Twenty Thousand Roads Chapter Six: Second Chance

Hades/Kavanagh Household

Present Day

Ricky

One night during college when Branna and I were baring souls over a bottle of cheap Trader Joe’s wine, she asked me how I knew I was gay.  I told her it was when I first saw “Batman and Robin” and was more into the idea of George Clooney and Chris O’Donnell in tight bodysuits than Alicia Silverstone.

I was being a bit sarcastic, but I think it’s something I’ve always known, even before I could put a label on it. Which, by the way, I hate doing, yet here I am.  I like boys, so does Branna. Her brother Sean likes girls. It is what it is.

Branna had just left on her first date with Ciaran.  I was working on my latest commission for Bridgeport City Hall, congratulating myself on the fact that I had convinced Branna to put on a damn dress for a change. That boy looked like he’d been absolutely sucker punched when she appeared in the doorway.

I had a good feeling about Ciaran.  I’d been dealing with Branna’s temper for the past decade, and it usually took a combination of both Sean and I being extremely authoritative to calm her down. This guy just came in, grabbed her up, and had her calm within minutes.  Part of the reason why I’d invited them both over after the bar was for her benefit.

No thanks necessary. It’s what I do.

Finn seemed like a cool guy too, and I liked that he was pretty well versed in art and music and had read my column.  I knew he was straight right away so the thought of flirting with him had never even crossed my mind.  But I’m always open to having new friends.  In the art world, you don’t really have “friends.” You have patrons if you’re lucky, and sycophants if you become a big name.  But not real friends.  They love you if you’re on top but if you hit a dry spell no one is returning your calls.

But art satisfied something in me regardless; that need to create, to take something in its most basic form and shape and mold it into something amazing and new.  Art and music had been my respites, my solace since I was young...

Nine Years Ago

We had just moved to Bridgeport from Sunset Valley. My dad was offered a job as Vice President of Bridgeport Savings and Trust, so there was never any question we’d move, my father always making certain we all knew his career took precedence before anything else.

He wasn’t home a lot, and when he was he was usually on his phone, talking about this or that deal, whether this or that person was going to default on a loan, or that the new batch of tellers were complete and utter incompetents.   Frankly, I was happy that he stayed on the phone because it meant he wasn’t lambasting me for not fitting his perfect son ideal.

Mom was a writer, mostly fluff pieces for women’s magazines. You know the ones:
“Seduce your man tonight! Have fifteen orgasms in a row!” articles that probably only served to make women feel sexually inadequate.  I think she aspired to more, but that would have meant pounding the pavement a lot to get her name out and Dad didn’t want her doing that.  He was never mean to her, but there was that unspoken knowledge that she had her place and rocking the boat would be ill-advised.

I insisted on going to the public high school, something that displeased my dad, but after researching their test scores and graduation rate, he grudgingly let me go there. I mostly wanted to go for their strong arts program, but I didn’t tell him that.

I met Branna Kavanagh when they were casting the school production of “Les Miserables.” I had already been cast as Marius, which made me laugh inwardly because his character’s whole essence was being lovesick over a woman, but whatever.  As long as there was no tongue kissing I’d survive.

She bounced on the stage dressed like a cross between a goth girl and a biker chick and belted out Dusty Springfield’s “You Don’t Have To Say You Love Me” and pretty much knocked any other competition on its ass.  When she was officially cast as Eponine, she looked at me and said “Guess we’ll be working together a lot” and socked me on the arm. She hit like a guy. Still does, actually.

We were pretty much inseparable from that day on.  

If I wasn’t at Branna’s house, I was in my room, either playing my piano or painting if my father told me to cut out the damn racket.  I usually didn’t come out much, except maybe to eat or shower.  Why would I? All I’d get is another lecture about buckling down so I could get into a school with a good MBA program to provide for my future wife and kids and two golden retrievers.

I didn’t bother telling him the wife part was never going to happen.

My eyes are open wide
And by the way, I made it
Through the day
I watched the world outside 
By the way, I'm leaving out
Today 

My sister Tasha could usually get me out of my room. A tiny sprite with my coloring, she seemed pretty much unfazed by anyone’s expectations of her and did pretty much what she wanted, when she wanted. For whatever reason my parents found this adorable and indulged most of her whims.

I would have resented the hell out of it too, if she hadn’t been such a sweet kid, trying to get me to play games or show her how to paint. It was nice to be appreciated by someone in my own family. I usually had to go to Branna’s family to be validated for anything.

I don’t know why this didn’t make me suicidal or otherwise self-destructive, like it did for so many gay teens.  Well, actually that’s a lie. I know what got me through.

Branna and her grandmother, Mary O’Hagan.

Branna knew from day one I was gay and didn’t really care.  She kept clueless females at bay, threatened any bullies with swift and blinding violence, and listened to me bitch about my father and pine over crushes I had that would remain one-sided.  We also sang karaoke duets until the wee hours, driving much of her family nuts.

 

Mary talked to me about art and music and writing for hours. She talked about her childhood in Galway, her marriage to Branna’s grandfather, people and places that inspired her writing. She wasn’t sick then, but had occasional memory lapses and spells of absentmindedness that she laughingly attributed to aging.

So, bolstered by their support I thought I would just grin and bear it for the remainder of my high school years until the day my father barged into my bedroom and unceremoniously dumped a stack of Ivy League college applications and an SAT study guide on my bed.  “Get off that goddamned piano and get to work on your future.” he declared as he left the room, immensely proud of himself. 

I just saw Halley's Comet
She waved
Said, "Why you always runnin' in place?"
Even the man in the
Moon disappeared
Somewhere in the stratosphere 

 

I really don’t know what came over me, but the next thing I knew I had gathered the entire pile and stormed out into the living room, where I dumped them at his feet. “I’m sick of you trying to run my life!” I’d yelled at him. “I don’t want to be an accountant, or a businessman, or a fucking lawyer! I want to study art and music and I don’t give a shit about how it will look to your image.”

He sneered back as my mother sat on a chair and buried her face in her hands, saying nothing.

“So, you think you’re going to support a wife and kids with a career as a starving artist? Get your head out of the clouds!”

“Are you really that clueless, Dad? There isn’t going to be a wife and kids because I’M GAY! I don’t like girls, I never have and I never will! Get over this idea that I’m going to become a carbon copy of you! I’d rather live on the streets than ever be like you!”

Another smirk. “So why don’t you do that, then? You seem to think a bohemian artists life is so noble, why don’t you go live on the street and see how much you like it then?” My mother jumped out of her chair then and ran to my father’s side, grabbing his arm. “Martin, NO! He’s only sixteen!”

My father shook her off. “No, Ellen, you’re not going to baby him! He thinks he has it all figured out, let him fend for himself and see what it’s like! He’ll be back in a day. If this is what it takes for him to fall in line, then so be it!”  My mother started to cry then; I think she knew that I would never be coming home, even if my father was so smugly sure I’d be back in 24 hours.

 

“Now, pack your things and get out. And don’t expect a penny from me. You think you’re an adult, act like it.” He folded his arms arrogantly and looked down his nose. “And as for the...other...thing, it’s a phase, but even so, I won’t have it in my house, around your sister.” I hear a roaring in my ears that almost but not quite drowned out the sound of my mother’s sobs as I went to my room and threw some clothes and books into a bag. I looked around the room. The rest could be replaced eventually.

Tell my mother
Tell my father
I've done the best I can
To make them realize
This is my life
I hope they understand
I'm not angry, I'm just sayin'
Sometimes goodbye is a second chance... 

I was almost to the door when a little hand grabbed the back of my shirt. “Ricky, where are you going?” Tasha asked me imploringly, her eyes wide. Shit. I didn’t want to leave her but I didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. I could only hope my mother wouldn’t let my father bash me to her.  From the living room, I could hear my mother still sobbing and my father telling her it was all for the best. Punting his own son on the street was for the best.

“I have to leave for a while, Tash,” I told her, trying as hard as I could to not get choked up. “But I promise I’ll come see you when I can.”  A confused look came over her face as she looked towards the living room. “Why is Mommy crying?”



I closed my eyes. “She’s just...a little sad. But she’ll get better.” I bent down and hugged her close. “I have to go. You be a good girl, okay?”  She nodded sadly and went back into her bedroom.

Mentally gritting my teeth, I picked up the single duffel I’d packed and walked out the door without looking back. I ran and didn’t stop until I got to Branna’s doorstep.

Only then would I cry.

The Kavanaghs were kind enough to let me move in with them. We were only a year away to college, so it wouldn’t be a huge commitment to them. My mother started secretly sending me money out of her own allowance, because I knew as well as she did that Dad watched the finances like a hawk.  I had started applying for student loans and work/study programs when something utterly unreal happened.

My paternal grandmother died.

That in and of itself wasn’t a surprise. She had been ill for some time. The surprise came when the will was read and the majority of the Hades family’s wealth was left to Tasha and I. Tasha’s would be left in trust until she came of age, but mine would be available to me when I turned 18. I no longer had to worry about how to pay for college, or how to build a comfortable life after it.



Branna, Sean and I went to the same school, a couple hours away from Bridgeport. It had a great arts program for Branna and I, but also had a really strong engineering department, which is what Sean was interested in.   The three of us shared a run-down but cozy little house off campus where I could splash the walls with paint and Branna and I could play music until 3am if we wanted to. We got Sean to take up the bass and Under the Radar was born not long after.

College was where I finally got validation for my artwork outside of Branna, her family, and my high school art teacher.  People admired my work. They asked me about my technique, and I became a teacher’s assistant my second year, which was a rare occurrence. 

The school also had an active LGBT community, and I met people who had shared a lot of my own struggles. I dated a lot too, but never really had anything serious. I was just happy to finally have the freedom to be able to play the field without any judgement.

I spoke to Tasha frequently and had an email relationship with my mother. I hadn't spoken to my father since the night I left their home for good, and didn't plan on ever trying.  He was livid when he found out Tasha and I got the bulk of his parents' estate. My mother finally grew a set and told him she'd divorce him if he dared contest their will.

I still had my moments of self-doubt, of feeling rejected by the people who should have loved and supported me unconditionally.  But the life I started to lead and the people I surrounded myself with helped push some of the hurt away.  

After graduation, I taught art classes at Bridgeport Community College until my own career started to take off.  A couple of years later, some pieces I had written for a couple of independent papers caught the eye of the Bridgeport Times and they offered me a bi-weekly column in their Arts section. It was all coming together. I had proven my father wrong.

The only thing missing was a real relationship.

Present Day

Dwelling on the past has frozen my muse out. I was having a weird mix of feelings. I was thrilled beyond belief that Branna had met someone who she could actually get enthusiastic about. It was early on, but it looked promising.  But at the same time, there was this part of me that was a little jealous, that wanted the same for myself.  It seemed now that I was done playing the field, no one else seemed to be.  The last thing I wanted was to be consigned to being the gay third wheel on Branna and Ciaran’s dates. 

 

I flopped down on the sofa and rested my elbows on my knees. I hated these moments of self-pity, but they came from time to time and I learned I just had to ride them out.  But seriously, was it too much to ask to want an intelligent, compassionate, funny guy who was also sexy as hell, sexy being a relative term?

 

I didn't think so.

 

With a rueful chuckle to myself, I went into my bedroom to change clothes.

About an hour later I was sitting on the sofa watching tv when a key scraped in the lock.  The door opened and Branna entered. She smiled and winked at someone in the hall, I’m presuming Ciaran, before closing the door and leaning against it with a happy sigh.

“I take it things went well?” I asked her.

In response she came running over to the sofa where she assumed our usual tv watching position. She looked up at me, her eyes sparkling.

“Ricky, it was AMAZING! He was AMAZING!”

I squeezed her hand. “Tell me all about it!”

At least my Flaky was making some progress... 

I'm not angry, I'm just sayin'

Sometimes goodbye

Is a second chance...

Song: "Second Chance" by Shinedown