Lost and Found
by Jack Kendle
Chapter 6
After Susan had left I went back to the computer to check my e-mails. We had the family 'official' account, which had a couple of messages I could deal with quickly and then, glancing at the clock, I opened my private e-mail account at Hotmail. I had a few messages from guys around the world I had met via various websites and chatrooms. We all had the same thing in common: we were gay married men. It gave me a comforting feeling knowing that there seemed to be so many guys out there in the same situation as myself. We would encourage each other, listen to each other's problems and we could offer advice from our own experience. I had never met any of them, but felt I knew them as well as my oldest friends. Something about the anonymity of the Internet makes us braver, more able to say things we might never have the courage to say face-to-face with someone. Of course, there's the downside, too: the sexual predators who lurk and entice younger
people into all sorts of dangerous situations, by pretending to be teens themselves. I only hoped that Leo would heed my advice and be very careful what he said on the Net and to whom. Just then, the icon flashed; you have new mail. I opened the inbox. The new message was from Lioncub. I swear my heart missed a beat. I opened the message, not knowing what I would find.
I'm sorry about earlier. I just couldn't keep it bottled up any more. I spoze you think I'm a real jerk. Can you forgive me? I just guess I lost it. Please, please don't tell anyone about it. Thank you for listening and being so kind to me, I don't deserve it. I'm sorry I put you in such a difficult situation. I promise it won't happen again. But may I chat with you now and again? Let me know if you get this. L.
I typed back:
Don't apologise, Leo, you have nothing to apologise for. I will always be there for you. Of course we can chat and you know you can talk to me any time you need to. Think about talking to your parents. I suspect they will be much more supportive and understanding than you realise. Think about it. Take care. J.
I sent the message and took a long slug of scotch. What was this leading to? I would have to take care not to let this get out of hand. My thoughts turned to the new kid Susan had more or less forced me to take into the orchestra, Daniel. I wondered what he looked like and how he and Leo would get on, if indeed they would get on. I speculated on how I would react to two boys in the orchestra. I would have to make very sure there was not a hint of favouritism. Kids are very observant and the girls would certainly notice if I took undue interest in Leo and Daniel. Oh what a difficult life we lead! Why couldn't it all be out in the open? Why was there such a stigma attached to homosexuality? Why couldn't we, in these 'enlightened' times be more like the ancient Greeks? Lucky buggers, they had the best of both worlds; beautiful boys and then marriage and no questions. I signed out of Hotmail, covered my tracks as usual from prying eyes and began work
on my string piece I was writing for the orchestra tour. Images of Leo swam before me and the music seemed to just flow from my pen. I swear, to this day I do not recall that session of composition. It seemed that when I stood up after an hour or so, there were several pages filled with notes, that I had no idea I had written! I looked over what I had done. It looked good, it seemed very intense, but I had been thinking intense thoughts. I decided it was good enough after I had played it over on the piano. There was a fiery passion there. Leo had certainly left his mark!
I heard the front door and the noisy entrance of my two offspring as they tumbled into the house. I came out to meet them. Instantly two meteorites lunged at me, jumping and hugging me and talking nineteen to the dozen. At the back of my mind I thought: Am I prepared to give this up? I was bombarded with tales of the day, who did what to whom, who got to dance a solo, who was selected for the team... all those things which really matter to the young kids. I heard their chatter and responded to their questions. Hannah, meanwhile, was hanging up discarded coats and shoes, tidying up after the maelstrom which is our kids. "Okay kids," she called, "time to take a bath and then bed. You know our Tuesday Rule!" Because of the extra-curricular stuff they did on Tuesdays and Thursdays, the kids had to go straight to their bath and bed on those nights. It was my duty to have the bath ready for them. Of course I had forgotten, lost in my composing. I
hadn't even eaten anything yet! I looked sheepishly at Hannah.
"Oops", I said. "Got caught up. I'll run up now and sort it."
Hannah was not amused. "You don't have to do much around here," she started. "You could at least remember one little thing!"
"Okay, okay", I said. "I'm on it. It won't take long." I retreated upstairs to the bathroom, mainly to get away from that hard stare. There would be a lecture after the kids had gone to bed, of that I was sure. Don't get me wrong, Hannah is a very good mother and she does do more about the house than I do. I think she finds it unfair, even though I do as much as I can. "Your composing," as she puts it – I can almost hear the quotation marks round 'composing' as if it were nothing important, just a way of getting out of spending time with her or doing chores. I often tried to explain it was work, damned hard work, but I don't think she ever really believed me. She thought of it as more of a hobby of mine. For me on the other hand it was as vital as breathing. I could express my real self in my music and it was my only way of getting rid of my frustrations (apart from the obvious!). I wasn't prepared to argue any more with
Hannah about my composing. It was something I had to do and that was that. Not only that; I was moderately successful and had had not a few public performances of my work, which encouraged me to continue. The real me was in my music. It was enough that I knew that. I only wished the real me did not have to be hidden away from the world. My musings were interrupted by the kids' arrival. Emma was first for her bath. It had been a couple of years now since 'Daddy' was no longer welcome at her ablutions... kids grow up. I found her a clean towel and left her. "Ten minutes, Emma, no longer. Then Tommy has to have his shower."
"'K, Daddy."
I went to Tom's room for our usual quality time whilst waiting for Emma to finish. He was sitting at his desk, finishing up some homework.
"So, you're on the team? Well done, Tom!" He beamed at me. Aged ten, he had the makings of an athlete. He was into all sports and I could see that he really enjoyed the active life. Not for him hanging around the house doing Playstation or computer games. He would use every opportunity to be outside, charging about on his bike, getting into countless scrapes. It was as if he thought he was immortal. He seemed to have no understanding of the word 'dangerous'. How many times he had come home cut and bruised after some sort of escapade, climbing or cycling or 'exploring' as he put it. Hannah and I used to be sick with worry every time Tom went out to play, or be with his friends, not knowing whether he would come home in an ambulance or not! Somehow or other, he avoided serious injury. He must be charmed, we often thought - some sort of special guardian angel.
As we chatted about the team and the season ahead, I wondered how I would feel, if my son became the object of an older man's obsession? As a parent, I would be angry and disgusted. Not my son!! So wasn't that what I had been doing myself, all these years? Obsessing about teen boys? What about Leo? What would his dad say if he knew what thoughts I harboured for his son? I knew I was a hypocrite. But what could I do? I had made the mistake of marrying and fathering children, knowing that I was not being honest either to myself or to my wife. I had to face the fact that I was a low-life dishonest hypocrite. But I would do all in my power to protect my kids. I would always try and be there for them, to listen to them. Support them if life dealt them a bum hand. How would I react if one or other of my children turned to us and said "I'm gay." I hoped they would feel they could talk to us about anything. I would hate to think of either Tom or Emma
in Leo's situation... not being able to confide in his parents. I knew Leo's parents and I was convinced they would listen to their son and do all in their power to be there for him. He just had to understand and acknowledge the fact.
"Dad. DAD!" Startled I looked up. Tom was looking at me in exasperation. "You didn't hear anything I said, Dad!" I looked back at him shamefacedly. "Sorry, Tommy... I got sidetracked for a while there."
"So, are you coming to the match on Saturday or not?" demanded my son.
"Sure, kiddo. I'll be there."
"You'll meet the new coach. Coach Johnston. He's cool!"
Emma called out from the hallway that the bathroom was now free.
"Time for your shower, Tom," I said. "Ten minutes tops and then you need to be asleep. I'll come and say goodnight later on."
"'K, Dad."
I went and kissed my daughter goodnight and went back downstairs. It was as I suspected it would be. The atmosphere was positively sub-zero.
"So, how's the piece going, then?" my wife asked. She made it sound like it was a dog turd.
I shrugged, non-commitally. "Fine." I really didn't want to prolong this conversation, but I knew I couldn't just escape into my den. That would not be a wise move, under the circumstances. The silence stretched out. I tried to find something to say.
"How was the day?" I began lamely.
"Well, if you're interested, it was long and hard and I'm exhausted."
"I'm sorry, sweetheart", the word almost stuck in my throat. Would we be playing out this charade for the rest of our lives?
"Drink?" I asked.
"Well, I see you've started already. Yeah. Give me a glass of wine." One thing about Hannah: she thinks I have a drink-problem. She can manage to make one glass of wine last a whole evening. She will never, ever, pour herself out a drink; it has to be me. I don't know why. I think she secretly like to prove she has more self-control than I do.
"I've only had the one," I said, which was not the right thing to say. She would probably then go on to lecture me about making it last and letting one drink suffice. Just to spite her, I poured myself another very stiff scotch and handed her wine to her. She looked at me for a long hard moment, but decided she wouldn't say anything. More mind games. I was going slowly crazy here. Something would have to give. I couldn't keep up this pretence at civility for much longer. We sat and drank in silence, she sipping, whilst I decided to rebel and took a large slug. My day had been hard, too, but she didn't think to ask how it went.
The silence became longer, louder, more intense.
"I'll go check on Tom," I said. Any excuse to escape from the frigid atmosphere which was our marriage.
I knocked on the bathroom door. The shower was still going strong.
"C'mon, Tommy," I called, "time's up. Time to get to bed."
I heard the shower being turned off. "I'll be out in a bit, Dad," came the muffled reply. I smiled to myself. I really loved my kids and they would turn out OK, I hoped. It really worried me though, if Hannah and I couldn't last the course together. What effect would a divorce have on Tom and Emma? I didn't want to go there. I sighed. As usual, it would have to be me who made the effort to patch up the relationship. I would have to be the one who admitted it was their fault. I would be the one made to feel guilty. Serves me right! I thought, grimly. I should never have got married. I should have listened better to my mother. I should have been honest. What a fucking mess!
Tommy came out of the bathroom, wrapped in a towel, hair damp, face flushed from the hot water.
"G'night, kiddo," I said and gave my son a kiss. He kissed me back, his breath fresh from toothpaste and his still wet skin leaving droplets on my cheek.
"Night , Dad. See you tomorrow."
"Tomorrow, Tom. You can read for fifteen minutes, then it's lights out. OK?"
"K, Dad. Love you."
"Love you back," I smiled and watched as his slight figure disappeared into his room. What would I do if some perv got hold of my son? I would kill him, I thought. That's what people would think of me, if anyone ever found out, I thought, sadly.
I went back downstairs, defeated, to initiate formal peace-talks.
