Unbecoming Darrell Matthews - 2. Chapter 2

Little by little, I managed to get well enough to be discharged from the hospital. Trent and my mom visited regularly, although my dad never did come back to see me. I asked my mom about it once, but all she’d say was, “He needs time to adjust, Darrell. Be patient.”

Trent and I became very close in that time. He’d show up every day after school like clockwork. Sometimes we’d talk about things – school, mostly, since he went to the same school I did – but other times he’d sit quietly doing his homework while I slept or watched TV. He never made any demands of me and I started looking forward to the time he was due to arrive. On weekends, he’d show up as soon as visiting hours started. In the morning he’d be by himself, but later on he’d show up with Mom right behind him.

If Trent left to use the bathroom or something, I’d ask her how Dad was doing. Her answers were usually the same: he was working, he was okay… he still needed time to adjust. One day about three weeks after the accident I suddenly blurted out, “How much goddamn time does he need? I’m his son, for god’s sake! Does he hate me now because I can’t play football anymore?”

My mother’s face colored slightly but she didn’t answer. A minute later Trent came back – from the cafeteria, that time – and she stood up. “I think I’ll be heading home now,” she said, not looking at me. “Trent, are you staying?”

Trent looked from her to me and then back again. “I can take the bus,” he said finally.

“All right.” She turned and looked at me. “Darrell…” she began. She didn’t finish, however, instead leaning down to kiss my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow, alright?”

“Okay.” Both Trent and I watched her leave. When the door closed, he turned to me.

“What was that all about?”

I shook my head. “Nothing,” I said. “Don’t worry about it.” He shrugged his shoulders, sat down in Mom’s chair and picked up his book.

On the day I went home Trent didn’t come – it was the middle of the afternoon and he was in class – but my mom came and helped me get dressed and ready to go. I had a pair of crutches to use and I’d been practicing with them, but the same nurse showed up right behind her, pushing a wheelchair. Hospital policy or something. After a couple of minutes getting myself arranged in the chair – I had a cast from my hip to my ankle and it had to be propped up – the three of us headed out. “Are you happy to be going home?” Judy asked me. Her voice was still bright and perky and more than once I got the impression she was hitting on me. I glanced at my mom and nodded. “Well,” she went on as we reached the front doors. “We’ll be seeing you in about six weeks to get that cast off. Don’t forget about me, you hear?”

“Thanks.” I levered myself up out of the chair, took the crutches from my mom and hobbled across the sidewalk to where her SUV stood waiting. I climbed into the back, lifting my leg so I could lie along the seat, and then waited until she’d shut the door before leaning against it.

The drive home was uneventful, thank god. More than once I had a moment of near-panic when my mom drove around a blind corner. By the time we finally got to the house, I was gasping for breath and drenched in sweat. She glanced at me once in the rearview mirror, but I blurted out “Keep your eyes on the road!” and she never did it again. It’s a good thing the trip didn’t take very long.

Trent was home by the time we got there, and he came running out of the house to help. Mom got my crutches from the back of the SUV while Trent helped me maneuver out of the backseat. I would’ve fallen on my ass if he hadn’t been standing there waiting. Once we were inside, he asked me if I wanted to shower off and I could’ve kissed him. Instead I said, “Yeah, thanks,” and he helped me do that, too.

**

I spent a couple of weeks lying around the house and sleeping a lot. That got old after a while, though, and I decided to find something else to occupy my time. A few of my football buddies stopped by to visit, but once they found out I wouldn’t be playing anymore, the conversation kind of died out. It only took about ten minutes after that for them to get to the ‘well I’d better run’ excuses. I didn’t mind them wanting to leave, really, except for once when Lucas Riley was over. Lucas was the guy who stepped into my shoes for the finals – the new quarterback for the Falcons, in other words. He’d done a good job, too. We beat them 41 to 27. We’d been about to say our goodbyes when my dad walked into the living room and said hello.

“Hello, Mr. Matthews.”

My dad didn’t even look at me. “Congratulations on winning the playoffs, son,” he went on, smiling at Lucas. “Good job.”

Lucas glanced at me with an uncomfortable expression on his face. “Uh… thank you, sir,” he replied. “We couldn’t have gotten there without-”

“I always wanted to play college ball myself, you know,” Dad interrupted him. “Your parents must be really proud.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Have you gotten any offers yet?”

Lucas scratched his ear. I knew that was a signal that he was becoming nervous. I sighed. “Lay off, Dad,” I said.

He didn’t answer me. Instead he stuck out his hand for Lucas to shake. “Well, it was nice meeting you, son,” he said. “I hope to be hearing lots about you in the future.” He turned on his heel and left the room.

I shook my head and struggled up off the couch. Lucas handed me my crutches from where they were propped up against an end table. “Well,” he said quietly. “That was…”

“Awkward,” I finished for him. I nodded my thanks and began making my way to the front door. “Sorry about that.”

Lucas glanced around to make sure we were alone. “Has he been like that since…?” He let the words trail off, but I knew what he meant.

I shrugged as best as I could with a pair of crutches in my armpits. “Pretty much since he found out I wouldn’t be playing anymore,” I answered. “It’s no big deal.”

“Wow,” Lucas whispered. “I can’t even imagine.”

Suddenly I felt depression weighing down on me. It had been happening more and more often lately. I knew I’d be getting bitchy any second. “Neither could I – before,” I replied. “Now it’s just status quo.” I reached for the doorknob. “Thanks for coming over, Luke.”

“Hey, no problem.” He looked at me for a moment. “I don’t suppose you get many people visiting you, huh?”

That was it. The black mood descended. “Who would want to hang out with a crippled has-been?” I spat bitterly. “I’m not big news anymore.”

Lucas blinked in surprise. “Darrell…”

I sighed again. “Just… go home, Lucas, okay? I need to go lie down.”

“Alright.” He was almost out the door when he turned. “I’ve got a few more weeks before I head out – would you mind if I came back?”

I looked into his brown eyes, wishing I could tell him how they made me feel. I’d always been attracted to Lucas with his wavy dark blond hair and expressive face. Yeah – that was my other big secret. I opened my mouth. I really wanted to say ‘Mind? I don’t want you to leave now!’ but what came out surprised even me. “I really don’t think that would be a good idea, Luke. Thanks for coming over.” I closed the door slowly, ignoring the hurt and confused look on his face.

Ever since I was about thirteen, I knew I was attracted to boys. For a while it bothered me, but I threw myself into my schoolwork and football, exhausting my mind and body to a point where I simply didn’t have the time or the energy to think about it. I figured once I’d made it big playing football, I’d tell my family I was gay and it wouldn’t matter so much. After all, I’d still be a star quarterback, right?

Without football, though, that plan sort of evaporated. If my father hated me now for not being able to play, I couldn’t even imagine his reaction when he finally found out I was ‘queer’ as well. I’d be afraid to go to sleep at night.

I looked toward the closed door of his office, sighed, and made my way up the stairs to my room. It wasn’t as hard as you’d think. Our house was split-level and there were only seven stairs from the main floor to the second. There were also seven stairs down to the lower level. It wasn’t really a basement but a finished area like the rest of the house with a family room, laundry room and weight room. My dad had had the weights put in when I was fifteen, saying it was for ‘the men of the house’, but I knew it was really for me. No one else really used it except for Trent, and he only did when Dad wasn’t around. I’d have to see a physiotherapist when the cast came off and ask when I could start working out again. Maybe I wouldn’t be playing ball anymore, but that didn’t mean I wanted to let myself go.

I finally reached my bedroom at the end of the hallway and lay down on the bed. Getting up and down those stairs was exhausting, but it wasn’t as though there was anywhere else more convenient for me to sleep. There were two bathrooms upstairs – one off my parents’ room and one between my room and Trent’s – and a shower room downstairs with a toilet in it, but there wasn’t one on the main floor. I’d just have to grit my teeth and bear it.

I was almost asleep when I heard a faint tapping at my door. I opened my eyes to find Trent standing in my doorway. “Oh,” he said softly. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“S’alright,” I mumbled, struggling to sit up. “What do you need?”

Trent smiled and stepped into my room. “I have a history assignment due on Monday and I was kind of hoping you’d give me a hand with it.”

We spent the next couple of hours going over his paper. Trent was now the only person besides me that knew what I really wanted to go to university for. I’d told him a few months back on one of those nights when it was just the two of us in my hospital room. He didn’t rib me about it like I thought he would. He’d actually seemed pretty excited about the idea. Ever since then, he always brought his history homework to me for help. I don’t think he really needed it, but I never refused him.

After Trent had put the finishing touches on his paper, he looked at me for a long while and then said, “So when are you going to tell Mom?”

“Tell her what?”

“That you want to be a teacher, dummy,” he laughed. “What did you think I meant, coming out of the closet?”

I just stared at him. After a few seconds Trent’s expression changed to one of alarm. I looked away – at the floor, the window… anywhere else. Had I been that obvious? I wracked my brain, trying to remember how I’d behaved when the guys had come over to visit. The only one I’d been interested in was Lucas, but Trent had been over at his girlfriend Michelle’s house all day.

The bed dipped slightly as Trent sat down beside me. “Hey, bro…” he began gently. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-”

I shook my head quickly and he stopped talking. I drew a shuddering breath and ran my hands over my face. Although I hadn’t admitted it, I hadn’t denied it either and that was as good as a ‘yes’. I didn’t know where to go from here.

“Darrell,” Trent said after a while. “You know I’ve always looked up to you – right?”

I nodded, my gaze fastened on the white plaster cast that encapsulated my left leg.

“Well,” he went on carefully. “I hope you won’t be disappointed in me, but… I really don’t think I want to follow in your footsteps with this one.”

I looked up at him quickly. It took a second for the wide grin to register but when it did, I gave him one of my own. “You little shit,” I muttered without heat.

“On the bright side,” he went on. “Prom is over so you don’t have to worry about getting a date.”

I stared at him, open-mouthed. “What…?”

Trent lifted one shoulder in a half-shrug. “I read lots of things,” he replied nonchalantly. “I figure that’s one of the things that bothers gay teens the most – having to pretend you like a member of the opposite sex so people won’t figure you out.”

“I was going to take Miss Bolt,” I said, watching for his reaction. Miss Bolt was the school librarian – a wizened, bad-tempered old bat that always swooped down on you telling you to be quiet if you so much as whispered in the library. She was a hundred if she was a day.

Trent let out a snort of laughter. “I wish I could’ve seen that!” he guffawed. “I would’ve paid good money for that – you with your crutches and her with her walker. Priceless!”

I laughed, too. Although Miss Bolt didn’t use a walker – she had a cane if the weather was bad, saying it made her rheumatism flare up – the image his words invoked was hilarious.

After we’d calmed down a bit, Trent waved a hand at my cast and said, “So when do we get to see the finished product?” I looked at him quizzically. “Your leg, bro – when do they let it out?”

“Oh,” I said, feeling stupid. “Next Tuesday.” I frowned. “What did you mean by ‘finished product’?”

Trent shrugged. “Plaster casts are used sometimes for making sculptures,” he replied. “Artists use them.”

“Is that what you want to be? An artist?”

“No,” he said, shaking his head. “Not really. I want to be an interior designer.”

I didn’t say anything at first, digesting this new information. At last I said, “Are you sure you’re not gay?”

We both dissolved in a fit of laughter. The door suddenly burst open and we sobered quickly at the sight of our father standing in the doorway. “What the hell is going on in here?” he demanded.

“Nothing, Dad,” I said quickly. “Trent and I were just-”

He pointed a finger at Trent and said, “Go do your homework in your own room.”

Trent glanced at me sadly, gathered up his books and left. When he was gone I looked at my father. “Dad…”

He didn’t look at me. Instead, his eyes roamed around my room and he muttered, “Too much junk in here.” His mouth was set in a frown of distaste. Before I could say another word, he closed the door.

I looked around my room. It wasn’t messy, by any means. I’d always been fastidious about keeping my room tidy. Sure, it needed a good vacuuming, but otherwise it was as neat as a pin. My gaze landed on the shelves of football trophies that circled my room. That must have been what he meant. I sighed, pushed myself off the bed and hobbled over to the closet. There were a couple of boxes on the shelf and I wrestled them down, tossing them onto the bed. I started taking down the trophies one by one, laying them neatly in the boxes.

When I was through I was drenched in sweat and breathing hard. A couple of times I wanted to stop and rest, but the memory of my father’s expression drove me on. When I finally shoved the last carton into the back of my closet and straightened up, a wave of dizziness swamped me and I stumbled, crashing my shoulder against the wall.

The door opened again and Trent stood there, his face pale. “Darrell!” he exclaimed rushing to help me stand. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” I muttered. “Tired.” I didn’t protest as he helped me across the room and onto my bed. “Thanks,” I said.

“No problem.” He looked around. “Where did your trophies go?” he asked.

I waved a hand at the closet. “Away,” I said. “Out of sight, out of mind.”

“Why?”

“They don’t mean anything now,” I answered. “Dad said they’re junk.”

Trent’s lips thinned. He was getting angry, I could tell. “I see,” was all he said. “So now you’re totally in the closet.”

I didn’t smile. “Looks like it.”

He reached down and patted my shoulder. “Get some rest, bro,” he said gently. “I’ll call you for supper.” He turned and left the room, closing the door behind him.

I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling. Trent was full of surprises these days. I began to wonder when he’d become the ‘big brother’ in our relationship but before I could figure it out I’d drifted off to sleep.