Recovery

I felt sorry for Wes. I knew what he was going through. It’s hard when you’re young and your first love dumps you. It’s even harder if you’re gay because, while there are tons of fish in the sea for straight kids, there aren’t so many available for gay kids.

“Let’s all go get some ice cream!” I said. Nothing cheers kids up better than ice cream. We’d eaten dinner an hour ago and everyone was sitting in the living room. Joy, wife and mother, was sifting through a magazine; Terry, our 15-year-old daughter was texting with someone on her phone, and Wes, two years Terry’s junior, was sulking. Or moping. One or the other. I’d been watching the nightly news and was TVed out, and just looking at Wes made me as sad as he was.

Joy stood up. “Wonderful idea, James. Come on, kids. Let’s go to Freddie’s! It’s a great night for a walk.”

I think she was being overly positive to lift Wes’s spirits. It didn’t work; he didn’t even look up. Terry, catching her mom’s enthusiasm and perhaps understanding the reason for it—it was always difficult to truly understand a teenage girl’s reasons for anything, and Terry was the epitome of that—jumped up and even put her phone in her pocket. That wasn’t usual; the phone spent more time in her hand than anywhere else.

I walked over to where Wes was sitting on the couch. “How ‘bout it, son? It’ll do you good to get out. Just being around other people has to help. I know you’re hurting. You will for a while. But ice cream is wonderful medicine. Please?”

He didn’t want to, but I saw him mull it over and decide to acquiesce. At 13, he was still a kid with a lot of little boy in him. We’d always been super close, just like Terry was with her Mom. I hadn’t minimized or trivialized Wes’s hurt at being dumped. I think he appreciated that.

He stood up but didn’t speak. I put an arm around his shoulders for a quick hug, the emphasis being on quick. You have to be very careful showing either affection or compassion for young teen boys. They’re very emotionally volatile creatures, and you never know how they’ll react.

Ice cream emporia—especially large ones that serve many exotic creations featuring several scoops of different flavors with all sorts of toppings—are very popular with young and mid-teens, and also their entire families. Freddie’s was that sort of establishment. It had a long counter with a glass front, behind which were the colorful cartons of many flavors and colors of ice cream, gelato and sherbets. There were also pictures on the wall of their enticing products, and menus were available that described their wonders in detail.

Joy and I grabbed menus and found a table closer to the front of the place than the back. That was because many of the tables were already taken. The ones in back were filled with teenagers, mostly with groups of girls, some with boys and girls. I was hoping against hope that the boy who’d thrown over Wes for another boy wasn’t there. That would have been tragic. I saw Wes looking hard at all the tables and knew he was scanning for the same thing. I saw him take a deep breath and then follow Terry to the counter, so I relaxed. That was one battle that didn’t have to be fought tonight.

The tables in the middle of the room had mostly family groups. That left openings at the tables closer to the front. That’s where we sat.

Terry ordered a plain, single scoop of sugar-free watermelon-flavored sherbet. She was three inches over five feet tall and weighed 112 pounds. She didn’t need to lose weight. Somehow, though, all her friends were on diets, or at least claimed to be, and she was running with the crowd. I’d stopped trying to fight it. But I so wanted her to think for herself. According to Joy, she would, eventually, but asking her to do so at 15 was battling a wind storm. It did bother me, though. I wanted my kids to be individuals instead of herd animals.

Joy and I both got large sugar cones with two ice cream scoops each, butter pecan and strawberry for her, pistachio and cherry ripple for me.

It seemed to me that Wes usually got about 15 or 20 scoops of ice cream with various sauces and whipped cream and nuts—I supposed I might be exaggerating—but now he wasn’t in a mood for that. While he wasn’t sitting alone in the dark licking his wounds, he was still somber. He got a plain hot fudge sundae and sat at our table eating it without joining in our conversation.

The place was noisy with teen voices at all levels overriding the conversations in the middle of the room. Kids were greeting each other and when someone would enter, they’d almost always be met with shouts from the back—“hi there” and “hey, join us”.

Mostly, teens would enter and leave in groups. Occasionally a lone teen would enter, look around, and then smile and join others. I noticed Wes would respond to the bell that hung above the door; it would ring every time the door would hit it, signaling the door had been opened. He’d glance up desultorily, then immediately return to his sundae. I also saw his eyes seemed to remain longer on each boy who came in rather than on the girls.

I was discussing an incident that had occurred at work with Joy when I saw Wes’s head rise and not immediately return to his sundae. I glanced up and saw that a single boy about Wes’s age had walked in, then stepped to the side so he wouldn’t be blocking the door. He didn’t come farther in, however. He stood looking a little awkward, a little out of place, and took just quick peeks around the room, quite obviously trying hard not to make any eye contact with anyone. I got the idea he wanted company, but didn’t know anyone well enough to join them; he wanted company but lacked the confidence to go after it; he looked very shy to me. Everything about him screamed that.

My eyes alternated between him and Wes. Wes was sitting up straighter, his spoon holding the dregs of his sundae, halfway to his mouth but obviously forgotten.

I looked at his face and saw both want and uncertainty.

The boy at the door hadn’t looked in our direction. He was concentrating more on the rear of the store where most of the teens were.

Wes was looking just a little fidgety.

I shouldn’t get involved. I knew that. But Wes was hurting, and if he was hurting, I was hurting. So I did it, whether I should have or not.

“Who’s that, Wes?”

He turned to me. “I’ve seen him at school but don’t know him at all; he’s new, I guess. Not sure, but I think his name might be Reed.”

I grinned softly at him, trying to make it as supportive a grin as I could. I waited for him to meet my eyes. When he did, I said, “Go for it, Wes. Be brave.”

Wes looked fully at me for just a moment, dropped his spoon in his bowl, pushed back his chair, stood up and walked toward the door. When he was nearing it, the boy saw him. I saw his eyes grow a little wary. With his back to me, I couldn’t see Wes’s expression. I hoped he was smiling.

He stopped when he got to the boy, and I could see a conversation starting. There was awkwardness in both boys’ body language, and I’d swear the boy facing us blushed a little before relaxing just a bit.

I touched Joy’s arm. “We should go,” I said. She nodded. She’d been watching Wes, too.

Terry got up then, told Joy she’d be home later, and joined some girls at the back tables.

Joy and I got up and started to make our way out. I reached into my pocket as we walked. At the door, Wes was talking, and the boy listening. Up close, I could see the boy was cute. So was Wes, if a father’s opinion counts. Wes saw us and stopped talking to the boy, instead motioning for us to join the two of them. “Mom, Dad, this is Reed. I’m going to stay here for a while.”

“Sure, Wes. Have fun.” I handed him the twenty I’d taken from my pocket. We left.

I was so proud of Wes for doing that. Such courage. Such character. I think I mostly floated, walking home.

The End