kept that resolve. Then I broke it. So I know what you were feeling when I hit you. I know that right now you hate me for it, and I can’t blame you at all. There is no way I can justify what I did. I don’t even really know why I did it, except that I felt that you were out of control. That’s no excuse, and I know it. I need to tell you how terribly sorry I am that I slapped you, and I promise you it will never happen again.” There was a little silence. Then he said, “I love you Christian, with my whole heart. That love is complete, unconditional, and will remain as long as we live. No matter what happens, no matter what you do or who you become, I will always love you. Nigger or Negro; homosexual or heterosexual; however things turn out, I will love you.” More silence. “I’m going to leave you alone for awhile to think about it. OK?” Without turning over I nodded and he left.
I lay there a long time thinking. He did love me. He apologized. He promised to always love me no matter what. Could I forgive him? I pondered that for awhile and decided I could, but I knew it would take time.
When he came back I rolled over to face him. “Dad. I love you just the way you love me, and I will always love you. I’m going to try very hard to forgive you, but I think it will take awhile to rebuild our trust. Can you ever forgive me for being so hateful?”
“Oh, Christian!” He sat on the bed and we hugged each other so hard I was barely able to breathe while we cried and cried. Finally, Dad pulled back, got up, and got me a damp washcloth from the sink so I could clean my face. When I finished, he used it.
“Should I get your mother now?”
I nodded and he left the room. He was gone for at least half an hour. I wondered if he was telling her what had happened. By the time they came back, I had managed to regain some composure. I reached up and gave Mom a big hug and she gave me one. Soon, we all needed the washcloth again.
We dried our faces, laughing as we did, and then I said, “OK, what now?”
They looked at each other and Dad said, “Do you want us to leave so you can rest?”
“No, I want you to get me out of here so I can go home.”
They smiled and stayed until visiting hours were over. We talked and laughed and hugged and kissed and loved each other. When they left, I felt so much better I wished I could get up and dance.
After breakfast (yuck) the next morning, the nurse took the IV out of my arm, so I could get up and walk around. At first I was a little surprised by how weak I was, until I realized how much blood I had probably lost, but she helped me, supporting one arm. She told me that I could walk as much as I wanted but not without someone by my side for the present, and she gave me a better gown so I could walk in the hallway without showing everybody my bare butt.
At 10:00 o’clock on the dot, the door opened and Peter came in, followed by his mother and my mother.
Peter sat beside me on the side of my bed, giving me a big hug and a long, wet kiss. Then he looked at the two mothers as if to say, “There, what are you going to make of that?” To give them credit, they never even blinked.
Mrs. Bradley and Peter told me about the phone call they had received from Mom the night before. Every time Mrs. Bradley started to say something, Peter burst in. He was overjoyed! We all walked down to the solar together, Peter beside me, carefully holding my arm as if he thought I would fall apart any minute. We sat and talked, and then, after awhile, Peter and I decided we would play a game of chess, our new passion.
Later in the morning, Dr. Cushing found us there. He walked in, looked from the mothers to us and back again, listened to our chatter and laughter, and said, “Did something happen that I should know about?” So we all told him at once, and I told him what a fool I had been for ever thinking that my parents didn’t love me.
“No, Christian, you weren’t a fool. You were hurt and confused and lonely, and you just reacted to those feelings. Unfortunately, sometimes our feelings take over our minds and we can’t control them. I’m glad you’ve made peace with your parents. It will make our job much easier at our meetings.”
Turning to the mothers, he said, “I’ve brought a few books for you to look over. Use them as much or as little as you want. I’ll see you all tomorrow, and with that he went out of the room.
Our mothers and Peter stayed all day. Dad came about mid-afternoon, and shortly after that, Peter’s dad came. We simply enjoyed being together again sitting in the solar, without any barriers between us.
Before everybody left for the night, I said, “I do have a serious question.”
Mom said, “I think I know what it is,” while the others looked mystified.
“Are Peter and I going to be able to start being together again?”
Dad replied, “Your mother and I have talked about that some, but we haven’t had a chance to talk with Peter’s parents yet. Would you two be willing to go back to your room for a few minutes and let us talk? Then we’ll come down and talk about your question together.”
Peter and I looked at each other and nodded. As soon as we were out of the room, Peter asked, “What do you think they’re talking about?”
“Us, silly.”
“Yes, but what are they saying about us?”
“I haven’t any idea, but I don’t think they’ll keep us totally apart any more. Not after the last couple of days. My parents surely can see how good you are for me, and I hope I’m good for you too.”
“You certainly are!”
The wait seemed endless. At last the door opened and our parents came back in the room. Peter’s dad took the lead. “Boys, please hear me out before you say anything. Then you’ll be able to say whatever you think. We believe that whether you are homosexual or heterosexual, you both are too young to be getting into deep and constant sex. We have decided that, for the time being, you are both more than welcome in each other’s houses, with the condition that you are not alone together in the house. We suggest that we keep this rule and see how it works out until we have finished our meetings with Dr. Cushing, at which time, anybody who wants to can ask that the rule be reconsidered. What do you think?”
We looked at each other. By this time, we were so close that, while we didn’t say a word, we both knew what the other person’s answer was.
“I think,” said Peter, “that you sound a little bit like the lawyer you are.” They laughed. “What you are asking will be very hard for us. We’ve experienced something wonderful and beautiful, which you are asking us to give up, at least for the present. But we know that there are a lot of things still to talk about and work out, so we agree that we’ll try very hard to follow the rule and see how it works.”
My father asked, “How do you know whether Christian agrees or not?”
“Because I know how he thinks and he knows how I think. I’m sure he would have given exactly the same answer.”
I nodded, smiling. So we were agreed, and we all shook hands on it. Then everybody gave each other hugs, while Peter and I gave each other a kiss.
As they were leaving, I asked, “Mom, were you right about my question?”
She nodded, gave me another strong hug, and they left.
When I got into bed, I was very happy. I was also very frustrated, because, thinking of Peter, I soon developed the father of all hard-ons. With the bandages on my hands, there wasn’t much I could do about it. I thought for a few minutes. Then I pulled up my gown, rolled over on my stomach, and began to rub my dick deliciously on the sheet, hoping and praying that the nurse wouldn’t walk in. In a few minutes, I came, gloriously and for a few ecstatic minutes. While it wasn’t the same as being with Peter, it was pretty wonderful. When I was finished, I got up, retrieved the now famous washcloth, cleaned my bed and myself as well as I could, put the cloth in the sink, and went back to bed, satisfied at last. I’m sure I fell asleep almost immediately, because I didn’t remember another thing until morning.