Chapter Seventeen
Later on that day there was family meeting, with our parents, me, Taylor and Isaac participating. We all have agreed I won't be questioned about anything, and I'll get my life back without them picking on it. They also apologized. Dad explained the younger ones the reason for my absence - he said I was going to visit a friend in some other city and stayed for a few days. I don't think Jessica was fooled by that.
I had an idea about a change of place - I went down the stairs to the basement and checked the place out. It was tolerant - I could make it a place I could live in. With some help, some time and some effort… And it was better anyway than continuing living with Taylor. I walked around the place, thinking about how I could make it to my own cave, when I thought that I didn't even ask my parents about my idea and whether they would give their permission.
They allowed me to make my idea alive; I suppose it has something to do with their consciousness, which has still suffered from guilt.
Chris dropped by the next day, when I was right in the middle of re-arranging. Dad, together with me, Taylor and Isaac got down the stairs my bed and the rest of my share of the furniture, and I was trying to make this place to look at least civil. I called Chris and asked him to come over, since I wanted to tell him about my coming home and didn't want to do it on the phone. He wasn't sure about it, since he was hesitating whether meeting my parents is the right step for him, so I told him to come at the time when they would be out for sure. Of course, they'll be back - but who cares?
"You have some serious job to do around here," he said, entering my new room. "So, what was yesterday? The 'I'm sorry my baby boy I love you I apologize I was a fool' scene?"
I stared at him with amazement. "How did you guess?"
"Second category parents. You'll learn to tell the differences between categories, too, if…" He didn't finish the sentence, but I knew what he meant - if I were gay. "Any terms for your staying?"
"Can't you guess?"
"There is a fifty-fifty chance for giving terms and for leaving the situation as it is."
"No, no terms. I guess I just need to behave myself, you know what I mean. So, any advises you can give me about this place?"
"Why did you decide to do it in the first place?" I shrugged. "Do you try to draw a line between yourself and the rest of the family by moving to a place which is not exactly close to them? Do you try to put a wall between you and them?"
"I don't know." I dropped the things I was trying to find a suitable place for and sat near him, knowing that in the next minutes, he's going to say some useful words.
"That is the way it looks. But," he added quickly, "there's nothing wrong with that, as long as you keep in close touch. It doesn't matter what you feel, you have to be with them and allow them to be a part of your life."
"I don't really know. I was sitting in my old room and I realized I couldn't live there any longer. So… This is the result."
"So what are you gonna do now with this basement? Decorate it so it would fit you better than your old room?" I nodded. "You know," he said quietly, "I can see the end of this place. You're gonna create a little cozy place here, maybe not really guyish, that you're going to spend most of your time at home in it; it's gonna be everything you want from the world." I didn't understand the meaning of the last words. But immediately, the explanation came. "Do you know what I mean? It's gonna be… Like the lyrics I hung up on my door. Mostly those are the purest reflection of the world I wish to see around me when I walk out the door - equality, love, friendship, tolerance, compassion… This is the way I create my own world, where I am as free as the cool morning breeze. I believe you're gonna create such a thing, too, your own little world, limited by the walls of this basement."
"What makes you think so?"
"It's a natural need of a person who had suffered, even if only once, briefly, from injustice, who is not satisfied with the world or himself. The need to create something beautiful, to cover up for the ugliness of the reality that surrounds him. A fairytale, a movie with a happy end - or, as I used to call it once, a sugar-coated reality."
"Sugar-coated reality?"
"Yes. As in a fantasy. When the reality is covered with pretty details and white lies to make it look better than it is, it's like cover it with sugar - looks good, tastes good. But the reality is still inside, and that is why if you got rid of your little efforts to sweeten the pill, you'll see it. To express myself rudely, it reminds me of a piece of shit wrapped in golden paper. Sugar-coated reality."
"But… Is it wrong if I create one like this to myself?"
"Not at all. It's a natural need of a human being to at least one corner in the world where everything is the way he wants it to be. That is why beautiful love stories were written, that is why there are songs about the deepest feelings played on radio, that is why painting are being painted. Books, music, painting, anything art, those are attempts to create a piece of sugar-coated reality. And people like me, who are nothing artistic, satisfy themselves with lyrics on the door."
It was just one of those things he, apparently, thought about before coming out of the closet. I loved that idea. Maybe he was right, and I escaped to this basement to create my own little heaven, where everything would look better than it is. I understood his point of view. I needed this sugar-coated reality now, when I knew how drastically my life has changed.
But maybe, I always had my life this way? I always had Enid; she was the sugar, she was the power, she was everything. I can't even seem to remember life before Enid, it looks like she has been there since I was conceived, always the way she is, in a flowerish dress with a smile on her lips and kindness in her heart.
Maybe I was trying to create a piece of my old life in this basement? Maybe; and the blue flower that lay lonely on the desk, brought from the back yard, was the proof.