Be Myself! - 38. I'm Not Your Perfect Son

“I’m going to try sneaking into my parents’ house tomorrow,” I announced to Oliver. We were still in Luce’s party; it had been maybe half an hour since my improvised duet with Helena had ended, and my boyfriend and I were eating our way through our third slice of cake.

“What? Why?” Oliver asked, puzzled.

“I had this idea when I was playing the violin. I want to get some things I left there so that I won’t have any reason to ever go back,” I explained. My plan was simple, but effective. “I’ll go in after they leave the house, quickly grab my viola and some clothes, and leave my keys behind.”

“Ok.” Oliver raised an eyebrow. “As much as I’m happy to hear you want to get away from your horrible parents for good, I’m not sure I like the way you’re thinking of going about it.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, somewhat offended. This was not the kind of reaction I was expecting from Oliver. I thought he would be considerably more enthusiastic about me breaking the rules around my parents.

“Well, for a start, how can you be sure they’ll leave the house tomorrow?”

“They like to go out on Sundays. They’re usually out for about an hour, so I should have plenty of time.” At least Oliver’s questions were making sense for someone who did not know the family’s routine. Thankfully, I had already thought about all those small details over the last half hour while I perfected the plan in my head. Oliver was not easily reassured, though.

“Where will you hide while you wait for them to leave?”

“On the other side of the street there’s a tree I used to climb when I was younger. It should be able to hide me relatively well.” Unless they had somehow chopped off that tree in the last three weeks, but that was very unlikely.

“And how do you know they haven’t changed the locks to the house since you left?”

“Why would they?”

Oliver’s eyebrows disappeared under his bangs and I could tell he was trying to keep his tone calm and collected, despite his increasingly exasperated hand gestures. “Because you left their house and haven’t bothered to contact them for three weeks now. They haven’t bothered to contact you either, which most likely is because they’ve taken it to mean that you don’t want to live with them anymore. So why wouldn’t they make sure that no one who doesn’t live with them can get access to their stuff?”

“They’re not that kind of people!” I nearly shouted on impulse, but reconsidered my words almost immediately. “Sorry. I guess I hope they’re not that kind of people.” Part of me probably still saw my parents as strict, but fair. I had looked up to them my entire life, after all. It took a very conscious effort to remember that what they did to me was wrong.

“Then you should probably think of a Plan B in case you can’t get through the door.” Oliver patted my shoulder for moral support.

“I suppose I could just talk to them. I can let them know what I’m going to do with my life and that I don’t want them to be a part of it anymore.” Despite everything, my parents were still reasonable people. If I told them I was no longer their son, they could not punish me as such. At sixteen, I was legally an adult. I did not need them for almost anything else. I could tell them that, and count on their level-headedness to walk out safely with at least some of my belongings.

“If you think your parents will react ok to that, I think it’s a better plan than trying to sneak in. At least that way you can’t get accused of burglary if they find stuff missing when they come back from their Sunday walk.” Oliver smiled a little more confidently. This new plan did have a more logical ring to it. By officially cutting my ties to my parents, I would cut any excuses for my father to punish me. By telling them who I really was, I would make sure they wanted to stay away from me too. My father was a man of logic; he would not argue with my reasoning, and mum always agreed with his decisions.

“Yeah, I think I’ll be fine.”

(...)

The weather on Sunday was not the best. Glasgow was one of those places where the weather could make a 180º turn every five minutes, but I was not having such luck that day. The morning started grey, and as the afternoon rolled around, the heavy rain carried on relentlessly. In such terrible weather, it was obvious that my parents would not venture outside their house. Thus it was up to me to go there, talk to them, and present my very rational arguments about why I should never see them again.

Looking back, I now know that I should not have gone forward with the plan on that rainy Sunday. Facing my parents in foul weather was just the first of many mistakes that day, though.

I should not have gone there at all. Not on that Sunday, not ever.

(...)

Joseph and Claire Schubert were surprised to see me at their doorstep. I was already soaking wet from the walk, despite holding on to my umbrella for dear life the entire time. Claire examined my appearance carefully, gave me the look of someone who has just stepped on a pile of shit, and told me to come in and leave my wet jumper and dirty shoes on the hangers by the entrance hall so that I did not make a mess on her pristine white carpet. She then took me up the stairs to see Joseph in his private study.

“What are you doing here?” Joseph asked as a way of greeting. His study was a small room squashed at the very back of the house. There was barely enough space for his three loaded bookshelves and computer desk. The curtains were drawn at the two small windows, one facing the back of the house, the other on the side wall. Joseph sat in his chair with a book in his hand. His tone was carefully neutral.

“I came to talk. There are some things we need to discuss,” I told him as calmly as I could. Now that I was facing Dr Joseph Schubert in person, my determination was beginning to waver. That man gave off threatening vibes as soon as I stepped into his territory.

Not running out of there while I still had the chance was my second mistake.

“Talk, you say? What is there to talk about? Are you finally telling us why you haven’t shown your face for the last three weeks?” Joseph asked, still sitting in his chair. Claire closed the door behind me, and I thought I heard her locking it too. I had to take a very deep, calming breath before I felt confident I could move my lips to answer.

“Yes. About that, and about other things too.” Claire walked to her husband’s side. They both looked at me expectantly. Their faces were not angry, but I still felt like cornered prey next to them.

“Go on, then. We’ll hear what you have to say,” Claire told me. She stood beside Joseph with an arm on his shoulder. She was not exactly small, but Joseph was so big that even while sitting he made her look like a tiny child.

Or maybe this was my crippling fear beginning to alter reality around me. From then on I remembered this day like a particularly realistic, but distant dream. What I do remember make it seem like my consciousness was inside someone else’s body, observing from afar the story unfurling to its horrifying conclusion without being able to alter its course. I remember almost nothing of what my body felt throughout. And I hope I never do.

“I came here out of consideration for the time you spent raising me up until now. I don’t want to throw all those years out of the window,” I started, hoping that by acknowledging what they had done for me I could get on their good side. “But now that I am sixteen I feel like I don’t belong here anymore. I am old enough to take care of myself, and that is what I want to do.”

“Oh, really?” Claire spoke, rather mockingly. “You think you can make it on your own out there?”

“I’m not alone. I found people who like me the way I am, and are willing to help me start a new life.” I tried my best not to anger them too much. My legs were already shaking and I felt sweat trickle down my armpit. There was no need to create additional tension with misplaced angry words. “I… I came to say goodbye. And to let you know you don’t need to waste your time trying to contact me ever again.”

Claire walked over to me so fast she might as well have slid through the floor. I felt my left cheek sting and burn in pain before I realised she had raised her arm. “Don’t you dare talk this way to me!” she hissed. “How dare you treat us like that?” Her hand rose again, and this time it hit my right cheek. “Do you think we don’t know what you have been doing? You think we forgot about you all this time because we were busy with our jobs or some other silly reason? Don’t be such an arrogant fool! We know everything, Oscar! Every. Single. Perversion. Of yours!”

“How?” I asked, just as my body allowed the fear to completely take over. I froze on the spot. My cheeks burned in pain. I finally realised that Joseph and Claire had never intended to just ‘hear me out’ today.

“When you never showed up, we looked in your room for clues about your disappearance,” Claire explained. Every sentence was marked with a slap on my cheeks. By the time she was done, I tasted blood. “Your internet search history gave us all the answers we needed. Over the last couple of months you never stopped researching homosexuality. You disobeyed us, and worse, you went even beyond that. You researched ‘gender identity’ and information about your girlfriend becoming your boyfriend. It was not hard to guess what had happened.” Her hits became stronger the more worked up she got. “You have been seeing that horrible girlfriend of yours all this time! You never broke up with her! You lied to us! And despite our best efforts, you are still a dirty, effeminate fag!”

There was nothing I could say to that. My mouth refused to open. I was not prepared for that. I never imagined they could have known all along, even though it was the most reasonable explanation for their lack of contact. I should have figured it out sooner. I should not have returned to this house. I should not have walked right into their territory like a wounded animal stranded beside a pride of lions. Ultimately, not realising the obvious was my last, and most costly, mistake.

“You are no longer our son, Oscar. We have not considered you to be our child since you willingly left this house.” Joseph finally spoke. He rose from his chair and loomed over me. This was the only part of my plan that was actually happening roughly as it should. I had come here to be officially disowned. So, despite the paralysing fear and sickening dread, I found a way to try one last hopeful bid for survival.

“So if I’m no longer your son, you can’t punish me as such, right?”

“You’re right.” Joseph smirked. I felt none of the reassurance that this answer should bring. “I cannot punish you as my son anymore.” His fist found my jaw and my body flew straight into a bookshelf. I fell limply on the floor amidst a shower of broken glass from the shelf’s door, and spit out three teeth. My mouth was overwhelmed by the taste of blood, and it quickly started to flow down my jaw. “Though all it means is that I don’t have to hold back against you anymore. You are no longer my son, you are not my responsibility anymore, so I don’t have to worry whether you will still be breathing by the time I’m done with you.”