The Last Exit to Normal Read online

  She sat across from me. “You worked today.”

  I realized I was being schooled, and didn’t mind it one single bit. My aches and pains lessened, and I actually found myself in a good mood after hours of backbreaking labor in hundred-degree heat. And I was hungry. I’d never eaten as much in a single day, and I couldn’t believe my stomach was growling after the lunch I’d vacuumed down. “This looks awesome.”

  She set her napkin on her lap, staring at me until I did, too. “Say grace.”

  I didn’t know what she was talking about, but I didn’t want to spend another night outside. “Grace.”

  She looked at me with a pinched mouth, the blaze in her eyes starting again; then she realized I didn’t know what the hell she was talking about. She nodded. “Bless the food, Ben.”

  I blushed. Crap. The last time we’d said a prayer was never, and she’d nailed me again. How did she do this to me? Nobody could make me feel this way, like I was three years old. I’d never said a blessing, and she hadn’t brought it up before. I folded my hands. “Dear God, thanks for all this food and everything, and thanks for the day. Amen.”

  She opened her eyes, then smiled. “It’ll do.”

  I dug in. Everything tasted golden, and I wouldn’t even have traded the peas for a Big Mac. For ten Big Macs. Country people knew how to eat, and who cares about clogged arteries, I was into it. The meat loaf melted in my mouth. “What time are my dad and Ed supposed to be home?”

  Miss Mae wiped her mouth with her napkin. “They called and said they’d be late. Business things.”

  I was in heaven. Almost. I looked at her across the table. “Can I have a beer?”

  She didn’t look up. “Man works hard all day is entitled to a beer if he so chooses.”

  I stood.

  “Sit down.” She stood, getting me a beer from the fridge, then brought it back, her eyes twinkling as she held it. “You ain’t a man yet. What do I get?”

  I looked at the moisture beading on the bottle. “I’ll make you a space in the shed to smoke. A chair and a little table.”

  She handed me the beer. “Deal.”

  I cracked the cap and took a swig. This wasn’t high school–kid beer-drinking. No downing kegger cups or beer-bong action or getting drunk to be cool while you staggered around saying stupid shit before puking your guts out. This was relaxing, work-your-ass-off-all-day-and-enjoy-something-cold-with-a-kick drinking. “Can I ask a question?”

  She nodded.

  “Who’s that girl that lives down the street? In the yellow house.”

  Miss Mae smiled. “Kimberly Johan.”

  I looked at my food. “I fell in love with her yesterday.”

  She slid me a small smile. “Quick about things, aren’t you?”

  I shrugged, my tongue a bit loose with a buzz. “Can’t help it. I’m a lover, not a fighter. Or a worker.”

  She raised her eyebrows at me, then frowned. “Her daddy ain’t going to like you one bit.”

  I smiled. “Love conquers all.”

  She dismissed it. “Puppy love.”

  Silence followed, and we ate for a few minutes. “Can I ask another question?”

  “As long as it ain’t foolish like the last one.”

  My dad always used to tell me there weren’t any stupid questions, but I guess in Montana, there are. I swallowed my embarrassment, then went on. “Did Edward get a lot of hassle when he lived here? I mean, about being gay?”

  She nodded. “The Lord doesn’t look too kindly on his choice, and neither do the people in Rough Butte. We’re simple people, and Eddie isn’t simple. That don’t mean he ain’t loved, though.”

  I let that one go, because even a fool wouldn’t touch the whole “choice” thing with a ten-foot pole. If I’d learned anything about having a gay dad, it was that arguing about the choice thing was useless. You believed it or you didn’t, and any time God had something to do with how people felt, He was the only one that could change their minds. “Why’d he come back if it was so bad, then?”

  “He makes his own decisions. Ask him, if that’s what you’re after.”

  I looked at her. “They said they moved because of me.”

  She furrowed her brow.

  “I mean, it just didn’t make sense. Just about everything Edward ever said about this place was bad. All the stuff he went through.”

  She frowned. “Edward might be different, but I raised that boy.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “It means you do right by your family even if it causes you pain.”

  I thought about that, and knew what she was saying. I was his family. “Then why did you send him away?”

  Her face softened. Just a little bit, though; it couldn’t really soften. “For his own sake. This place wasn’t right for him.”

  “You understand, don’t you? I mean . . . that he was born that way?”

  She cleared her throat, pausing. “It’s a sin.”

  “That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  After another moment, her face hardened. “It’s my business what I understand and don’t understand. Now eat.”

  I took another bite of potatoes and my stomach groaned, stuffed to the brim. “What happened to Billy’s mom?”

  She set her napkin on her plate, then stood. “Up and left one night about three years ago. Girl was always talking about city life.”

  I smiled. “Can’t blame her, being with him.”

  She took my plate, and I was sure to thank her. If I got whacked tonight, my arm would probably drop off. She shook her head, but her eyes weren’t hard. “She’s a no-account for leaving her son.”

  “You don’t like Mr. Hinks, do you?”

  “Too hard on the boy, if I had an opinion.”

  I raised my eyebrows. “ ‘Too hard’ coming from you must mean something.”

  She turned around and smiled. “Eddie must have told you some stories.”

  “Understatement of the year. He told me you hung him by his pants on a hook for three hours one time.”

  She nodded, fondly remembering the episode. “Boy needs to learn respect for his mother or she loses control. You raise boys and you’ll know what I mean.”

  I knew Edward had a brother, long gone from Rough Butte. “Did you strap your kids like Mr. Hinks?”

  “I done it myself on occasion with my boys.”

  “That’s child abuse.”

  “Maybe to your way of thinking, but since what you think don’t mean diddly, it don’t matter.”

  “So you think what he did was fine?”

  She shook her head and continued clearing plates. I stood and began helping her; she shooed me away. “You done your work, I’ll do mine.” She paused. “There’s a difference between strapping a boy for good reason and strapping a boy because you’re a miserable sonofabitch. No, Billy didn’t deserve that strap, I don’t think. Sometimes he does, though, and I ain’t going to say Norman Hinks is a bad man because of it.”

  “You don’t like him, though.”

  “I sure don’t, but he cares for that boy the way he knows how. His daddy did the same to him.”

  “Well, he’s wrong.”

  She chuckled. “At least you got an opinion on you. Now get on out of here while I finish up.”

  I did, and as I walked out of the kitchen, she called to me. I turned around. She kept her back to me as she did the dishes. “You make waste in my garden again and I’ll whip the skin off your backside.”

  I was just about to say “Sorry,” then stopped myself. “It’ll never happen again.”

  CHAPTER 7

  I woke up the next morning and my body wouldn’t move, but I felt good. Like I’d done something. I lay there for ten minutes staring at the ceiling, willing even my pinky finger to twitch. I finally rolled out of bed. My hands were cracked, with the blisters hardened, and they hurt every time I moved them. I made my way to the bathroom, took a leak, skipped brushing my teeth on account of my hands, and made m
y way downstairs.

  I knew I’d missed breakfast. Miss Mae had it ready at six on the dot every morning, and I’d not made it down once since we got here, settling for cold cereal most mornings. I looked at the clock on the wall, and it read ten-thirty.

  Dad and Edward sat at the dining room table, poring over papers. A young woman, probably about twenty-five—pretty, and dressed in a dark blue business suit with a tight skirt—sat with them. Dad looked at me when I came in. “Ben, this is Ms. Pierce from the bank.”

  I nodded. “Hi. Nice to meet you.”

  I held out my hand to shake hers, forgetting that it would cause me excruciating pain if I did, and Dad saw the scabbed blisters. Before I could pull it back, Dad took me by the wrist. “Oh my God, Ben, what happened?”

  I tried to take my hand away, glancing at Ms. Pierce and her prettiness. “I’m fine.”

  Dad took my other hand, staring at the blisters. “Edward, look at this.”

  I squirmed, and Ms. Pierce lowered her eyes. Edward came around the table and studied my hands, concern on his face. “That has to hurt, Ben. What in God’s name happened?”

  Dad interrupted. “You need to see a doctor. They might get infected.”

  Miss Mae watched from the kitchen entry. I yanked my hands away. “I said they’re fine.”

  “Ben . . .”

  “Dad, don’t worry about it, okay? I’ve got work today.” I looked at Ms. Pierce, and she looked away.

  Dad would have none of it. “You need medical attention.”

  Miss Mae was still standing there, and something in me wanted out. “I said I was fine. It’s not like I’m a f—” I shook my head, stopping myself before the word came out. “I’ve got stuff to do.” I walked outside, and Dad followed me.

  He stood on the porch. “Ben.”

  I turned around. “What?”

  Anger simmered in his eyes. “Why did you just do that?”

  I stared at him. “Shouldn’t you be back inside with her?”

  He looked at me, confused. “You’re mad because I was concerned about your hands? Why? Where is this coming from?”

  I shook my head, frustrated. I thought about Ms. Pierce and Miss Mae and the flush of embarrassment rising in me as I’d stood there while my dad acted like some ultra-gay father fluttering around his injured son. “I told you I was fine.”

  “I know, but . . .”

  I raised my voice, sick of talking. That’s all he ever did. “Dad, let it go, huh? Jesus.”

  He studied me for a moment, then stuck his hands in his pockets. “I know what you were going to say in there.”

  “Oh, yeah? What?”

  “That you weren’t a fag. You’d be fine because you weren’t some kind of prissy gay.”

  I stared at him, Ms. Pierce and Miss Mae flashing again through my mind. Had I seen pity in their eyes? Pity for what? For having a dad like that? Guilty confusion, angry and sad all at the same time, twisted my stomach. Why couldn’t he leave it alone? Why couldn’t he be straight? “Well, I didn’t say it.”

  “Yes, but it was there.”

  I shrugged, all those bad feelings from the beginning simmering up like I didn’t want them to. “So what if it was there? Not like it’s news.”

  He glanced over his shoulder, back at the house, and lowered his voice. “Being gay doesn’t have anything to do with masculinity, son.”

  I remembered Ms. Pierce’s face. The way she’d looked down. “Wishing you were a girl your whole life doesn’t have anything to do with masculinity? Got me there, Dad.”

  “I don’t wish to be a girl, Ben, and you know that. I enjoy being a man.”

  “Good. Are we done? It’s a little early for one of your philosophical lessons on life and how different you are as a gay guy.”

  He eyed me, trying to hide his anger. “Where is this coming from?”

  “Where is what coming from? You’re not Mom, and I don’t need you to act like it.”

  He narrowed his eyes, defensive. “I know that, but apparently you believe being homosexual means somehow being less of a man.”

  I stared at him. Fine. He wanted it, he’d get it. “What if I do think that?”

  “If you do think like that, you have to answer for it.”

  I shook my head, rolling my eyes. Back to the same old thing. Dad does whatever he wants, Ben has to answer for it. “That, coming from you. Great advice.”

  Anger lit his eyes. “What does that mean?”

  “It means you don’t have to answer for anything.”

  He knitted his brow, confused. “Like what?”

  I threw up my hands, frustrated and ashamed and embarrassed. “Like what?” I thought back to the arguments we’d had and counted off just a few of them. “Okay, let’s see. We walk down the street with you and Edward holding hands and I have to answer for it because everybody stares at that poor kid who must be messed up because his dad is gay. I walk in the living room to see you kissing each other and I have to answer for it because we all know it’s perfectly normal to see your dad giving tongue to a guy. I have to answer for not liking my dad acting like some kind of flamer about my hands in front of Miss Mae and the bank lady.” I stared at him, nodding. “I think I got it, Dad. I have to answer for everything you do, because you don’t have to answer for anything. Great deal.”

  He frowned. “I think I behaved like a parent concerned about his child. Nothing more and nothing less, and I can’t understand where this anger is coming from.”

  “Of course you can’t understand.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Forget it.”

  “What don’t I understand? That because I’m gay I can’t see that you were embarrassed inside? You think that I don’t know what it is to be a man? I am a man, Ben, and I’m proud of it.”

  “Why don’t you act like it, then?”

  “That’s homophobic and ignorant.”

  “So what? It’s the truth, and you just proved it inside.”

  “I can’t believe I’m hearing this from you. After everything we’ve talked about and gone through, I’m standing here listening to my son say this.”

  I shook my head. As far as I could see, he’d done whatever he’d wanted and I’d gone through it with counselors and shrinks and teachers and cops. I smirked. “You’ve told me that if I look like a punker and act like a punker, people will treat me like a punker. Except for you. Oh, no, you can’t treat a gay dude like a gay dude. Nope. No way. Sorry. It’s homophobic to say you act like a woman when you act like a woman? Bullshit.”

  “Son, we’ve talked about stereotypes before, and the negative connotation is what makes it homophobic.”

  “It’s homophobic when you embarrass me in front of people? Edward is like a walking advertisement for the gay stereotype, but you know what? He’s not.” I shook my head. “He laid off inside, Dad. Didn’t he? He didn’t sit there and push it, because he understood that this wasn’t about him. It was about me, and he respected it. I told you I was fine, but you have to shove it down my throat every single fucking time. Accept it, Ben. Paul Campbell is gay, and that means he can be the most selfish asshole in the world, because everything is about him.” I glared at him. “Why don’t you stop hiding behind it, for once?”

  His eyes flashed, and we were back in the same routine. “Let’s see . . .” He counted off on his fingers. “So far it’s that I’m not a man, I’m a hypocrite, I’m selfish, and I hide behind being gay. Anything more you’d like to say before I’m condemned to hell?”

  I stood there for a moment, knowing I didn’t want to fight about this anymore. “I’m saying that sometimes I wish my dad was just a regular dad that had a regular wife and a regular family. That’s all.”

  Silence.

  I clenched my teeth, upset because I knew I’d hurt him. “It was embarrassing. That’s all.”

  He took a moment, staring at the driveway. “I see what you’re saying.”

  “Do you?”

 
He nodded. “Yes, I do. You have every right to be upset. I behaved inappropriately toward you in there. I should have listened.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “I don’t think you’re not a man, Dad. It’s just that sometimes I wish . . .”

  Dad came down the stairs and raised his arm to put it around my shoulders, but stopped short. “I know what you wish, Ben, and I think if I were you, I’d wish the same thing. That’s not wrong, and I don’t want you to worry about it. We’ll deal with it as it comes.”

  I thought about Ms. Pierce, and blood rushed to my cheeks. “She’s pretty, you know?”

  “I know. And I know it’s not being homophobic to get angry about the way you are treated. The only thing I’ve ever asked of you is to keep trying.”

  I nodded, giving him a half smile. “Will do.”

  “I will, too.”

  Later that day, Miss Mae sat on one of the rockers, petting a stray cat on her lap. I plunked down in the chair beside her, half my chores done. “Crap.”

  She swung her arm out, quick as lightning, and cuffed me on the head. “Mouth.”

  I grunted, because I wasn’t allowed to say “Sorry” anymore. There was a stupid rule for everything in this stupid town, and every time you broke one, you got hit with something. “I hate this place.”

  She took a ten-dollar bill out of some mysterious place in her dress, completely unconcerned with what I’d said. “Run down to the drugstore and get some more smokes.”

  “Buy me a pack, too, and I’ll go. I’m out of dough.” She nodded. “Don’t be lollygagging about it.”

  I walked past Kimberly Johan’s house with my eyes glued to it; then I noticed the truck was gone. I wanted to see her. I wanted to run up and proclaim my undying love for her. We could have little country babies named Moe and Bobchuck and Jennylou, and I could work at the paper mill and come home to dinner and whole lots of lovin’ afterward. I’d even learn how to square-dance. It would give a new meaning to a hoedown.