After the Bite (11 page)

Acceptance

Why am I thinking that this meeting with him is going to go smoothly? I have no idea. I just know that today ha
s already begun horribly, and I’m trying to keep my spirits up. Not too high though; you lift your spirits too high and they’re likely to get cut down like grass. You hear that loud rumble and you’d better get ready. That mower will always come, like clockwork.

Paul ha
s been an interest of mine for quite a while now, and I think he’s always felt similarly about me as well. I hope so, at least. He’s certainly put out those signals, but I’ve always been afraid. There are those who are so hateful toward people like us. It’s ridiculous, I know, but who wants to admit something to the world when you’ll just be hated by most of those around you? For God’s sake, people have been beaten, even to death, for something we’re born as.

We
’ve been secretly dating for a little while now, and he’s been pushing me to tell my father. He really cares about me, but if only he knew my father better. See, my mother was the more understanding one out of the two of them. God bless her soul. I lost her when I was seven. My dad has always tried to be there, but we haven’t always seen eye-to-eye.

Today is the day to do this. I
’ve got to. For me. For Paul, for my father. He may be the biggest reason I am doing this. He should have some idea of what I’m going to tell him, if he has any brains at all. He just won’t like to hear the truth come out of my mouth. The truth hurts, I’ve found, but it’s a necessary evil. Lies are just accessories to a great fall. You build a base when you tell one person, and then you pile more on top of it. This tower of lies will eventually get so tall, it’ll become unstable, and, well, it’ll collapse. The truth will set you free. It’s worth it in the end. After all, he is my father, and he does love me. I just hope his love is strong enough for this.

I
’m on the phone with Paul; I just finished with my father about tonight’s plans. Paul’s voice is soothing to me, especially when I’m having a bad day. Today is my only day off work, and I’m sitting in the living room of our two-bedroom apartment. We had gotten a two bedroom place so that my father wouldn’t suspect anything. After tonight, he will know the truth. I hear someone’s voice interrupt our conversation. It’s his boss. He’s just praising Paul for good work on the website he recently finished.

“I
’m glad you’re finally doing it, Kevin,” Paul says. “He needs to know.”

“You
’re right. You’ve always been right; I just hope he doesn’t absolutely freak out, you know?” I hold the phone with a shaky hand, and look down at my lap for a moment.

“If he does, then that
’s his problem. He really will just have to accept it. If he won’t, then…” Paul trails off, and I hear him sigh.

“I love my father, but right now I wish I had yours. He was so accepting of you when you came out
.”

“Yes, for the public eye, but he still hasn
’t come completely to terms with it, Kev. And I couldn’t come all the way out. I’ve had to keep my foot in the door for your father.”

“That
’s right, and I’m sorry for that, Paulie. We’ll tell him at dinner. Tonight is zero hour.” I take a swig from a water bottle on the coffee table.

“That
’s for sure,” Paul says after a few moments.

“Well, we
’ll just meet you at Applebee’s then?”

“Sure thing! Enjoy the rest of your day off, Kev!” I smile and nod, even though I know he can
’t see.

“See you, love you.”

“Love you too,” Paul says.

I
start getting ready sometime before six. There’s a shirt on the bed that I’ve picked out. It’s a green and white plaid, and it looks very sexy on me. Paul always thought so. He said that the dark greens in it made my eyes pop. I put it on and look in the mirror. I appear to be like any other 25-year-old guy. No one would know by just looking at me that I’m gay. But tonight, my father will finally know the truth.

“I am proud of who I am
,” I say out loud in the strongest tone I can muster. “Nothing and no one can change that.” Still, I’m uncontrollably nervous. My father had always told me, “Even if you’re nervous, pretend you’re not. People can smell fear, and will use it against you. Stand tall, back erect, and be confident. It will take you places.”

I truly believe in this, but even so, I find it hard to live by it in this moment.

I jolt when I hear the doorbell ring. I try to relax and conduct a quick inspection of myself, and then make eye contact with my reflection. I smile, take a deep breath, turn the light out, and leave the bathroom to let my father in.

“Son! How
’s it going?” my dad asks. He puts his right arm behind me and pats my back hard. I smile a bit nervously.

“Good
. Great, actually. How are you, Dad?”

“Never been better. You ready to go?”

“Yes I am,” I reply.

“Your car, or mine?” Dad asks.

“Mine is pretty low on gas. Do you mind if we take yours?”

“No problem.” He smiles, and we
’re off.

I sit quietly for the first five minutes or so, looking toward my father every now and again. I feel like a stranger, which is very uncomfortable
, but there’s no stopping that undeniable feeling.

“You doing okay, Son?” He looks over at me,
he seems a little worried.

“Yeah, yeah, I
’m fine, Dad.”

“It
’s just that you look a tad pale. You feeling okay?”

“I
’m fine, Dad. Healthy as a horse.”

“Good.” The awkward conversation ends here, but the awkwardness still lingers in the air. I sit here, trying to form what I want to say. What I am going to say to my father, and how I am going to say it
? I have to be very delicate about it, as it is a delicate subject.

It looks to be a semi-slow night at Applebee
’s. It’s only twenty after six after all, but still. I am pleased though. As we approach the doors, Paul comes out to greet us. We do our “cover greeting,” something similar to what my father had done with me earlier, and we both turn to my father, smiling. We walk a good distance apart when we go back inside. The hostess has us seated soon after entering. It’s a comfortable booth in the smoking section. I’m dying for a smoke. My nerves need it terribly. My father smokes occasionally, but he doesn’t seem to want to tonight.

Paul grasps my hand
under the table and squeezes it gently, letting out a little sigh. I squeeze back and when he lets go, I grab my pack of Marlboro Lights. There’s a huge weight off my shoulders when I take that first drag. I still want to wait until after we’ve ordered appetizers to break the news. My father wants the seven layer nachos, so we order that and wait patiently for it to arrive.

“Paul, how
’s work going?” my father says.

“It
’s going pretty well,” Paul replies. “Thanks for asking. Finished the website for the cleaning company. Made some good money today.”

“Great! That
’s a good feeling!”

“Sure is,” Paul says. He looks at me for a moment, smiles
, and then looks back at my father. I look toward him as well. I can’t help but feel a little guilty about this. It’s as if we’re ganging up on my father, who is a good man, about to rip his heart out with the news. I try pushing those feelings of guilt out of the way. Our nachos arrive, and we begin to eat them. Paul nudges my arm. I clear my throat and look at my father as he swirls one of the largest chips around in the beans and olives.

“I-I have something important I need to tell you,” I say. “I mean,
we
have something to tell you.” I look into the nachos, and reach for one as I collect my thoughts.

“Kevin, what is it?”

“It’s hard for me to say this…” I look down, and my eyes burn because of a few tears. Paul nudges me again, but there’s a smile on his face.

“What
’s wrong, Kevin? Is this about your doctor’s visit? Please tell me you’re all right.”

“No, no. I
’m fine. Like I said, Dad. Healthy as a horse, it’s just that…”

“Then what is it?”

“I’m…” I look at Paul. He’s slumped over a bit, and very quiet. He must be feeling a little ashamed, and who could blame him? I feel the same way, but I shouldn’t. It should not be this difficult. I should have already told my father about this.

I put my hand on Paul
’s shoulder and push him back a little. He sort of flops backward, his head moves back. It’s almost like he he’s in some drunken trance.

“Paul? Paul, what
’s wrong?” I feel my heart speed up. He’s been fine all this time, and all day, so what’s going on?

“What
’s wrong with him?” my father asks. Then Paul’s eyes close, and he leans forward. My heart stops as I hold on to him. He’s completely unresponsive.

“Paul! Paul, what the—Call 911!” I find myself shouting to my father. He quickly does so, as I cling close to Paul.

People nearby are staring, and then I hear a scream from the non-smoking section and turn to look. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Paul blink, and he turns his head to me. A small smile spreads across my face, and then I look at my father, who has just begun to speak to someone.

“What happened?” he
says.

“It
’s okay, Paul’s fine.” I see Paul jerk toward me. He clamps his jaws down on my arm. I scream, fighting against him. While this is going on, a woman runs frantically from her husband. She trips on the step into the smoking section and falls to the ground with a thud. The man begins to devour her. This is just fifteen feet away from me. I grunt and pull away from Paul, and my father is now up. He grabs hold of Paul’s torso and pulls very hard.

I feel Paul
’s teeth release, leaving a decent-sized gash on my forearm. It bleeds slowly. I sit here, frozen, crying. I wonder what has happened. I feel helpless. My father takes a plate from a nearby table and bashes it against Paul’s head. This stuns Paul, and my father looks to me. I’m still in shock, but that seems to bring me out of it. I look to my father.

“Let
’s get the hell out of here!” He rushes to me, grabbing a pile of napkins, and we dash out of the restaurant. He gives me the napkins and I use them to staunch the blood. It’s not a busy night, so there isn’t much congestion, thankfully. I run as quickly as I can, holding the napkin on my arm as tightly as I can. It’s not bleeding very bad, but I feel safer clamping down on the bite. When we get in the car, we lock the doors and remain quiet. My father leans over to look at the wound.

“Let me see it, Kevin,” he says. His eyes are filled with fear. I lift up the bloodied napkin and reveal the torn flesh and exposed muscle. I
’m losing blood at about the same rate as before. It’s not a terrible wound, but I feel a little uneasy. I never really liked blood.

“We should probably get to the hospital
.” I feel a little funny as I sit here, focused on the pain. Not the pain from the wound, but what had overcome Paul. What the fuck is this? He wasn’t the only one, either. People are still fleeing through the restaurant’s doors.

“Let
’s flip on the news and figure out what’s going on.” My father turns on the car and pulls out of the parking lot. The default station is normally an alternative station, but there’s no music playing. Instead the DJ is speaking.

“Make sure you have plenty of food and water,
wherever you decide to take refuge… what?” The DJ’s voice sounds far away now, but I can still make out what he is saying. “Are you okay, Andy? Andy?” There’s a crashing sound, and another voice screams. “Fuck! Shit, people! Listen now! Don’t let these fuckers bite you! You get bitten, you become one of them! Avoid them at all costs!” The microphone sounds as if it’s knocked out of its stand, and then there’s silence, and my blood runs cold. I look at my father, and am surprised to see him looking at me too.

“Look out!” I scream when I catch a glimpse of another car about to collide with us.
My father swerves and takes out a mailbox. There are a few letters in it that scatter. Splintered wood and the twisted box scatter across the windshield and then fall to the cement.

“That was close
,” I hear my father mutter.

“We need to talk
,” I mumble, not even loud enough for him to hear. We pull up into the driveway of his house, and he helps me as we rush inside.

I sit in the kitchen on one of the wooden stools at the island.
I’m slouching, my arms splayed out on the counter. My father sits across from me. He looks into my eyes, worried. He wants to say something, I can tell, but he asks something instead.

“What was it you were going to tell me before?”

“It’s really important, but I don’t know how to say it.”

“What is it? Whatever it is, just tell me. I
’ll deal with it.”

“Dad?” I say quietly. I feel a wave of sadness mixed with fear, and this strange feeling that has been strengthening in me since Paul
bit me.