Chapter 1

“Glen? It’s me, Sarah, your sister. Listen, Mom’s in a bad way and really needs someone with her? Yesterday—are you listening to me—get this, she put a pan on the stove and then went for a walk, she didn’t even put anything in the pan or maybe it was water and it boiled off, but the smoke alarm was screaming, and the neighbor broke in and had to turn it off, and the guy on the other side had called the fire department and, at least, God be blessed, she found her way home, this time. Are you listening? Because Maureen and I can’t do anything, we both work and have kids to raise and you just don’t do anything…”

Shit. My sister; both of them? Neither of them? They’re both older than I am and make good money! Both their husbands work and they can’t spend some money on this issue? Why am I always the savior? But on the other hand, my mother…I loved my mom, and I could easily drop this waiter job and find another, maybe even a better one. Lord knows I had before.

“Glen? Are you coming or not? Because Maureen said Freddie will buy your ticket. Can you come next Tuesday? Because that’s the cheapest day to fly. We’re counting on you.” Here my precious sister started the waterworks and her voice, as she cried, went up a couple of octaves to where I could barely understand her. She was easier to understand in person, when she could just pull your ear or pinch your cheek and then pretend it was done affectionately.

I hated both my sisters. Her and Maureen. Though they had supposedly loved their brother, they had gone into my mother’s famous what will people think!mode when I had come out as gay at fourteen, so all three women in our house went nuts. My father felt so bad for me that he tried to be accepting, even though his heart wasn’t in it. The fact was, even then, fifteen years ago, he had begun to decline in health, and only lasted five more years.

As soon as he passed away, right at the funeral meal, I introduced my girlfriend. My sisters and mother all looked so fucking relieved, that it wasn’t very nice of me to say what I did, but I had planned it all these years. My revenge. “This is Janice, used to be John, but now he’s halfway through transition, aren’t you, dear?” (Little did I know what was to come.)

Maureen went into the bathroom. My mother had to sit down. Sarah narrowed her eyes and hissed at me. I slipped my friend Janice—who always had been John and still was—a twenty-dollar bill, and we pushed each other outside the house before our laughter gave it away. Yes, I know I’m an asshole, but that was funny.

Six months later, John said he had thought about the joke a lot and decided he’d come out himself. He was going to follow through on a lifelong feeling and transition into Janice, for real. Maybe I’d get to see her on this visit back home. At least there’d be one person who liked me. We had laughed a long time about this, but we were drunk at the time, and, after a while, it got rather touchy-feely, if you know what I mean. I thought I was really going to miss him, if indeed he had followed through with the transition.

My sister Sarah. She had a way with words—a bad way. Things came out sideways, and you assumed she didn’t mean things the way they sounded. Of course, she could really push my buttons; she’d installed half of them. She and Allen were currently not speaking to each other, which was a plus, although they continued to live in the same house, for the kids. They had three.

Mother. The last time I’d gone home, she’d said good to see you, Alex! I had no idea who Alex was, but she sure hadn’t known who I was. When I’d left after hugging her goodbye, she’d added, “You should come more often. My son never comes to see me.” It left me so hurt and confused that I never wanted to go through that again, but here I was. I knew I was going to go; I was leaving Tuesday, right? After all, whatever little job I had could be dumped, right? And I had no kids, right?

Sarah was right on some parts. After I’d graduated high school, no, after I’d come out and started skipping (I’d barely graduated at all), I’d started partying, all the time, anywhere and with anyone. I’d had one guy over for a sleepover; the next morning my father told me tactfully that maybe I should find a nice guy and move in with him—soon. I don’t know about the nice part, but I took his word for it and left. Found my first several jobs, worked two or three at a time, and drank and partied the rest of the time. Until about four years ago when I got pneumonia…yeah, that kind. Welcome to the poz side, kid. Even though I got on a good protocol as soon as I knew, I felt like my partying days were over; hell I felt like my whole life was over, but of course, one acknowledges, and moves on. It’s either that or the gun in the mouth, and I didn’t have a gun. Besides, I thought if I did kill myself, I’d either just mess it up and be crippled or drool for the rest of my life, or I’d scar my nieces and nephews, terribly, and I just couldn’t do that to them. I sent them presents and tried to be the greatest uncle on the planet but my sisters were always not best pleased with my choices and discussions. What’s wrong with drum sets, permanent markers, and huge boxes of Legos?

I did not want to change the way I showed my love to them. It felt like my sisters and brothers-in-law did not want what I had to give, in emotional love, in gifts, in however I showed it, and that left me depressed. I didn’t know what to do about it, and I knew that taking care of Mom for a while would probably not open their hearts to receive what I had in mine either, but it was, still, and perhaps more so, the right thing to do.