Adam's Peak by Heather Burt Page B

needed a response, but he’d been stalling, grateful that the post office wouldn’t be open for another couple of days. With a determined breath, he slid the thing out of its crumpled envelope and opened it for the hundredth time. It was written in red ink, in a large, loopy script.
    Hey there Rudy,
    Happy Easter big brother! What will you and Aunty be getting up to for the holiday? One thing I can say for sure is you’ll be eating better than us! As Susie and I discovered at Christmas, we don’t have a freakin’ clue what we’re doing when it comes to Sri Lankan culinary delights. Susie’s pretty ho-hum about it all anyway. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but she and Mark seem to be on the outs again. Yep. Rumour has it he’ll be staying in Toronto for Easter, I think this may be the end of it. But anyway, S. and Z. are supposed to be here Friday night. It should cheer Dad up. Things between me and him have been up and down as usual. Iwonder sometimes if I should get a place of my own or maybe even get out of Montreal altogether. Sometimes I think it’d be best for me and Dad both, but as a professional student it’s hard to give up the perks while I’m still working on my thesis. (Don’t worry, I won’t bore you with any more details on that front right now, although I have to say that Dad has developed quite a surprising interest in the post-colonial politics of Ceylon!) Anyway, my financial woes aren’t the real issue re. moving out. The big thing is I wouldn’t want Dad thinking I’ve abandoned him. He hates my “lifestyle” as he calls it, but he loves me. I don’t mean this in a nasty way but I think Dad loves me most, in a way. Just the circumstances, you know. And despite everything, I love him. Me staying here with him and him not kicking me out is the way it gets acknowledged I guess. But I tell ya, it’s murder sometimes. He’s on this thing now where he tells me that if there’s anything he did wrong in the past, could I just forgive him and try to get my life on track. Meaning: “convert” (or at least pretend I’m straight), finish the damn thesis, and get a real job. He gets almost choked up, and I feel so helpless. Sometimes I really do wish I could change for him but it’s not gonna happen. And you know, even if it would have been possible for Dad to somehow influence the way I’d “turn out,” it wouldn’t have made any difference. The way I am has nothing to do with Dad. I’m the way I am because of Mum. I’m sure of it, Rudy. When she died, I became two people, her and me. It’s the reason I feel so connected to her home-land, even though I’ve never been there, and it’s the reason I have this feminine spirit I can’t deny, not even for Dad. I assume other people are born gay or bi because of their genes, but it’s different with me. It’s like my body has two souls. Anyway Rudy, I hope you won’t think I’m turning into some kind of wing-nut. I know my explanation would sound flaky to most people, but it makes perfect sense to me. I just wanted someone to know these things, and you being so far away makes it a bit easier, if you know what I mean. (Can youimagine me trying to tell Dad that my queerness is a tribute to Mum?!?) Anyhow, sorry for getting deep on you. You and Aunty have a happy Easter, okay? Ciao, machan.
    Adam
    P.S. Write to Susie if you get a chance. She’s pretty down in the dumps.
    P.P.S. I love you.
    He wished, in a twisted sort of way, that the letter had been what he’d expected. A resentful clearing of the air would have been easier. He would have understood his part and played it out dutifully. But this letter complicated everything. In a way it was more accusing than the one he’d anticipated.
I hold no grudges,
he imagined his brother thinking.
What’s
your
problem?
    He wished he knew.
    With another