by
Mark 'Ponyboy' Peters
Chapter Twenty-One
It was just as the ambulance officers were looking me over in the back of their van and the police were questioning my boss and workmates that my mother arrived, speeding up the ramp and coming to a screaming stop beside the police car, before climbing out and hurrying across to the ambulance.
'What the hell has happened? Are you okay, Grayson?' she demanded to know, before turning to the ambulance man. 'What's going on? Is he okay?'
I reckon I must have looked to be quite a sight, as I'd just had a bandage wrapped around my head and fastened after the EMT’s had noticed red on my shirt and realised I was bleeding.
'He'll be fine, ma'am,' the ambulance officer, Noah, said. 'He's had a bit of a bump to the head. Doesn't appear to be anything lasting though, as he has passed all the head injury protocols. He has a pretty healthy sized headache, which we've given him something for, and that should settle down shortly. If not, I mean if it persists or gets worse, then he should go to the Emergency Department at the hospital.'
Mum looked around at everyone gathered around the open ambulance. Two police officers, two ambulance officers, Mr Webster, Claire and Simone were all still there, along with a couple of other unknown people hanging around in the background and having a sticky-beak.
Her gaze settled on Mr Webster and she zeroed in on him.
'Are you his manager?' she asked. 'Was I talking to you earlier?'
'Yes, Mrs Porter. Glen Webster,' he said, as he put out his hand towards her, which was duly shaken.
'Can you tell me what happened?'
'It seems that Grayson was jumped by someone after leaving work this afternoon,' he said.
'By who?' she asked, turning towards me.
'I didn't see them,' I answered.
'Them?' she said. 'There was more than one? Is this because . . .'
One of the police officers stepped forward.
'We're not sure at this stage exactly what took place, or why,' he said. 'We will follow up with the shopping centre management in the morning to see if they have any security vision that might help identify the offenders, but we understand it happened just before the carpark lights came on and visibility was poor.'
'Is this a hate crime? This is a hate crime!' my mother decreed.
'Mum . . . don't,' I pleaded.
'Don't what?' she asked. 'My son comes out as gay, he gets assaulted in the place where he works, and now he gets assaulted in a carpark. What else am I supposed to think?'
'Mrs Porter, I don't think . . .' my boss started to say, but when she turned to face him, he was quickly silenced.
'What's this about another assault?' the second police officer asked.
'Grayson was involved in an incident at work yesterday,' Mr Webster said. 'The other person has been disciplined and is no longer in our employ.'
'And what was this incident about?' the officer asked.
'My son being outed,' mum replied. 'Then being bullied.'
The officer looked my way. 'Is there anything else you want to tell us? It may give us a place to start when looking for your assailants.'
‘Do I really have to?’
'I think it would be best if you did, Grayson,' my mother urged.
'If I may suggest,' Mr Webster interjected, 'you could talk to our Personnel Manager, Mrs Mack, in the morning.'
'No. There's no need for that,' I said. 'I'll tell you what you need to know.'
* * * * *
It was quite late when we eventually made it home, and of course my father was wanting to know what exactly was going on that had meant he didn't get his dinner on time and actually had to heat up something for him and Olly.
We had seen that he had tried to call us, of course, but as we were in the middle of talking to the police, both mum and I had ignored his calls. That wouldn't have helped his mood, I'm sure.
'Oh really, Richard! Your son comes home wrapped up in bandages after being beaten up in a carpark and all you are worried about is your bloody stomach?' my mother raged at him.
'What? What are you talking about? Who would want to do that?'
'It's a long story,' I replied.
'Well, you had better start talking, then!'
'Not now, Richard,' mum said, and quite forcefully.
'Yes, now!' dad replied, with equal force. 'What the fuck is going on around here?'
'I got bashed, okay? And you couldn't care less!'
'Don't talk to me like that!'
'Or what?' I yelled at him. My head thumped and I immediately regretted it.
Out of the corner of an eye I saw Olly come to the doorway, standing there just in his jocks, which is what he usually slept in, and looking worried. Dad noticed him there and told him to go back to his room. He stayed there for a moment until dad told him again to go. He retreated then and we heard his bedroom door slam shut.
'What happened?' dad asked me, in a slightly softer tone.
'I got bashed after work. It was dark and someone jumped me as I was getting into my car.'
'Did you see them? Did you tell the cops?'
'That's where we've been, filling them in on what has been happening recently. Things like this,' I said, while pointing to my still bruised cheek.
'And just what has been happening that would cause all this?'
I looked at mum, who was standing by the kitchen sink, leaning back against the counter and with her arms folded across her chest. She shook her head ever so slightly, but I'd gone this far, so I figured I might as well get it over and done with.
I took a deep breath.
'Some guys at work were hassling me about something,' I said. 'One of them took it a bit too far yesterday, and that's what happened here,' I said, while pointing again to my face. 'He got the sack over it.'
'And why were you being hassled in the first place?'
'Because they found out I was . . .'
'What?'
'That I'm . . .'
'You're what? Fucking spit it out, boy!' he almost yelled.
'That I'm gay, okay? Your greatest fear has been realised. In your own words, your first-born son is a fucking fag! Are you happy now?'
I slumped down onto one of the chairs at the kitchen table, my head in my hands, while around me the room went quiet. There was not a sound to be heard other than the tick-tock coming from the old clock on the wall.
'And you knew about this?' my father eventually asked, turning on my mother. His tone was cold as ice.
'Come on, we've both known Grayson could be gay from the time he was a toddler,' mum replied, while crossing the room and standing behind me, placing her hands on my shoulders.
'And you couldn't fucking tell me?' he spat.
I looked up at him and saw him looking from me to my mother and back again. Nothing was said, but I could see the anger in his eyes, just waiting to explode.
Without saying another word he picked up his car keys from the bench and walked out the door, slamming the back door as he went.
We didn't say another word until we saw the lights from his car back out of the carport and then eventually disappear, and with the sound of his engine fading away into the night. Just then Olly emerged from his bedroom and tip-toed into the kitchen.
I looked at him and could see the tears running down his face. Holding out my arms for him he came to me and hugged me. I kissed him on the cheek and hugged him back.
* * * * *
We didn't see my father again that night. By the time we had all gone to bed there had still been no sign of him. I know mum tried to call him a couple of times, but the calls just went to voice mail.
'He'll come around,' mum tried to reassure me. I was extremely doubtful of that.
I went to bed around eleven o'clock, after spending the night watching a movie on television, with Olly curled up on my lap, asleep and with his arms around my neck. He had earlier said he was worried about what was going to happen, and I had to admit that I was a little worried also, with the likelihood of me about to become homeless appearing as a very real possibility in my mind.
Still, there was nothing I could do to control that right at this moment, so all I could do for now, as mum pointed out, was to soldier on and assume that my old man would come to his senses.
After the movie had finished, I carried Olly into his bedroom and put him to bed, before returning to the lounge to say goodnight to mum, giving her a kiss on the cheek, as had been our routine since I was a little kid.
'It'll all be fine,' she reassured me once again. 'We'll straighten things out with dad.'
'I wish I had your confidence,' I replied, before leaving her there and going to bed, where I tossed and turned all night.
The following morning, I dragged myself out into the kitchen for my morning coffee, way earlier than usual, where I found my father sitting at the table with a coffee mug in front of him.
I noticed his eyes flick my way as I entered the room, but he said nothing. He looked like shit, but I didn't care. All I cared about right at that moment was coffee, so ignoring him as best I could I crossed the floor to the sink and found my favourite mug, before switching on the kettle to boil some water.
'Is this thing real?' I heard him ask.
'What?'
'What you said last night . . . you were being serious, weren't you?'
'It's not exactly something that people bullshit about,' I replied. 'Does my head look like I'm spinning you a yarn about what has been going on?'
'No, I guess not.’
I spooned some instant coffee and some sugar into my mug, before turning and facing him, leaning back against the benchtop.
‘I . . . I can't help how I feel about . . . about gays.'
'Not good enough,' I replied, sounding braver than I was actually feeling. 'We're not living in the nineteen-fifties any more.'
'No, I get that. I get that attitudes change, but I still have my reasons. As for you now being . . . one of them . . . it's just going to take some getting used to, okay? I don't like it. I don't understand it. But you are still my son, and it looks like it is just something I'm going to have to live with.'
As he had been talking I had finished making my coffee and had then moved to a chair opposite him and sat down. His hands were wrapped around his coffee mug, as if his life depended on it, and his gaze was fixed on the mug as well. He didn't even so much as look up at me.
'Why?' I asked him. 'Why can't you help how you feel?'
He looked at me that time, and what I saw was a man who I had once adored and looked up to, but who now seemed confused and perhaps even a little scared.
'Maybe I will tell you about it one day, but for now I just need some time to get my head around you. That's as much as I can deal with for the moment, okay?'
'Okay.'
He took a sip from his mug and I did the same.
'How's the head this morning?' he eventually asked.
'Throbbing. I'll take some more Aspirin shortly,' I replied. 'What did you do last night? Where did you go?'
'The bottle shop, at first. Then I drove around for a while. Eventually I drove up to the lookout and spent the night there, sleeping in the car. I didn't get drunk. I was mulling things over in my head all fucking night. When it was light enough this morning I came home. You'll find a bottle of scotch in the front of my car, with only an inch or so missing, if you don't believe what I'm telling you.'
I simply shrugged.
'I need to apologise to you all. I really am sorry that I flipped out like I did.'
'Shit happens, I guess.'
He looked at me with an expression that at first showed disgust, before it softened. 'I probably deserved that.'
'Deserved what?' we heard my mother ask from the doorway. We both turned and looked her way.
'We were just talking,' dad said. 'I'm sorry for everything. For what has happened to Grayson . . . for how I've acted . . . for how I've treated you all. I know I've been an ass, but I can't help how I feel about this whole gay thing. And about anyone who is gay.'
'And why is that?' mum asked.
He took another mouthful from his coffee, then put his mug back down before he glanced my way. Something had changed in his expression. It was almost as if he had resigned himself to giving up whatever it was he had been holding from us.
I looked up at mum and could see her frowning slightly, obviously unsure herself about just what was going on here.
With his hands wrapped firmly around his coffee mug and with his eyes again fixed firmly on it, he finally said, 'When I was sixteen years old, I briefly worked at a local service station. I pumped petrol, checked oil, cleaned up, served behind the counter, did whatever was needed. It was my first job, and I actually enjoyed it.'
'So, what happened?' I asked.
'I've never told . . . never mentioned it to anyone . . .'
'What, exactly?' mum urged.
'I was molested by the owner,' he said, before dropping his face into his hands and sobbing.
.
To be continued . . .
Authors Note:
Hi there. It has been a while since I have posted anything new on Nifty. I guess life gets in the way sometimes.
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