The Silver Compass By: Sean Roberts
Author's Note: Please send all feedback to seanr_13@yahoo.ca It is very much appreciated.
Strike 3
He became confident that she would talk to him when she was ready. Still he did not want to wait. He began checking his cellular phone compulsively to see if he had missed any calls from her. He checked his mailbox and his inbox every chance he got to see if she had written him. He missed her writing. He would watch her as she wrote him a note in class. He watched her hand move in circles to form letters; he never tired of examining the curves and trails and dots of her hand writing.
He saw her every day at school. He would always be looking out for her so he would see her from the other end of the hallway. His heart would start pounding -- this will be the time -- "hi". He got the same thing back from her. An insignificant hi. But he could not say anything more to her unless she was willing to speak with him.
His dining room was airy. The word came to his mind every time he entered it. It was decorated with light wood, carpets, artwork with pastel greens and blues. Large bay windows allowed in a lot of light. They were using it that day. Michael and Matthew were off for the Christmas break so they had time for a proper meal. Their mother wanted to make it special. She wanted Michael to feel good, to enjoy his dinner so he would be more open to the conversation.
So she brought it up over dessert. She had agreed with Michael's father that she would be the one to say it. They had decided on exactly what to say and how to say it. She had a thin mouth; her lips did not stand out on her face. She had a timid voice but she spoke confidently. "We know you're gay Mike." Michael and Matthew and their father all dropped their spoons. This was not what she was supposed to say. She was supposed to ask him, and then when he lied, tell him that she already knew.
"Excuse me?" Michael said. He brought his white napkin up to his lips to cover his smile. He did not know what he found funny but he could not help smiling.
"You heard your mother," said his father, adopting a stern tone of voice. "So do you have anything to say?" They had not decided exactly what they wanted to say to Michael after the confrontation.
"What would you like me to say?" Michael asked, withdrawing his napkin and forcing the smile away.
"Maybe tell us if it's true or not?" said his mother. She was giving him a way out. They had agreed not to give him a way out.
"It isn't." He allowed himself to laugh. "Where did you come up with this? Oh, right. Thank you very much," he said, turning to his brother. "I really hoped you wouldn't tell them; especially since I didn't tell them what you did." Michael stood up suddenly. He was angry -- more at himself than at Matthew. Then he realized his mistake. His parents, though they already knew, were looking shocked. He saw their faces and looked away, the faux Monet on the wall -- water lilies sitting quietly on a stream. He wished he was there, alone in the painting with nothing but the water to keep him company.
"What did you do Matt?" asked Mrs. Miller. Matthew looked like he was going to be sick. Michael knew that he should not have brought it up.
"N-nothing," Matthew said, glancing up at his brother.
"This isn't about Matthew," said Mr. Miller. "It's about you Mike. We know a therapist. We've scheduled a session for you tomorrow, at two o'clock..."
"Wait, a therapist? What the hell for?"
"You're confused Mike," said Mrs. Miller. "You need somebody to talk to who can help you."
"I see. You think that this is something that I can change." Michael smacked Matthew, hard, on the back of his head. "This is your fault you son of a bitch, so sort it the fuck out before I tell them what you need therapy for."
Michael left. From his bed room he dialled Sarah's number. She did not answer. "Sarah it's me, Mike. I need to talk to you. I'll be at the field at nine o'clock. Please come. Or call if you can't meet me." He stopped by the dining room, wearing his jacket, his keys clinking with every small movement of his arm. They were talking in hushed voices, he could not hear what they were saying. They stopped when he walked in. With false politeness in his voice he said, "I'm leaving. I'll be home late so please don't wait up." He walked away. Nobody tried to stop him.
Michael lit a cigarette. He was walking around on a baseball field two minutes from his house. If they weren't lying, almost naked, on a bed, it was in this field he felt closest to Sarah. They used to be on a team, playing baseball in blue and white uniforms, pretending they were playing for the Blue Jays.
When they got older they started going at night, when it was empty. He would throw the ball to her and she would throw it back at him. They did not play baseball; they simply used their gloves and a ball. They also had a black, spotted sky and bright lights around the field. And they had absolute quiet. Nobody else came after dark. They stood far enough away that they had to use loud voices to talk to each other. Yet they would say anything to each other; he was secure in knowing that only she would hear what he said. They shared feelings; they became closer every time they visited.
They became slightly older but had not grown up. They decided one day to start smoking, and they did it on the field. Michael never stopped. Sarah saw her parents kissing one day and she wanted to try it. It was the first time for both of them -- the innocent kiss of a boy and a girl reaching puberty. Whenever one of them needed to talk about something important, they met on the field.
Michael was walking -- the snow in the grass providing a cushion for his feet. One minute past nine. Two minutes past nine. Three minutes past nine. She was not going to come. Why did I even try? Why didn't I just call Cameron? And then he saw someone walking towards him. He could not make her out until she was close.
"What is it?" she asked him emotionlessly.
"Matthew told my parents. They're trying to send me to therapy."
"Therapy? What for?"
"Because they think that some shrink is going to get me to snap out of being gay."
"You can't be serious. If I couldn't do it Michael..." She was grinning.
"This is serious Sarah. They've already made the appointment."
"I don't see your parents doing something like that."
"I never knew what my parents would have done. That's why I never wanted them to find out."
"Oh great plan. They would have to find out sooner or later. You're never going to go out with a girl. You're never going to marry, well, anybody. You would have to tell them."
"What makes you think I'll never marry?"
"Because you can't. It's still illegal."
"I don't think it will be by the time I'm ready."
"Oh Michael you don't even know him that well! You can't be thinking about marrying..."
"Of course I'm not! Okay fine, I am, but not right now. Not until we're both ready. I mean we're still in high school, and...how do you know how well I know him? You haven't been around for me to tell you anything about him."
"I don't want to know anything about him Michael. Don't you get it? I love you! I don't want to hear or know about other girls! I don't want to hear about your dates or about you having sex with anybody! That's why we can't fucking be friends anymore!"
"There will never be any other girls Sarah. Or any girls at all. That's the whole FUCKING PROBLEM HERE! Don't you think that I would like nothing more than to be able to go out with you? But unfortunately I can't. That day that we, that we, you know! The only reason I was able to do it was because you kept, kept touching it! And the only reason I even did it was that I needed to know. After that, I knew that nothing can change this."
"I'm glad I could help," she said coldly.
"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done it but I can't take it back. Sarah I've been thinking about you so much and all I've been doing was trying to think about how I could take it back."
"You're right Michael, you can't. But what you can do is leave me alone. I need you completely out of my life. It's the only way I'm going to be able to deal with this. And besides, instead of bugging me, maybe you should try talking to your brother."
"My brother? What does Matthew have to do with this?"
"He has everything to do with this. He's the one who told your parents, he's the one who pissed off Cameron..."
"How do you know about that?"
"Because he told me, he was feeling badly about it...come on, think about it, why are you talking to me about this? There's nothing I can do."
"I called you because you love me. I know you love me and I know what the sex meant to you. I know that after what I did you never forgave me, even though you said you did. And I don't blame you. But I can't lose you Sarah. You've been the best friend I've ever had and...I can't deal with this stuff on my own."
"Yes you can Michael. You're a big boy now. You'll figure it out." She leaned forwards and kissed his red, hard, frozen cheek. He felt a spot of warmth. "You don't know how good it feels to be able to do that."
"Stop calling me Michael, Sarah."
"Stop fucking around with me then." She was becoming angry. "If you have a problem, Michael, deal with it. All this time we've been standing her in the freezing, fucking, cold, you could have been at home with Matt or with your parents working out this whole thing."
"Right. Like it's that easy. They all think that I'm making it up. They think I'm confused. You're the only one who knows that I'm not. So tell me, what could I say to them?"
"Explain it to them; the way you explained it to me. I have to go Michael." She turned around walked towards the parking lot. Michael watched her until she disappeared. He wanted to call her back, but he knew he couldn't.
When he got home he could hear Matthew's and his parents' voices coming from the dining room. They had not moved since he left. He took his time hanging his jacket, and then walked into the room.
"I'll see the shrink tomorrow. Not because it'll make any difference but because it's probably the only way that any of you will ever realize that this isn't something I can change."