3. Come Clean

I woke up to the darkness of night. I got up and checked on Alison. Despite being a royal pain in the ass she was still my sister. She was asleep in her bed. My mother asleep in her own and my father passed out, in drunk land on the sofa. Five or six glass bottles lying about on the floor. The TV flickering in the dark, some late-night game show playing crappy music to egg the audience on. Cheer the contestant on. A collective “Yeah!” shouted when they won. I moved onto the kitchen and stared into the fridge. A quarter filled with more glass beer bottles or cans. By the middle of next week, they’d be gone and new ones would replace them. I scanned over the actual food and decided just to make myself a sandwich, hoping they wouldn’t notice two missing slices of bread and an extra dirty knife in the dishwasher.

When you’re young you are taught honesty is the best policy. Not in this house. Secrets were buried in the perfect shining white walls. In the perfect shining smiles of our family portraits. In the garden out back, laid our dog, Quincy. Alison thought he’d run away. But he’d died of old age when she was six and instead of telling her the truth they told her a lie. My sexuality and anxiety hid in the darkest corners and only crept out into the light when I passed out and ended up in the hospital or ran out of class. I felt dirty, like a liar, an accomplice in their charade. Keep the secret hidden or you’ll end up buried in the backyard like Quincy.

But all that secrecy weighed on you. Combined with my own weight, secrets, and issues, it was heavy. Ryan made it feel lighter. He made me feel like I could be honest, tell him anything. Bear the burden with him and not just be the burden.

I wandered from room to room in the peace of night. This was the only time the house was peaceful, when everyone was asleep and nobody knew I was up. It was always noisy otherwise. I went back to my room and sat in the dark, staring at the polished guitar. I decided to attempt to do my homework. I finished and I laid back in my bed.

I wondered what Ryan was doing now. Was he sleeping like I should have been? Or was he awake; thinking about me as I was about him? Wondering if I was okay in this house of nightmares? I had no cell with which to call him or for him to check up on me with, he’d asked if I wanted one, but again I didn’t want him to waste his money on me. That and I wouldn’t get his message unless I was at school, my parents must have found a way to place to modem so the Wi-Fi signal didn’t reach my room because nothing electronic ever worked there.

I thought about sneaking back to Ryan’s, where I was wanted, liked, comforted, warmed. But when I did come back it would just be the same thing. Yelling, headshots, bruises. Ryan would also see my shiner and ask what happened. And I didn’t know if I had the strength or energy to be straight with him. I just wanted to reside with him, have him hold me and not speak about what transpired in this house. My bruises, curses, transgressions, sins could be forgotten with him. I could be loved. I could be free of everything that possessed me.

I got up and grabbed my bag and guitar. I opened my door quietly and closed it behind me so they’d think I was still inside. I crept past the bedrooms and down the stairs, past the living room where my father was still sleeping with the flickering game TV show. I made it out the door and breathed in the cool night air. Freedom, clean air. I walked past my parents’ cars, down the street up another past the school down another to Ryan’s apartment building.

I didn’t want to ring the buzzer and wake him so I went around to the back and climbed the tree up to his balcony. I dropped my bag onto the balcony floor with a thump hoping I didn’t wake him. I placed a foot on the railing and jumped into the safety of it. I checked the door, it was unlocked. He was on the third floor, why would he lock it? he probably didn’t expect burglars to come climbing in three-story balconies. I slipped inside and placed my bag by the couch along with my guitar. I sat on the couch and rubbed my face. I laid down on the couch, my heartbeat slowing from the climb.

I breathed in the comforting silence and warmth of his apartment. My muscles relaxed into the curves of his couch and so did my mind drifting. I was safe, he liked me and he wouldn’t mind.

I could tell him why when I woke. I could tell him the truth about the shiner, be clean. Not have to lie or hide or be secretive. Not hang my head in shame and move on. I could be present with him. Maybe I could kiss him again. Feel his gentle, warm lips against mine and his gentle arms hold me. Feel appreciated for being myself and not for being somebody I’m not. When I wished to find somebody in the future before who understood, he was what I wanted. Someone I could come clean to and speak in front of and who would appreciate my honesty and cared about me. A place I could reside where I felt comfortable in my own skin. Where my name was said with love and not malice. Where I could sleep and not have to worry about whether there was a locked door between me and the other residents of the house to protect and keep me safe. Ryan was that person and he had that place. And I was lucky enough that he liked me.

Come Clean

I’ll come clean to you,

And tell you the truth.

Stop lying,

And hiding.

Let you see pass every little insecurity,

Let you learn every single little thing.

Cause I want you to know,

That I’ll come clean, come clean.

To you, as you did to me.

Change for the better even if it gets worse,

First.

I’ll come clean, come clean,

And tell you the truth.

Cause I can’t bear to deny,

And lie anymore.

Anymore.

When I look in the mirror,

I don’t see myself.

And I know, I need to, come clean, come clean,

And tell you the truth.

So, you can see me for who I am.