Tilt (30 page)

Asking questions.

Then, silence. A second voice.

Aunt Andrea.

Whispering.

Consoling?

It was weird. More like a dream

than real. And, even though Aunt

Andrea never comes over, I told

myself nothing could be that wrong.

Finally, the third, slurred voice.

Dad.

Denying.

Crying?

I wasn’t about to get involved,

so I convinced myself it wasn’t real.

But after, Mom had changed.

She Is Distracted

Even more distant than usual.

She mutters. Throws her hands

into the air. Talks to the sky.

Sometimes she shouts obscenities,

mostly directed toward Dad. Like now.

From the kitchen:
No! You fucking

son-of-a-whore. How could you

do this to me?
It’s probably useless,

but I so want to help her, hurry

to try. I find her, hair messed up

and red-rimmed eyes. “What happened?

What did he do?” Will it ever end?

She shrugs.
Nothing. I’m sorry.

I didn’t mean for you to hear

anything. We had a fight is all.

“A fight about me.” They always fight

about me, but Mom says this

time it was about Shelby and

a new SMA treatment she saw.

Your dad doesn’t think it would

be worth a try. But I do.
That’s not

it. But she isn’t going to tell me

what it really is. She did, however,

give me the opportunity to get

something off my chest. “Mom, you

probably don’t want to hear this,

but I agree with Dad. I think you

should let the disease run its course.

Shelby deserves a dignified death.

More treatment won’t stop her from

dying. But it will take away her dignity.

I don’t want to watch that, and neither does

Dad. And I don’t think you should, either.”

There. Feelings shared. God, does it

piss her off.
I can’t believe you said

that! Where did you get such ideas?

The Answer Is So Obvious

It sinks its fangs immediately.

Is that how you feel about Alex,

should he develop AIDS? That

he deserves a dignified death?

I tell her that’s exactly how

I feel. Once there is no choice,

I pray his death is dignified.

“I hope I’ll be there to help him

through it, but that will probably

be many years from now.” She

gives me a strange look. Kind of

like, really? “I know the odds

of us staying together that long

aren’t good. I mean, we’re both

young and stupid.” It’s enough

to saw through the tension.

We are both sort of half smiling

when Dad barrels through the door,

carrying—groceries? When was

the last time
he
went shopping?

Not only that, but it is late afternoon

and I’m pretty sure he hasn’t been

drinking. It’s like whatever broke

Mom down tried to fix Dad up.

Success in That Endeavor

Is highly unlikely. Dad’s eyes scroll

back and forth between Mom and me.

Questioning. His mouth opens. Closes.

Mom says,
We’re talking about death.

His face creases, so she adds,
Dignified

death, actually. For people we love.

I . . . ,
he tries,
uh . . . oh.
He starts

unpacking the grocery bags.
I got steaks.

Thought we could barbecue.
He turns

back to me.
I bought an extra one, in case

you wanted to invite Alex to join us.
What

the hell?
I’m sorry we fought yesterday.

Wait just one damn minute. Was that

an apology? Not to mention acceptance

of Alex and me? “Alex and I will still both be gay.”

He doesn’t miss a beat.
That’s what

I hear. Guess I’ll have to get over

it. You’re still my son, Shane. I love you.

Invasion of the Body Snatchers

Yeah, that’s it. Has to be. Alternately,

what does this stranger want from me?

Must find out. “Actions speak louder

than words, Dad. But steak is a good start.”

He actually smiles at me. Creeping

me out.
And rib-eye, too. Thought

your mom was looking a little anemic.

Where did he find a sense of humor?

I don’t even know how to feel

right now, because I’m pretty sure

everything will be back to “usual”

without warning. Maybe someone

prescribed him new meds? I think

about
not
inviting Alex. But I’m

dying to see him, and to make him

feel something like normal while

in the company of my family. Surreal.

When was the last time
I
felt that way?

I am not far toward my room when I hear

Dad say,
You didn’t tell him, did you?

Shelby

I Hear

Nobody thinks so. But I do.

Sometimes people whisper.

Sometimes they yell.

Sometimes they say mean things.

I see

more than the TV. It’s my friend.

I don’t have any others, like the kids

on Barney do. Why are people afraid

of me? I don’t want to hurt them.

I taste

only the sweet air, whooshed

through tubes to help me breathe.

If I’m lucky a bit of flavor comes

with the wind or skin or clothes

I smell.