A White Coat Is My Closet (54 page)

Mom had made lunch for us, so we sat down to sandwiches and hot homemade soup. The conversation was easy, and they related to me what my three other brothers and been up to. Ever the devoted parents, they were both proud of all of us and intermittently frustrated by what they perceived as having been the poorly thought-out decisions each of us had independently made on occasion.

As lunch was beginning to wind down, Mom looked at me inquisitively, “So, tell us about you. You’ll be finishing up with your residency in little more than six weeks. Last time we spoke, you were entertaining a number of different job opportunities. Have you narrowed down your choices?”

“Actually, I think I have. I don’t think I want to go directly into private practice, so I’m leaning toward working as a hospitalist at the children’s hospital in Hollywood.”

As he scooped another ladle of soup into his bowl, Dad inquired, “What’s a hospitalist? I’m not familiar with that term.”

“Rather than working in a clinic, a pediatric hospitalist only takes care of children who are sick enough to require hospitalization. That’s exclusively what they do. Many community pediatricians are well adept at diagnosing aliments, but because they’ve been out of the trenches for so long, they feel less competent managing very sick kids in the hospital. That will be my job. When one of their patients becomes severely ill, they call whichever one of the doctors on my team is on duty, and we’ll manage them in the hospital. Any kid who gets admitted will be taken care of by one of us. We’ll either get patients by referral from outside pediatricians or from the emergency room.” I unconsciously let a smile creep across my face. “I figure it’s the perfect job for me. For the past three years, I’ve pretty much only taken care of really sick kids. I’m fairly good at it, the pay is excellent, and though we work twenty-four-hour shifts, I’ll have way more time off than I’ve been getting. For the time being, it sounds like a win-win.”

My mom reached across the table and squeezed my hand. “Congratulations, honey. It sounds like a wonderful opportunity, and they’ll be lucky to have you.”

Dad echoed her sentiments. “That’s my boy. I knew people would be lining up to have you come work for them.” Because he was sitting at the head of the table, I was within easy reach for him to slap me on the shoulder. “Well done, Zack. Well done indeed.”

They asked me a few more questions about what I expected from my new job and how I anticipated finishing my training program. Then my mom set her spoon down, as if she’d come to a sudden realization. “Aren’t your roommates finishing their training as well? Are all you guys going to continue living in the same place? Or are you going to have to look for new roommates?”

I slowly took another bite of my sandwich, then shrugged. “No, I’ve decided to move out.”

They both looked at me hesitantly. My dad raised an eyebrow, and I was aware he was making a concerted effort not to look too suspicious. He probably assumed I had come home to ask for money to help defray the cost of moving. “Have you already found a place? Do you intend to relocate closer to your new job? You have to consider that even with a respectable paycheck, shouldering the expenses of your own place might end up being a little steep. Don’t forget to budget money to pay off your student loans.”

I couldn’t help but smile a little. My dad was nothing if not predictable. Always looking at the practical side of things.

I took a deep breath and found myself staring down at my plate. “Not to worry, Dad. I’m actually going to move in with someone. It will be temporary, though. Once I’m in the swing of my new job, we want to find a place with a yard so we can get a dog.”

I cast a quick glance up to observe their expressions. They seemed simultaneously relieved and confused. Mom was the first to chime in. “That’s wonderful, Zack. It seems that you’ve already given this a lot of thought.” She smiled as she again picked up her spoon. “You know, having a dog is a big responsibility. How will you manage if you’re working twenty-four-hour shifts?”

I was so enthusiastic about the prospect of getting a dog I temporarily forgot my discomfort. “Sergio and I will share taking care of it. He’s never had a dog and can’t wait to get one.”

They both again fell silent. My dad looked at me inquisitively, then chose his words carefully. I was pretty sure he had no idea where this conversation was going. “Sergio? That’s a name we haven’t heard before. Who is Sergio?”

Despite my best intentions, my lip began to quiver slightly. “Before I tell you who Sergio is, there’s something else we need to discuss.”

Now the silence became tomblike. Both of them sat motionless and stared at me expectantly. This wasn’t how I had rehearsed this exchange in my head at all. My intention had been to somehow just casually work the topic into the conversation. Oddly enough, though, there never seemed to be an appropriate opportunity to say, “Hey, by the way, I’m gay. Please pass the ketchup.” The tension in the room suddenly seemed thick.

Mom, sensing my anxiety, was the first to speak up. “What do you want to tell us, Zack? Are you in some kind of trouble?” Then, seeming to realize her question might have sounded more accusatory than she intended, she immediately rephrased it. “I mean, are you experiencing any kind of trouble?”

For what I’m sure was only a matter of seconds, time seemed to suddenly stand still. I couldn’t yet bring myself to look at them directly. I knew the words I had been wanting to say were right on the tip of my tongue, but in that moment, it was impossible to say them. My lifelong fear of disappointing my mom and dad overwhelmed my entire thought process. I felt my eyes become glassy.

Again, Mom reached across the table and gently touched my hand. “Zack?”

Suddenly, images of Sergio lying in the hospital bed flooded my mind, and the memory of having been so close to losing him gave me sufficient courage to allow my mouth to start moving. “I need to tell you—” I lifted my chin to look both of them in the eye. I felt my determination finally gaining some momentum. “I need to tell you something that I’ve wanted to share with you for a long time.” My voice cracked ever so slightly. “I need to tell you that I’m gay.”

I couldn’t hold their eyes anymore, but now that I had begun I wanted to get as much out as possible. “I’ve probably known for as long as I can remember. For most of my life, it was a secret that almost crushed me. Until recent years, it was something I was so ashamed of, I couldn’t even accept myself. Then, as I slowly began to understand who I really was, I was terrified other people wouldn’t accept me.” I slowly brought my face back up. “But mostly, I was afraid that, as your son, I would be a disappointment to the two of you.”

The words hadn’t poured out of me quickly, but I had probably said all of them without taking a breath. When I finished, it felt like all the air in the room had been sucked out, and even with the adrenaline pounding through my veins, I felt exhausted.

Much to my surprise, Dad was the first one out of his chair, and he pulled me into a tight embrace. His words were choked with emotion. “Zack. You’re our son. We love you. We could never be ashamed of who you are. We have always been proud of who you are and always will be. If you’re gay, then we love our gay son. It’s that simple. The only thing that saddens me is that you for even a single moment ever doubted that.”

Mom was close to follow. She circled around the table, came over to my other side, and also threw her arms around me. Her tears flowed freely. “Your father is right, Zack. This is all so silly. You had us so worried. There’s no shame in being gay. We love you for who you are. Knowing you’re gay simply means we now know a little bit more about who our son is. I can’t tell you how sorry we are if you felt for even one minute that we did something to contribute to your struggle.”

It was no longer fear that imprisoned my voice—it was relief coupled with overwhelming emotion. Their unequivocal acceptance of me made me feel like my very soul had been liberated after a lifetime of being held captive. They had shown no hesitancy, and there had been no second-guessing, no plea for clarification. There was just acceptance.

Ironically, as I sat there with tears streaming down my face, I was struck with another emotion I’d never expected. Certainly I was relieved to finally feel truly proud of myself, but I was surprised to also feel so proud of my parents. Their acceptance of me proved to be unconditional, and I appreciated that in that moment, it contradicted all the social and religious indoctrination they had grown up with. They were the product of a generation that had zero tolerance for homosexuality. Accepting me meant making a conscious decision to choose their son over the traditional beliefs they had been raised with. My happiness soared.

When the intensity surrounding my proclamation began to ebb, we sat around the table and continued to talk. They had lots of questions about how my secret had impacted my life and wanted to know more details about who I really was. They were confused that I had dated girls in high school and I had seemed genuinely happy. In fact, they were saddened to learn how much energy I had expended in trying to give the impression of being normal.

After more than an hour of better clarifying the events of my life to them, my dad looked at me thoughtfully and said, “It sounds as if it’s time for us to hear a little more about this Sergio. He’s apparently someone who makes you happy.”

And just like that, the tears returned. I told them about how we had met, how our relationship had grown, how he had been attacked, and how his hospitalization had resulted in my coming out to the entire hospital.

They nodded encouragingly, asked more about who he was, grieved that he had been so seriously injured, and were saddened that they hadn’t been given the opportunity to support me through such a difficult ordeal.

By the conclusion of lunch, there had been a lot more hugging, and Mom and Dad had begun making plans to come down and visit the week after I finished residency. They were eager to meet Sergio, and Mom even insisted I call him that very minute so they could introduce themselves, even if only over the phone.

Three years later, here we stood. Leo was playing at our feet, and my mom and dad were in our guest room resting up before dinner. They had accepted Sergio as another son, and my dad frequently joked that Sergio would be getting a greater share of the inheritance than I would. My job was going well, and between the two of us, we had saved up enough money for a down payment on a home.

I leaned into Sergio with my back against his chest and felt him lock his arms around me. He kissed the back of my head and then let his chin drop to my shoulder.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?”

“I was just thinking,” I said.

“Yeah?” he said as he rubbed his bristly cheek against my neck. “About what?”

“About how lucky I am. Four years ago, part of me felt suffocated by my own life. Now here I am. Open, out, and proud. I used to feel that when I went to work in the morning and put on my white coat, I was locking myself into a closet. I don’t feel that way anymore. I’m happy. Happier than I ever thought possible.”

I pivoted in Sergio’s arms so I could return his embrace. “I love you, Sergio.” I kissed him warmly on the cheek. “Now let’s go eat!”

J
AKE
W
ELLS
was born a dreamer. He dreamed of distant lands, of trying to make a difference in people’s lives, of falling in love, of writing a book, and of all things chocolate. Imagine how fortunate he feels to have seen most of his dreams come true. He’s adventured through the far corners of the world, has a successful career practicing medicine, and shares his life with an amazing partner. Though eating chocolate continues to play a prominent role in his dreams, the icing on the cake has been writing about falling in love in a world where equality is only beginning to be embraced.

When he’s not playing doctor, Jake can usually be found traipsing local hiking trails with his dogs near his West Coast home, in the kitchen trying to replicate some sumptuous dish he saw on one of the cooking channels, or sipping a glass of fine red wine with his friends.

You can contact Jake at [email protected] or via Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/jake.wells.16568.

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