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"Chris?" Say…"I'm gay." "What." Uh oh. "You're what?" "I'm gay mom." Beverly searched his face desperately for any signs of a joke. Then she rose. "Get up." Chris got up, his throat tight. She pushed him to the door. "Mom?" "Don't 'mom' me. I didn't raise my son to be gay. What the hell is wrong with you Christopher? Do you not realize how hard it was to have you when I was sixteen? Do you not remember being out on the streets, living in the back of a Suburban? For Christ's sakes Chris, God did not get us through all that so that you could be gay! John 3:16, God gave His son because He loved this world and He expects you to honor that! Leviticus 18:22, Thou shalt not lie with mankind! How dare you disrespect the Lord and show your face in this house! It's abomination Chris. I can't believe you would turn against the only man that was ever there for you!" She opened the door to the cool night. "Now leave." Tears were slowly spilling despite his efforts to hide them. "Mom, please-" "Now Christopher. And I don't think it would be wise of you to come back." With a crushed spirit and a new, deeper meaning of hopelessness, Chris turned his back to his mother for the first time. The cold mist enveloped him as the door slammed behind him. He heard the deadbolt sink into the doorframe. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Chris all but ran back to the hotel. All the freaks were out now, relishing in the cover of night. His breath showed in the moonlight as he panted. The tears had stopped. He would not let anyone see him like this. At least not anyone that lived on a street corner. Once in the elevator, he collapsed against the wall. He would not cry, not here. His mind was still reeling from what had happened. His mother, the person he looked up to the most in his life, had just dis-owned him. God he was sorry. It hurt now more than ever. The elevator dinged and opened its doors on the third floor. Chris got out and rounded the corner, everything in a haze. He got to his door and to his disappointment, found Joey parked outside. There was no way around him. Chris pulled out his keys, causing Joey to wake from his light slumber. He rose and noticed Chris's red eyes and nose. "Chris, I'm sorry," he said quietly, pulling Chris into a hug. Chris nodded. That was all he could do before his bleeding heart overflowed in the form of tears, which fell to Joey's shirt. "She hates me," he sobbed out. Joey rubbed small circles on the older man's back. "I'm sure she doesn't hate-" Chris clung tighter to Joey, not caring who saw him in this fit of hysterics. "She kicked me out Joey, forever. I can't go back." Joey sighed, his anger already busy cleaning its guns inside of him. "It'll be okay Chris," he tried to comfort. Suddenly feeling like he was getting love he didn't deserve, Chris pulled away. "I just want to go to sleep. Permanently might be nice." Normally Joey would take that for a joke but not now. "Chris, come on, let's go out. We can get drunk and forget about it okay?" "Drinking never solves anything Joey." "But it helps for a little while doesn't it?" "Yeah, I guess." "Okay then, let's go." Joey pulled Chris down the hall, waving off the bodyguard. Joey could handle this. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Joey and Chris walked down the street, side by side. Streetlights lit the sidewalk dimly, casting long shadows down the alleys. Cars rumbled by, although compared to a lot of states; the town was pretty much quiet. Everyone was either sleeping or already packed into a club. Everyone except Chris and Joey. "So…do you want to talk about it?" "I thought we were trying to forget it." "Just thought I'd ask." "Well thanks, I suppose," Chris smiled. "I'll tell you later." "You mean like when you're too drunk to remember anything?" Joey asked. "Yeah, that sounds good to me," Chris replied. They rounded the corner and could see the neon signs from the brewery lighting up its corner of the night. Out of the corner of his eye, Chris saw a sharp glint from the shadows. Joey must have seen it too, for they both stopped at the same time. Then a man appeared, dressed in the usual druggie-like attire, consisting of black jeans, dirty white T-shirt, and an old leather jacket. Chains jingled as he walked, and through an unkept goatee, he smiled revealing yellowish teeth. In his hands, he toyed with a glistening knife. "Well what have we here?" he asked sarcastically. Suddenly wishing Joey had allowed the bodyguard to follow; he spoke up, "Look man, we're just going to the club. What do you want?" The man stepped closer, his eyes reflecting the look of a cat that had just cornered a mouse. "I want to see you bleed," he threatened, turning to Chris. Frozen, Chris replied, "Me? I don't know you-" "Doesn't matter," the man replied. "I'm just doing a favor for my friend. You probably don't know him, but I bet you know his girlfriend." He turned the knife over in his hand, admiring it. "It seems you made her cry, fag." Joey's mind was racing so frantically; it subconsciously put the puzzle together. He cringed for Chris, but stood his ground. It was only one man. Surely they could take him- Footsteps sounded behind Chris and Joey. They turned quickly; founding themselves surrounded by three more equally dangerous-looking men. And who knew what they could be packing. "I didn't mean to-" Chris started, turning back to the 'leader'. "Tough shit, queerbait," the man snapped. "Know you're gonna die." The man lunged for Chris. Before Joey could come to his friend's aid, he was hit over the head from behind. He dropped to the ground with a yelp. Looking back up through darkening eyes, he could see the vicious beating Chris was taking. Then things grew black and painless. Chris couldn't even run. They descended on him at once, the first hard punch to the stomach bringing him to his knees. Blows were raining from all around. He felt a long hard object crack low against his spine while fists battered his face. A sharp sting burned on his arm, and heavy dog chains slammed against his folded legs. The pain was too intense. He could taste his blood, even smell it. He hit the ground beside the unconscious Joey, a mixture of blood and tears blinding him. "FAGOT!" "FUCKING QUEER!" "ASS FUCKER!" Soon his mind closed down his hearing in order to give more strength to his body. He could no longer see, but he could feel. He felt the cold dampness of the gritty concrete beneath him. His hand lay in front of his face, bloody fingers lying limp against the sidewalk. The thick chains cracked wherever they fell, and now heavy boots were exploding through his ribs. The long object proved to be a lead pipe, as the dull echoing thud broke through to his half-shut down mind. The men looked at the broken, bloody body at their feet and decided he was no longer worth the trouble. Almost as suddenly as the attack hard started, it stopped. Through the beating, they had moved the man into the alley, which was for the better. No one knew this man's last name. Knew nothing about his life, except the fact that a man several states away claimed he was gay. So he had been punished for it. Chris lay still, unable to move. He was just inside an alley, lying in excruciating pain in a shadow. He knew then that the men had left when he felt no stinging pain but just a dull ache all over. Blood crept up his throat, threatening to choke him, and he coughed, setting fire to his body. It was cold. Slowly his other senses came back online, and he could hear once more the rumbling of cars and distant chatter of people. A breeze blew lightly, sending a crumpled piece of paper scampering by, escaping out onto the sidewalk. Joey lay a few feet away. Chris remained silent, trying to fight the pull of dark sleep. His body trembled. He watched his own fingers shake, his fingernails scraping the dark concrete. Several warm spots were seeping through his clothes. He couldn't take a deep breath. He felt he was suffocating. Chris turned black, wet eyes to the lit sidewalk. A gentle clip-clop sound began, growing louder. In front of the alley appeared a tall, pure white horse. No, not a horse Chris realized. The single spiral horn protruded from a clean forehead. It seemed to have an inner glow, shinning brightly in the black night. The silky mane and tail bounced as the unicorn approached. Lowering its head, the beast stopped in front of Chris and gently nuzzled his shoulder. Unable to move, Chris watched in awe. The pure white hide withered as the unicorn puffed against his neck. Bright blue eyes looked over his body and the mare shook her head, ruffling her mane and releasing a light flower scent. Suddenly she backed away, her horn glistening silver. She whinnied shrilly and reared, standing up and exposing a round white belly as cream-colored hooves dug through the air. Then mysteriously as she had appeared, the unicorn turned and galloped, her sturdy body bouncing in fluid motion. The last thing Chris saw was the shimmer of a wispy tail. |
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