Post by ▪▫ JUST ELLE... on May 19, 2012 4:40:25 GMT
Was it normal to be terrified of your parents? To sometimes quiver a little on the inside at the very sight of them? It was to Mitchie.
It wasn’t as if they beat him, or shouted at him every minute of the day, or threatened him. It was more that they were so religious it was intimidating- especially to a closeted, gay thirteen year old. His heart always skipped a beat whenever they said they needed to talk to him, as if this were the moment they’d found him out. Somehow. Some way.
It was absolutely unacceptable. A deadly sin. A sentence to hell. Practically betrayal. But he couldn’t figure out how to make it disappear. How to stop the sinful thoughts, the unnatural feelings. Please just be normal.
There had to be a way to push it out of him. Like an evil spirit. This was God’s test for him. He just didn’t know how to pass it.
Mitchie started praying every night, sometimes at lunch when he was having a particularly difficult time at school. Definitely in the mornings, to make sure no thoughts came to him during the day. It only worked a little, but after a while it seemed to stop working completely. He wasn’t doing enough.
He started confessing in his journal about it, asking forgiveness and to be shown a way out. Any way out. It just got worse.
Once he considered it was just something evil flowing through his veins. So, he took his brother’s razor in the middle of the night, and woke up the next day in the Emergency room.
His parents thought it was something to do with the fact he wasn’t making many friends in school. They put him in a youth group.
Some days they talked about sins they’d committed themselves. Mitchie stayed quiet.
His brothers sometimes asked him if he’d found a girl yet. He gave a pained smile and then tried out six or seven Elavils and woke up two days later in the Hospital. His parents put him in rehab for a month. He said it was an accident. They went to church more.
All the while his brothers, especially David, were standing by, watching, analyzing, realizing. David went up to Mitchie’s room one night, a few days after he’d come home from the rehabilitation clinic.
“Mitch?” He called in as he knocked on the slightly cracked door.
“Mhmm?” Came the soft hum in response. Mitchie’s hum was much higher than David’s, or William’s, or Harold’s, or Marvin’s. Mitchie was also much smaller. Delicate even. A smooth, pale complexion, long eye-lashes, thin, long fingers, soft blonde hair. He looked more like their mother than their father.
“How ya doin?” He smiled lightly, tilting his head down to his younger brother, who sat cross-legged in the middle of his bed reading- for fun. Another thing the other Pressley men had never been drawn to. But Mitchie took to books like a moth to a light. The shelf off to the side of his room was filled with books of all sorts. Classics, contemporaries, auto-biographies.
“Fine…” Came the short reply. That was Mitchie’s way these days. He used to be so chatty, over-talkative even. They couldn’t get him to shut up. Now David wished Mitchie would do a little more of that chattering he used to. He felt like his brother was off in some far, unreachable place in his own mind, holding back from everyone, hiding behind a stoney wall. He’d almost lost the kid twice, he had to know why. And he thought he did.
“Yeah?” David said, not really believing that word on Mitchie’s lips. ‘Fine’. Mitchie hadn’t seemed to be fine in quite a while. Mitchie only nodded, not really bringing his older brother anymore reassurance. “What’re you, uhm, reading?” He asked, although he could see the title plainly. Pride and Prejudice. It was Mitchie’s fifth time reading that very book. It seemed like a comfort object to the boy, almost.
“Pride and Prejudice.” Mitchie confirmed, not looking up from the page he was on until a long silent moment had passed. “Did you need something?” He asked, expression now concerned as David stood watching the boy closely, as if trying to channel Mitchie’s mind, figure out what was going on in there.
“Oh, uh.” David looked around the plain room for a moment, wondering why Mitchie kept it so colorless. It had no personality, no character. Like Mitchie was bottling that all up too. Who was Mitchie anymore? David felt like the 13 year old was almost a stranger to him. He and Mitchie used to tell each other everything. “I was actually wanting to talk to you.” He finally said, coming to sit down in Mitchie’s desk chair, turning it to face the boy. Mitchie set down his book with the page folded, and folded his hands in his lap, waiting for David to go on. “I just… Mitchie. It’s like… I’ve been wondering, thinking lately. About you. I’m worried.” He struggled to form the thoughts that had been plaguing his mind over the past few months.
“Why are you worried… David, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not going to do anything stupid like that again.” Mitchie assured his brother. And he wasn’t. It obviously didn’t change anything about him. It obviously hadn’t pulled that evil, disgusting spirit out of him, it was still afflicting him even now. In Pride and Prejudice when Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy were arguing, all Mitchie could think of was how lovely Mr. Darcy was to him. How he’d like a guy like that to- he blinked back to reality.
“That’s not all I’m worried about Mitchie. I’m worried about why. And more importantly, I… well, it’s like. You’re not you anymore, Mitchie. You don’t even talk to me anymore. Or anyone, for that matter. And you don’t even seem like you’re actually here. It’s like you’re holed up inside your own mind.” David stopped himself finally, searching Mitchie’s face for some sort of reaction to this. He wasn’t looking at David anymore. In fact, his face was turned away completely. “Mitchie?” He asked in the silence, wanting the boy to talk to him. To tell him if something was wrong. To let him know, so he could help. He just wanted to help. Mitchie’s chest heaved up with a long, shaky sigh, turning his face back to David. His eyes were teary, and distressed, and heartbreaking, and David had to look away himself for a moment.
“David, I can’t.” The trembling voice finally came out of the small blonde. “I’ve tr-tired but I just can’t.” A hand jerked up to rub at the welling eyes. Sniffing, distraught.
“What do you mean, Mitchie? What’s wrong? Please. You know you can tell me anything.” He stood then, coming over to sit by Mitchie, pull an arm around his younger sibling, let him know he was okay. Was he?
“I don’t know why I can’t stop it. I thought it was a test. I thought I was supposed to stop it, but it won’t go away.” His shoulders were tensed under David’s arm, struggling to keep control of his tears, which were starting to drip down his cheeks and off his nose.
“Is someone messing with you, Mitch? Are you being threatened?” David was getting fired up now, ready to take out whoever was bringing Mitchie down like this. Mitchie shook his head fervently, forehead falling against his brother’s shoulder.
“I’m a fag, David. I like boys. I’m going to rot in fucking Hell and there’s nothing I can do about it.” Mitchie jerked out of David’s reach now, curling in on himself and letting out a strained sob, face in his pillow.
David sat forward, staring at the wall across from him. The plain, colorless, white wall. The wall Mitchie had been masking everything with. The wall that was now crumbling away painfully. David clenched his fists, feeling all of the stress from Mitchie’s shoulders on his own, breathing out unevenly, head finally turning back to look at Mitchie hugging himself desperately, ashamed, mortified.
“Mitch…” He said quietly, hand drifting out, hovering over his brother’s back. He wanted to comfort him, but he didn’t know how. He’d never known anyone gay before. Hell, he’d been one of the ones condemning every Sunday in youth discussion. Shit, Mitchie had probably been dying through those, clawing in his mind to get away from the words spoken against everything he couldn’t help being. And the worst part. The part that made David feel as if someone had slapped him hard in the face, was that he had probably been part of the reason Mitchie had almost been taken away from the world. “Mitchell, listen to me.” He said, words shaking in his voice, “You’re gonna be okay, yeah? It’s alright. You’re alright. I know you can’t help it, I’m sorry, I…Mitchie you’re still one of God’s children. He still loves you. And I do too.” David was trying to bring Mitchie back out of the ball he was curled up, and the blonde finally lifted his head from against his knees. “Everyone’s a sinner, Mitchie. You’re just a different sort, and…and God made you like this. So, he loves every bit of who you are.” He moved forward, brought Mitchie into a hug, cradled his baby brother like he used to do when he actually was a baby. “Please don’t think poorly of yourself. You’re such a good person, Mitchie. One of the best I know.” Mitchie’s head buried into David’s shirt, clinging to his brother as the first sign of light in the dark in such a long time. “Promise me you’ll take better care of yourself, and who you are.” David ordered, voice suddenly authoritative. Mitchie sat back, staring up at his brother, finally nodding, tears finally subsiding, a bit of the weight on his shoulders lifting- if only the slightest bit.
“Are you going to tell Mom and Dad?” Mitchie breathed, terror in his eyes.
“No. Mitchell it’s your business to tell. But when you’re ready to do it, I’ll be right by your side to do it.” He nodded, squeezing Mitchie’s shoulder gently again, and reveling in the smallest of smiles Mitchie gave him. His little brother was going to be okay.
He left Mitchie’s room that night, and read all through the night, every scripture he could to bring him some comfort. He wanted God to look as kindly on his brother as he did. He wanted to know he had the help of a greater power to get his brother through all of this.
Weeks went by without Mitchie speaking a word of what he’d revealed to David to his parents. David watched from afar, waiting for the moment when he’d step up to his mother and father with his young brother. To see if their faith was as open and strong as David’s. For some reason a fear inside of him told David that there wasn’t the greatest chance of that. And he knew that was why Mitchie was hiding from the opportunities.
It was around the time that ninth grade was about to begin that Mitchie finally looked himself in the mirror one day and told himself that he’d search out his parents acceptance. Even telling himself this, the terror still ran deep through his veins the whole day that he took preparing.
He had a whole speech planned out. As if he were going before a court of law or something. He might as well. His parents had said time after time, homosexuality was a crime against nature. One Mitchie was guilty of. He’d put his hands behind his back, hiding their shaking, and take a breath every few words, trying to stay calm, to push the words out.
That night, his parents were in the study, newspapers in hand. His mother was reading the social column, his father was reading the political news. Mitchie never went into the study.
Stepping into the doorway, he stood before them like an animal before a predator.
“Mom. Dad?” He finally signaled their attention, and they looked up in their nerve-wrackingly calm way. Mitchie felt his knees shaking under him, his palms growing sweaty, his heart speeding up. David was at the stairs, standing behind Mitchie, waiting for the news to go through.
He watched the brother stand stiffly in front of the two parents who he’d grown to fear. Watched him push the news out. It took what seemed like a lifetime to set in. Mitchie seemed ready to back out and pack his things away. Would they kick him out? Disown him for good, pretend he had nothing to do with them?
His father’s eyes were harsh and cold. “You better be fibbing, boy.” His voice was like tight gripping hands on your arms. Mitchie shook his head slowly, lip quivering, eyes wide. “Is this what we get, Mitchell? Is this how you repay us. Being a goddamned homosexual!?”
“Hey!” David took a few quick steps forward, coming to stand in front of his cowering brother, as if to block some of the sting in the words directed towards the boy. “He’s your son! You ought to show him a little more understanding!” His fists were clenched.
“David, what do you think you’re doing. Defending this?? You’re encouraging him! He’s going to be a fag for life if you keep it up!” Mitchie’s father took a few step up to David. They were almost nose to nose, staring each other down like enemies. Mitchie looked to his mother, who looked at him like something foul and inbred.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help it. I- I tried. I really did.” Mitchie croaked up, shaking again like he did when he’d told David, tears falling hot on his face.
“Sorry? Sorry? You’re sorry that you’re an abomination to the Lord. Well, that’s damn fine, but doesn’t mean shit. Do you know what you’ve done now? Do you know how the Church is going to look on this family?” Mitchie slunk back, hugging himself, averting his eyes from his father’s cold stare. “Get out.” Mitchie’s head snapped up.
“Wh- what. But dad-.” Mitchie felt a panic set in, stumbling forward, hands up, begging,
“Get OUT. Go, you goddamn fag.” It was like a knife twisting into his chest, Mitchie whipped around, tearing out of the room, out the front door, down the street, tripping over himself, falling hard on his knees, skinning one in the process. He didn’t get up. He laid against the sidewalk, head halfway in the grass, eyes closed, heart sinking to the bottom of his chest.
David found him twenty minutes later in his car, pulled up beside him, rushed out, picked his brother up in his arms, driving off with Mitchie crying silently, breathlessly beside him.
And they didn’t go back but to pack up and go. Mitchie never went back to youth or services, and his parents never spoke on it. Four sons in their mind. Mitchie just something evil that had floated in their presence for a while. Gone now.