The moment the queer kid runs away from their unaccepting family is always portrayed as a big adrenaline fuelled escape, a screaming match, a hastily packed bag. Because it's only when your throat is raw and your face is wet and your parents yell and condemn that it's deserved, right? But what if it's just another day? You and your mother are having a conversation you've already had before, and you don't know why you think you can convince her. Nothing has changed between yesterday and today. She didn't listen in the hospital as a nurse wiped blood from your face and you coughed up sticky black, but now as you walk with her, twigs and bark cracking underfoot, you try again. The crowd of never-missed-a-Sunday churchgoers move around you as they comb dry bushland for the boy they faithfully watched seize on the floor. Sulphur-crested cockatoos screech above twisted eucalyptus trees. The sky is dusky-brown, polluted with lingering smoke. You talk to her, voice shaking but true, because this time, this time she'll meet your eyes and understanding will smooth the pinch in her brow. She'll pull you into a hug and say that she believes you and she loves you and she's sorry. You wait. But someone announces they're moving on—no sign of him here—and all she does is smile. She doesn't yell, but you almost wish she would. She's never hurt you with her own hands, but you almost wish she would. We need fear Naim, she tells you, fear is how we survive. And you get in the car because you always get in the car, the day it took you away from the house your father died in and every Sunday morning since.
But then your mother pulls into the station to fill the tank, and when she walks out to pay, you open the passenger door and climb out with the banality of a dead leaf tearing free from its branch. You have nothing but the clothes on your back and a lighter in your pocket, but you head to the bus stop with no detours. You're in the wind now, and a dead leaf can't reattach to its tree. Bus brakes screech and hiss. The boy you thought they would find bloody and cold in the never-ending dry grass is standing there. He sees you. Relief is not a big enough word. He's the first you ever shared this feeling with, the feeling you've been scared of since you were too young to even know what it was. And when you see him standing at the bus stop you think he might also be your last. He has his roots in you, this boy, he follows you into your dreams and is your waking nightmare. You reached for the demon that wore his face believing it might be your final act, and even now, when you still can't be sure it's really him, your throat still bruised and cuts still healing, you cross the road.
There is no dramatic kiss, once he confirms it's you, no loud proclamation of love for everyone to overhear. The two of you are quiet, when you step onto the bus and find a seat. As the bus begins its journey, you see his mirror image outside on the grass watching you leave. But when you turn to your right, he's soundlessly resting, finally able to. The ending feels undeserved because it's not the ending. You smile, rest your head in the crook of his neck, and let the music play.
gracieabrams
vaporwave
stormborns
turnnoffyourmind
