South of Sunshine (18 page)

I scowl at him. “Is this funny to you?” I ask, then turn to the mirror. Red puffy eyes take in the disaster that is my face. Tear tracks streak down my cheeks, revealing my bruised cheek.

“Geesh. No sense freaking out. Everything is going to be okay.”

“Really, Van? Does this look okay?” With a bitter wave of my hand I air a gesture to the black and blue around my eye. The late bell rings, but I don’t care. I look around for more than toilet paper. Coarse paper towels with rancid school soap will have to do. I soak a wad of brown paper and scrub.

“Don’t yell at me. I wasn’t the one who got caught making out on a church hayride. It’s out now. Just own it.”

“Own it? Why of course, why didn’t I think of that? Easy for you to say with perfect parents who love you no matter what.” I return to the task of removing this god-awful mask. “News flash. Not everybody gets to be special like
Vander
. My mother isn’t going to paint some stupid rainbow to support me. No, I’ll probably be on lockdown until I graduate. That is, if she doesn’t send me away to my shit-for-nothing father.” I should’ve never let myself be free. With each dab and flash of pain, I tell myself never again.

“Sitting in this bathroom crying isn’t going to make things better. At least I’m not the one who’s ashamed, confirming to all these bigots they’re right to judge me,” Van says in a harsh whisper.

“Let me ask you something. What makes you such an expert at being out in the open?”

He crosses his arms over his chest. “I never said I was an expert. But at least I don’t hide,” he says weakly.

“Bullshit!” My voice booms and echoes off the bathroom walls. I couldn’t care less about keeping my volume down. “You do hide. You’ve never tried to date anybody from Sunshine. And we both know there are other gays who go to this school. No, you sneak over to Lawrence or Midland and hang with your secret gay crew there. So don’t stand there and act like you don’t hide being gay.”

“Keep your voice down.” He steps farther into the bathroom, letting the door shut quietly behind him. “You have no idea the kinds of things I’ve had to deal with at this school for being gay,” he says through gritted teeth.

“You’re right. I have no idea what you’ve been through because you’ve never freaking talked to me about it. All you do is hide in plain sight. You stay safely within the imaginary lines
they
draw for you. As long as you don’t flaunt your gayness around here, they leave you alone. It’s like instituting your own personal ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy. It doesn’t get more hypocritical than that.” I chuck the soiled towels into the sink with a fleshy thwarp. “Did you ever think you could have paved the road for others? For me?”

“What the hell would it have mattered if I’d paved a road anyway? You wouldn’t have taken it. You know what, why don’t you go back to making out with guys? You’re better at that. Less freaking drama.”

“Screw you and your drama,” I spit. I brush past him, yanking open the door. Just before I exit, I turn back to him. “You think you’re safe because all the attention is on me. Next time they need a gay target, you’ll be it.” I stalk off and let the door clap shut behind me.

At least fifteen people stand outside the bathroom, staring in silence and awe. They all get a gander at my face too. Chelsea’s lips curl up into a smooth pursed smile of satisfaction. Shock and disgust ooze from the rest of the audience who overheard everything. You know what? I don’t feel one ounce of guilt for confirming to the world that Van is gay. No sense in me going through this hell alone.

Sarabeth shoves through the crowd and rushes up to me, her eyes wildly scanning my face. “Omigod, Kaycee. What the hell happened to you?”

“Oh, now you’re concerned for me? What the hell happened to you Friday night, huh?” Everybody’s getting an earful, and I don’t care. I lean into her face, so my words are clear and cut her like they did me. “What word did you use Friday night? Oh yeah, ‘embarrassment.’ Well don’t fret yourself over an
embarrassment
like me.”

“What’s happening out here?” Mrs. Young stands with her hands on her hips, eyeing the students who lingered past the bell. It scatters them like roaches in the light. I follow suit, but instead of going to class, I leave school.

I drive straight for the interstate, wanting to put as much distance between me and all those judging eyes as possible. My phone lights up with text messages. But I have nothing to say to anyone so I switch it to vibrate.

Before the end of the day, everyone at school will know. The thought sours my stomach so badly, I have to pull over at the truck stop to throw up again. Tears and spit mix on the ground, and I use the back of my hand to wipe my mouth. I roll down my window to get some fresh air on my clammy face.

My phone vibrates every three seconds, rattling the change at the bottom of the cup holder. Half the text messages are from Sarabeth, wanting to know where I am and if I’m okay, pleading with me to just text her back that I’m all right. Nothing from Van. Freaking figures. There’s even a text from Dave Bradford, apologizing for making me turn gay. He’s such an effing idiot. I toss my phone back into the cup holder. Gravel spits a cloud of dust behind me as I speed out of the truck stop and back onto the freeway.

Each vibrating jiggle of the coins feels like a shake to my shoulders, reminding me of the gravity of what’s happening to my life. The shit storm that is about to come. What if the teachers are looking for me? What happens when they find out? What happens when my mother finds out? Oh my God, the whole world is going to know, and there’s nothing I can do to stop this spark of information from burning up my entire life.

Snippets of Chelsea’s and Sarabeth’s and everybody else’s hateful words nip at my thoughts until I can no longer drown them out with the radio. And that goddamn vibrating is driving me insane.

I snatch the phone out of the cup holder. “Leave me the fuck alone!” I scream at it. Before I can stop myself, I fling it out the window. In the side mirror, I see myself grinning wildly as I watch it smash into the ground, bouncing several times. Pieces fly off with each hit until it skids to a stop. The wheels of an eighteen-wheeler grind it to bits.

I sit back, relaxing in the silence and calm. I exhale a satisfied breath.

The only thing on my mind now, is how far I can get from Sunshine.

Chapter 19

One hundred and sixty miles south of Sunshine in Grenada, Mississippi, is as far as I can get. My dreams of escape rest on little more than a quarter tank of gas and six bucks. I’m at the point of no return.

Sitting in the Sonic drive-in, my head rests on the steering wheel. I have to decide if I’m going to grab a Frito Chili Pie to shut up my grumbling stomach and then live a life of prostitution in this one-horse town, or buy more gas that will take me back to Sunshine.

“Sunshine … ha.” I laugh to myself. The name of the town is an oxymoron. There is
nothing
sunny about going home. I don’t want to go back. Back to the hate and loathing … the loneliness.

Nothing waits for me there but an empty pathetic life as an outcast. I don’t want to be one of Charlotte Wozniak’s bitches.

I stare at the six dollars and change in my console. Now I’m seriously regretting the fact that I threw my phone out the window. It was so satisfying to see it skid down the interstate.

Not so satisfying now.

But I didn’t want to talk to Sarabeth. Van sure as heck wasn’t calling. I couldn’t care less what any of them had to say now. And Bren, I’ve given up on ever hearing back from her again. Not even so much as an email from her.

A tapping on my window lifts my head. “Hon, do you need anything?” A girl with a blue and red shirt waits with an empty food tray propped between her arm and hip.

“I’m still trying to decide what to order,” I say, even though I know I’ve been here for an hour now.

Horror bugs her eyes out. “Are you okay?”

The freaking black eye from hell just keeps becoming an issue. “Yes. I swear. I had a run in with a pinball machine days ago. I’m good.” She narrows her eyes at me, trying to decide what to make of my answer. After a moment, she goes inside, choosing to overlook me.

Wrong. Inside she has a word with her manager. He tips back on his heels, jutting his chin out to get a look-see.

“Ugh.” Why can’t everyone just leave me alone. I start the Civic, back out of the space, and leave.

Six bucks in the tank and a grumbling stomach later, I’m back on the highway, returning from whence I came. It feels suspiciously like defeat. Since I doubt Grenada, Mississippi, would be a successful option for my prostitution ring, I have no other choice but to go home. The only other option I have lies in Texas with a perfect family of four, where a daughter from a life long-forgotten does not fit into their world.

Especially a gay daughter.

It’s a small glimmer of hope that, on the drive back home, I’ll be able to fabricate a solid enough lie to explain my bruised face to my mother. And that by some tiny miracle, she’ll buy it. If I can keep it together until I graduate high school, I’ll get a job in Lawrence
.
Eventually I’ll save up enough to leave, forever.

This is my plan. This is what I have to believe in to justify why I’m going back to where I don’t want to be. Ten months of keeping my head low and blending in to the background. I can do it.

A few hours later, the “Sunshine, Tennessee. A good place to be,” sign mocks me as I drive past the city limits. Dread and unease squeezes my heart when I turn onto our cul-de-sac. An older sedan is parked in the driveway with a “Jesus is my co-pilot” bumper sticker. The car looks familiar to me, but right now I can’t quite place who owns it. I park in the street out front.

It’s past six o’clock. I don’t recall Mother mentioning that we were having company over for dinner. Even though my feet say “Don’t do it,” I tread up the steps and hold my breath as I open the door.

“Brother Mark?”

Our youth pastor sits on the sofa and smiles at me, earnestly.

“I didn’t realize you were coming to dinner,” I say. I drop my keys on the entrance table. He holds a glass of iced tea in one hand and his Bible in the other. I glance around the room for more surprises. The clack, clack, clack of heels taps across the kitchen floor and Brother Mark’s wife, Mrs. Kitty, steps out. Her red nail-polished fingers cover her gaping mouth.

My black eye! I tug and scrunch my jungle of hair over it. Mother rushes out of the kitchen right behind Mrs. Kitty, almost knocking her over. The phone is pressed tight to her ear.

Has she been crying?
I know I didn’t tell her where I was going, but it’s only dinnertime. It’s not like I’ve been gone that long.
Shit.
I bet the school called her and told her I skipped. She probably tried to call my cell, couldn’t get a hold of me, and panicked.

Mother gasps too. “Oh God. It’s bad. It’s bad,” she says to the person on the other end and darts back into the kitchen. Her voice breaks into sobs. “Okay. See you in a few,” are her last cracked words before she says good-bye, and the phone beeps off.

Brother Mark rises to his feet, and his wife huddles against him. Mother returns with a tissue in her hands, wiping her face.

I’m frozen in the doorway, unable to step inside my own home out of sheer fear. “My cell phone broke,” I say, barely able to find my voice. But not being able to get a hold of me isn’t their issue. Something more than a worried mother is going on here. Awkward silence holds us all in standoff positions. The only sounds are the soft sniffles of my mother and the monstrous thundering of my heart.

Brother Mark puffs his chest out and takes a deep breath. “Let’s start this off with a prayer.” He rests his Bible against his heart and bows his head. Mrs. Kitty nods to me, as if encouraging me to bow my head too. It’s the look of pity she gives me that frightens me most. Like I’ve just been told someone I love has died, and now I’m the fragile flower who needs to be carefully tended to or I might wither away.

I bow my head and tell myself we are praying for the meal we are about to receive.

“Dear Heavenly Father. Tonight, give us the strength—”

The click-rattle of the front door opening clips his words. “Oh, thank God you’re okay.” Sarabeth steps in with a hand over her heart. She hugs me, but I stand there stiff as a statue.

“What’s going on?” I ask Sarabeth, nobody else.

“Honey, why don’t you just sit? So we call all talk,” says Mrs. Kitty.

I stare down at Sarabeth. She shrinks back. “What. Is. Going. On?” I demand from her.

Her bottom lip quivers, and she starts shaking her head. “I was scared. When I saw what they did to your face and then you disappeared … well I thought maybe you’d done like that boy over near Mason. I wasn’t sure if you had hurt yourself. I had to tell your mom.”

Every cell in my body goes numb. The icy threat of anyone finding out I’m a lesbian—most especially my mother—is now out in the open. It’s no longer my secret. My heartbeat thrums so loudly my blood pressure blocks my eardrums. The entire room begins to spin. Sarabeth is talking to me, spilling apologies, crying, and begging for me to listen to them. I’m vaguely aware of Mrs. Kitty guiding me to the sofa. Even from there, the room doesn’t stop moving.

Mrs. Kitty sits on one side, Sarabeth on the other. Brother Mark uses our sturdy oak coffee table as a chair. On instinct, I want to tell him coffee tables are not for sitting, or at least Mother should say something. Sarabeth holds my hand between hers. Her lips move, but I don’t know what she’s saying. The words sound rote and rehearsed. Red splotches stain her pale face. Perfect blond hair bounces when she talks. She only lets go of my hand to wipe her tears. I can feel the wetness against my skin as she re-clasps my hand.

Mother stands just inside the room by the kitchen door. A frail, thin smile trembles on her lips. Why doesn’t she come closer?

“And then you’ll be fixed and everything will go back to normal,” Sarabeth says. I turn back to her. “Won’t that be perfect?” She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.

“You want me to go to a gay camp?” My brain picked up more of the conversation than I realized. I don’t know if I could survive a death sentence like that. Surely Mother wouldn’t send me away, like a trip to the repairman is going to make it all better. My chest tightens.

“It’s more of an evangelical homeschool. Straight Path With God is a wonderful program,” says Brother Mark. “The good Lord didn’t intend for you to get all mixed up.” He smiles, like a father would to his daughter, or so I imagine. “It’s held year-round up near Frankfurt. You can attend for as long as it takes. Probably best to stay until you graduate. Don’t worry about your schoolwork, they teach the same curriculum there that they do here, but you’ll be homeschooled. The family you will stay with is real nice. You’ll spend your days in scripture and your evenings in prayer.” He beams as if he’s just handed me the greatest gift of my life.

“They have an opening starting at the beginning of November.” Mrs. Kitty tucks a springy hair behind my ear. “You’ll be able to come back for Thanksgiving. You can even take some of your pretty things from home to keep you company.”

I’m shocked that in the span of a few hours, my entire future has been planned out for me. It happened so quickly … but it couldn’t have been planned so quickly. This really shouldn’t be a surprise. Mother has not been as naive as I thought. In the back of her mind, she must have always had a plan that if this gay thing ever reared its ugly head, she’d squish it quick. But when I turn to my mother, she seems trapped by the doorway, nibbling on her thumbnail.

“I don’t want to go away. Don’t make me go,” I plead. The small flower that was growing inside of me begins to wither and die.

Mother bursts into tears and refuses to look at me.

“Look at me, Mother. Tell me you honestly believe this is the right thing for me.”

She stays silent.

Brother Mark and his wife break into their spiel about how this is what’s best for me, for everyone. A good session with God can straighten me out.

“Sometimes outside influences sneak into our small town. Demons come in all forms,” Brother Mark explains. “And young folk like yourself get wild ideas about things.” Young folk? He can’t be more than twenty-five himself, but he’s talking like he’s fifty. “Next thing you know, the whole town is run amuck. Like a plague carried by the rats.” He opens his Bible. “But we can root it out.” He winks.

“Root it out!” Mrs. Kitty shakes an amen-fist in the air.

“Let’s pray.” He starts up with rebuking the devil, praying for a cleansing. His wife repeats some key phrases Brother Mark speaks. I look over at Sarabeth with her head bowed. She senses me glaring at her; I know she does.

“Why did you do it?” My voice is barely a whisper. “How could you?” She turns her bowed head away from me and squeezes her eyes shut, tightening her hold on my hand. I rip it from her grasp. I look to Mother. Her eyes dart anywhere but on me. She runs a nervous hand over her hair, bites her bottom lip. I know she can feel the heat from my stare.

“Why, Mother?” I blurt out at her, not caring about the prayer. “You can’t really believe I’m filled with some demon. You can’t believe this crap.”

Brother Mark and Mrs. Kitty’s prayers strengthen as if my outburst is proof of the demon inside me.

“They know what they are doing,” says Mother. “It’s for the best … it’s for the best,” she mumbles to herself as if she’s the one who needs convincing.

I stand, shove past Mrs. Kitty’s legs, and walk over to Mother. It only interrupts the prayer and Bible reading for a moment, then they are at it again. Brother Mark’s words pound at my back as I face my mother. Her arms cross tight over her chest.

The plan, I tell myself. Ten months and I’ll be eighteen and graduated, and I can go anywhere, do anything. That’s all I need—just to buy myself some time.

Ten months.

“What if I tell you I was experimenting?” I ask in a low voice. A flicker of hope flashes in Mother’s eyes. She wants to believe the lie. I can see it. “What if I tell you I got all caught up in how … different the new girl was,” I say, picking my words carefully. Encouraged now that she’s listening to me, I go on. “She’s so popular, athletic, and different.” It stabs my heart to think of Bren. I clench my teeth to bite back the tears. “Her family is different too. Cultured from all those places. I mean, who doesn’t dream of traveling to foreign countries and speaking a different language? I just wanted to be like that. To be like her. You know.”

She gives me a tiny nod, and I continue. “But it didn’t quite work out that way. Did it?” Mother shakes her head. “I promise you, as long as you let me stay here, I will never make that mistake again.”

The prayers have stopped and everyone listens to me, holding their breath.

“I’ve seen the error of my ways. I don’t want to hurt you or anyone else ever again. I’ll go to school, work, and church. Nowhere else. You won’t have to worry or wonder about me. Okay, Mother?” Silent tears stream down my face. “I’ll be the best daughter you always dreamed of. Just please, please don’t send me away.” I swipe my cheeks clear, but the flood just keeps on coming.

Mother’s chin dimples. She fingers her lips lightly, barely holding back the break of a dam. “It’ll be okay,” she whispers and opens her arms to me. “You have some time before you go. And you’ll be safe there. Sending you there will be a good thing. You’ll see,” she says.

Her unyielding decision causes me to break down into a fit of hysterics in her arms. Mother interprets my tears as submission, but I’m grieving for the part of me they just killed.

The consoling only lasts a moment before Mother rights herself. The soothing swirl of her hand becomes an awkward pat. I remember the audience behind me that we must compose ourselves for. Manners and formality square my mother’s shoulders. She clears her throat and goes over to Brother Mark and his wife. Quietly she thanks them for stopping by. Brother Mark says something to the effect of the Lord works quickly, and I will probably be well and back at home in no time, as if I have some kind of sickness.

As Mother walks them to the car, Sarabeth approaches me like a homeless dog, starving for scraps but wary on the approach.

I’m numb. I want to be mad at Sarabeth. Hate her. But I feel nothing; for her, for Mother, for myself. The only person I feel for … I can’t reach. Like a piece of paper, I fold up those emotions for Bren into a tight square and push them down into the recesses of myself. Deep, so the darkness takes them, and I can no longer see them. Feel them.