goes straight up to his room and just does math for some reason. He’ll probably just graduate and move away. I can’t help but feel like I’ll lose him forever. What am I supposed to do?”
Dante does not know what to say. It’s a strange thing, having his friend’s father ask him for advice. He shrugs. “I don’t know, Mr. Walker.”
“Me neither.” Mr. Walker leans back in his chair. He takes a sip of his drink and then sinks into silence.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Dante says, “why didn’t you just wait until he graduated? To . . . you know . . . come out.”
Archie’s father takes another sip of his drink. “Maybe I should have. I’ve asked myself that question God knows how many times. And I don’t have a clear reason for why I didn’t, only that I couldn’t.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I had a great-uncle who lived in Iowa. He lived with his sister, my great grandmother, his entire adult life until he died. I found out decades later that he was gay.” He looks into Dante’s eyes. “Can you imagine that? My God—that man lived with that secret his entire life. Stuck in that room. You
couldn’t
be gay in rural Iowa back then. He just couldn’t. He probably would have been killed.”
Dante doesn’t respond but the story sinks in, works its way into his bones. He feels like crying. He takes a sip of his own drink, which has cooled to a safer temperature.
Mr. Walker continues. “But the world has changed. People can be gay now. Sure, not everyone is going to like it. And some people are still harassed or bullied or even killed because of it. But I just got to a point where I felt like I couldn’t live in a tiny room any more. I had to get out. I had to stop lying to everyone.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I hate what it’s done to Archie. I hate that he has to suffer because of me.”
“I know what you mean,” Dante says, thinking of his own family. “But Archie will probably come around, Mr. Walker. Just give him some time.”
“I hope so, Dante.” Mr. Walker smiles. “Same with your family.”
As if on cue, Dante’s ancient phone rings. It does not vibrate. It does not play some clever ring tone. It actually rings with a digital clatter, like a telephone from the previous millennium that it too is from. Recognizing his grandparents’ number, he lets it ring.
“Whoa,” Mr. Walker laughs, eyeing the phone “The nineties are calling. Literally.”
“It’s nobody,” Dante says, ignoring it.
“Anyways,” Mr. Walker says. “How about you?”
Dante shifts in his seat. “How about me what?”
“Have you told anyone?”
Dante considers the question. “My grandparents know.”
“Your choice?”
“Not really.”
“How’d they take it?”
“Like they found a bunch of corpses under the floorboards of my room.”
“I’m sorry about that, Dante. Just give them some time. They’ll come around.”
“Yeah,” Dante says. “I hope so. But you know what? I’ve felt pretty bad about it sometimes. But most of the time I actually feel better. Lighter. Like I can finally breathe.”
“I know what you mean. So why haven’t you told your friends yet?”
Dante shrugs.
Mr. Walker nods.
They sit quietly for a few moments, and then Mr. Walker speaks again. “Dante, let me give you some advice here: Don’t spend your whole life faking who you are. The longer you live that lie, the more you’ll destroy yourself. The more you’ll end up hurting others.”
“What about your friends?” Dante asks after a moment. “Did they care that you’re gay?”
“Not the ones who matter. Sure, when I first came out, some of them were freaked out. A few stopped talking to me right away. A lot of them just gradually drifted away.”
“Oh,” Dante says. His phone again rings with his grandparents’ number. He ignores the call but wonders why they’re calling when they know—or at least, think—he’s at work. “Sorry. Go
Dante does not know what to say. It’s a strange thing, having his friend’s father ask him for advice. He shrugs. “I don’t know, Mr. Walker.”
“Me neither.” Mr. Walker leans back in his chair. He takes a sip of his drink and then sinks into silence.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Dante says, “why didn’t you just wait until he graduated? To . . . you know . . . come out.”
Archie’s father takes another sip of his drink. “Maybe I should have. I’ve asked myself that question God knows how many times. And I don’t have a clear reason for why I didn’t, only that I couldn’t.” He pauses, searching for the right words. “I had a great-uncle who lived in Iowa. He lived with his sister, my great grandmother, his entire adult life until he died. I found out decades later that he was gay.” He looks into Dante’s eyes. “Can you imagine that? My God—that man lived with that secret his entire life. Stuck in that room. You
couldn’t
be gay in rural Iowa back then. He just couldn’t. He probably would have been killed.”
Dante doesn’t respond but the story sinks in, works its way into his bones. He feels like crying. He takes a sip of his own drink, which has cooled to a safer temperature.
Mr. Walker continues. “But the world has changed. People can be gay now. Sure, not everyone is going to like it. And some people are still harassed or bullied or even killed because of it. But I just got to a point where I felt like I couldn’t live in a tiny room any more. I had to get out. I had to stop lying to everyone.” He sighs. “Don’t get me wrong, I hate what it’s done to Archie. I hate that he has to suffer because of me.”
“I know what you mean,” Dante says, thinking of his own family. “But Archie will probably come around, Mr. Walker. Just give him some time.”
“I hope so, Dante.” Mr. Walker smiles. “Same with your family.”
As if on cue, Dante’s ancient phone rings. It does not vibrate. It does not play some clever ring tone. It actually rings with a digital clatter, like a telephone from the previous millennium that it too is from. Recognizing his grandparents’ number, he lets it ring.
“Whoa,” Mr. Walker laughs, eyeing the phone “The nineties are calling. Literally.”
“It’s nobody,” Dante says, ignoring it.
“Anyways,” Mr. Walker says. “How about you?”
Dante shifts in his seat. “How about me what?”
“Have you told anyone?”
Dante considers the question. “My grandparents know.”
“Your choice?”
“Not really.”
“How’d they take it?”
“Like they found a bunch of corpses under the floorboards of my room.”
“I’m sorry about that, Dante. Just give them some time. They’ll come around.”
“Yeah,” Dante says. “I hope so. But you know what? I’ve felt pretty bad about it sometimes. But most of the time I actually feel better. Lighter. Like I can finally breathe.”
“I know what you mean. So why haven’t you told your friends yet?”
Dante shrugs.
Mr. Walker nods.
They sit quietly for a few moments, and then Mr. Walker speaks again. “Dante, let me give you some advice here: Don’t spend your whole life faking who you are. The longer you live that lie, the more you’ll destroy yourself. The more you’ll end up hurting others.”
“What about your friends?” Dante asks after a moment. “Did they care that you’re gay?”
“Not the ones who matter. Sure, when I first came out, some of them were freaked out. A few stopped talking to me right away. A lot of them just gradually drifted away.”
“Oh,” Dante says. His phone again rings with his grandparents’ number. He ignores the call but wonders why they’re calling when they know—or at least, think—he’s at work. “Sorry. Go
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