Dad, Emma Bell was Years Ago Part 2

The hay was old and musty, but far too familiar to smell bad. Half of my childhood was spent in this barn, playing in the bales of hay. It was certainly rotting beneath us, but Finn and I couldn't bring ourselves to care. The loft was our sanctuary as Finn's grandfather was getting too arthritic to climb up anymore. We could do anything up here and no one would be the wiser.

Finn's hand was clasped in mine, our arms stretched between us. "I love this," he said to the air. I grunted in agreement, shifting in the hay. While the air outside was cooling into a brisk September, the atmosphere in the loft was burning up. I rolled over his arm to lay on his chest. Quickly, he snatched it out from under me. "Ow! Be more careful."

I hummed tunelessly, listening to his heartbeat. "Sorry."

"I'm sure," he said fondly, running his cool hands through my sweaty hair. "You're disgusting. All wet, and you smell gross too."

"And who made me like that?" I countered, patting his face blindly. He chuckled, and I could feel the rumble in his chest. I slapped him on the side. "You're proud of it."

He nosed into my hair and took a deep breath. "You know it."

We stayed like that for a while; I must have dozed off, but the vibrations of Finn's voice from his chest brought me back. "I don't want to go back to school tomorrow."

I didn't either. "It's only the beginning of the year. It's going to get worse, so don't complain now."

Flicking my ear, he said, "I'll complain whenever I want to."

"Whatever you want," I mumbled, already drifting back to sleep.

"Boys?" Keith's familiar gravelly voice pulled me from my peaceful lull. "You up in the loft? I need you to come down and help me with something."

Like Lazarus from the dead, I sat up, Finn following with a groan. "Sometimes, I think you might be older than your grandpa." He ignored me, stretching to crack his back. "My point exactly," I chuckled, climbing down the ladder. His gray eyes began to focus just as they disappeared from view.

It seemed like that happened every day. Ours was a romance of interruptions.

We stole moments whenever and wherever we could. I wouldn't be able to count the amount of times we had nearly been caught-- in my bedroom, his bedroom, the bathroom, the school's bathroom. The list was endless, and so, it seemed, were the ways we were interrupted. Looking back, it made sense. We did not choose the best of times of be together, and as horny teenagers, that was all the time.

Our ears were always on alert for footsteps or voices. Rarely could we lose ourselves in the miracle of our solitude, for the fear of being discovered always lurked in the back of our minds. It seemed that we, together, were a teapot, boiling, and when it would ultimately get too hot, the whistle would sound and everyone would know. Dangerous and exhilarating, but also harrowing and stressful.

Adding to the stress was constantly going back to church. I always felt like the eyes of the congregation were boring into me, making holes that allowed them to see into my sinful soul. Every Sunday, we went back and I turned into a scaffolding of bones as my flesh was peeled away layer by layer. The gaze of God burned into me, and while I could escape it anywhere else, here I was trapped.

Sitting on that hard, wooden pew, I felt as if my body could no longer contain me. The secret had gotten too big for me to hold inside, and it was going to bubble out far too soon. I wasn't ready, but as I felt it clawing out of my throat, I know that it was only a matter of time. Ready or not, here it came.

"The other day, one of my close friends told me that his son told him he was a homosexual." Instantly, my stomach dropped, and my eyes slid to Finn without my control. "And that got me thinking, there's been a lot going on lately with these homosexuals crawling outta the woodwork. God is not happy. We should love our-"

Finn had gotten up and was sliding out of the pew, creeping to the back of the sanctuary. I tapped my dad's arm. "I need to go to the bathroom." He nodded and I edged my way out of the pew, tiptoeing to the bathroom. Pushing the door open, I whispered, "Finn?"

From inside one of the stalls, I got a reply. "Ethan? Is that you?"

"Yeah. Can you come out?" Finn gave an abortive snort. "That's not what I meant."

"And yet it's strangely appropriate," he said. I could hear a slight waver in his voice, indicating that this bravado was a put-on.

"Come on," I said. The stall door creaked open, and he shuffled out. Both of us stood there, eyes locked.

"We shouldn't have this conversation here. Anyone could come in," Finn said.

I pulled the door open. "I have a place. But we need to be quiet so no one notices us going there."

"Okay," he murmured.

Slipping out of the bathroom, we crept along the wall, trying to make as little noise as possible despite the creaky floorboards underneath the worn down red carpet. My hand found the handle of the door I wanted, and I twisted it, easing it open. I led Finn inside and shut the door. I heard a click and the light flickered on, a slight buzz accompanying it.

I overturned an abandoned bucket and sat. Finn perched upon a stepladder he had found and unfolded. "I can't do this anymore. Not us-- I love this." I love you rang in my ears. "I feel like everyone can see right through us. I just want my grandpa to know. I can't keep hiding this."

The light buzzed, filling the silence.

"You know what he's saying in there." The sentence hung in the air.

I could see Finn's every pore. His throat moved as he swallowed and let out a ragged breath. "I hate this. It's all so stupid. Why does anyone care? Why does God care?"

I shrugged. "I don't know." Again, it hung.

"It doesn't feel like we're doing anything wrong," he said. He was raw, tremors shaking his voice. The harsh incandescent light bulb highlighted how glassy his eyes were, welling up with tears.

"No. We aren't." This time, I was certain.

"How can you know?" he asked.

"I just do." I paused, but the light didn't seem to be buzzing as loudly as before. "But just because we know we're not doing anything wrong doesn't mean that anyone else can know. They don't understand. I don't want to risk it."

I stood up. Finn copied me. He crossed the distance, wrapping his arms around me, and we rocked back and forth. My jaw was smashed into his shoulder, but I didn't care. Comfort was more important. "We can't tell anyone," I said into his shoulder. "Not yet."

I could feel him nod against my head, and a tear fell into my hair. When we broke apart, I couldn't see any evidence of tears. Good.

"I'll go back first. You follow in 5 minutes or so."

I waited exactly five minutes. Sitting down in the pew, my dad quietly chided me for being gone for so long. "I had to go," I whispered.

He shushed me, and I tried to find a way to occupy myself so I wouldn't have to listen to the preacher's sermon. With every 'amen' echoing from the congregation, I broke a little more inside.

#

The next week was agonizing. We quietly found ways to be together, but those times held a weight they didn't have before. As if our days were numbered. With every passing hour, my load gained weight until I felt unable to even move.

Finn was laying on my chest in the hayloft, a cool breeze drifted through the broken window, fanning us. Dirty glass filtered the light of the setting sun into the barn. "I think we should tell my dad and everyone." He shot up. "Well, not everyone," I stammered, "but you know. Your grandpa and my dad and grandma."

"You really- You'd-"

I cut him off. "You were right. I can't do this anymore. I don't care what they say. I can go live with my mom if I have to, so can you."

"You're oversimplifying things," he said.

"We're not doing this now," I said. "Not when this was your idea to begin with."

He huffed out a laugh. "It's easy when it's just an idea."

I hummed, pecking him on the lips. "Just think. We'll be able to do this in front of them by tomorrow night."

"May-"

"Don't finish that," I warned. "We're not going to over think things now."

He smiled warmly, letting himself fall back into the loose hay. "Wait. Tomorrow?"

"Yeah," I said. "I was thinking Sunday dinner?"

"Isn't it a little soon? Shouldn't we give ourselves more time to think about it? What are we going say?"

"There's no point in waiting. We should just get it over with. I, for one, can't wait anymore. This is just too... heavy. I can't hold us up anymore."

Finn chuckled without humor. "What a big, strong man I've netted myself."

"Oh yes. So strong and big."

"Big and strong," he corrected.

"Forgive me," I mocked.

Ordinarily things would have heated up a bit, but we were too distracted by the threat of tomorrow. The anticipation and dread hung over us like a storm cloud though we attempted levity.

"Tomorrow," I muttered.

And then it was. Plates and silverware clinked as everyone scraped up the last of their food. Everything was quiet; the conversation had lulled. I glanced over at Finn, nudging his knee with my own. My stomach churned unhappily.

"Finn and I are together."

Three pairs of eyes turned to look at me. I could see the thoughts mixing around in their heads, each one fighting to be voiced.

My dad was the first to speak. “Together how?”

I worried my lip between my teeth, struggling to word my thoughts. Finn took my silence as his turn to speak. “Romantically,” he said. It came out almost like a question, as if he was asking if it was an acceptable answer to them.

Silence hung over our heads like the blade of a guillotine. “So you’re… homosexuals?” my dad asked.

“Yes.” This time, it was my words that came out as a question. My voice cracked, and Finn and I broke into nervous giggles.

Finally, someone else spoke. “That’s wrong,” my grandma said flatly. “God meant for man and woman to be together.”

I glanced at the one person who hadn’t yet spoke. Keith looked down at the table, and all I could see was his iron gray hair shot through with white.

“I don’t know what God says,” I began. Everyone’s eyes were on me. “But I know that I care about Finn. A lot. And I think I might love him.” I turned to Finn and smiled. He chuckled, remembering confessions in the back of his grandpa’s pickup truck.

“Is this my fault?” my dad muttered. It definitely wasn’t meant for my ears, but I heard it anyway.

“No!” I shouted. “No. This isn’t anyone’s fault. No one’s. It’s not bad or wrong, and it’s not some failing on anyone’s part. It’s just the way I am— the way we are.”

“We’re not asking you to understand,” Finn said. “We just want you to love us the way we are.”

“But, what about Emma Bell, Ethan?” Keith finally said.

I barked out a laugh. “That was years ago! And we all know how long that lasted.”

“But still,” my grandma said. “This can’t be what God wants.”

“You can believe what you want,” Finn said firmly, “but I can’t imagine God is against love.”

“We just want you to love us the same as you always have. This doesn’t have to change anything.”

My grandma stood up. The sound her chair made as she pushed it back was an ugly sound. “I need to think,” she announced.

Once again, the table was silent. This time, Keith was the first to speak. “I don’t understand it, but I don’t think I need to. I love you, Finn. You’re my grandson, and whoever you care about is never going to change that. You’re a good kid.”

My dad looked from Finn to me. “It might take her a bit to come around, Ethan, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love you. She just can’t understand right now.”

I nodded wordlessly, eyes starting to burn. “I love you, Dad.”

I couldn’t look at him, but I already knew what sort expression he wore across his face. “I love you too, Ethan.”