Chapter 5

Sunday, May 27, 1979

Morning comes, and I am amazed that we don’t have to go to church.

“We have some things to talk about,” Mama tells me. “Just go into the living room and read.”

“Can I go for a run?” I ask.

“Oh, no,” Aunt Eva says. “Who knows what you’ll get yourself into out there alone?”

“Can I go to the swimming pool?”

“No,” Aunt Eva says. “There are too many perverts there.”

“Can I go to the library?”

“It has many illicit books,” she says. “They should be banned.”

I look at Mama, my eyes pleading with her to let me go, to let me do something. Anything! She shakes her head. I go into the living room and plop down on the couch. The women sit at the kitchen table, looking at old family photos and gossiping about people they used to know and old boyfriends. I am mildly interested in the photos, but I don’t want to hear about their lost loves.

I open my book and read in relative peace, but I can hear their voices coming from the kitchen. I catch bits and pieces of what they’re saying.

“Stella, if I’ve told you once, I’ve told you a thousand times …”

“Oh, Evie, do you remember when Daddy …” 

“… and he twisted his arm? …”

“Was that the first time or the second …?”

“… I miss her so much!”

They talk and talk. I read and read. I finish my book, but I resist the urge to read one of Aunt Eva’s books. I am afraid that I will put it down in the wrong spot. 

Tonight, at dinner, Aunt Eva turns her attention to me.

“Riley,” she says. “Look at you. Are you growing any?”

“Growing any what?” I ask.

“Growing any taller, smarty-pants,” she says. 

“Yeah, I think so …”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she asks.

“Umm, no, I don’t,” I say. No way am I telling her about Paige.

“Well, one of these days, you are going to break some poor girl’s heart,” she says. “You know, you’re the last male in our family line. It’s up to you to carry on your Papa’s legacy. It’s up to you to have his descendants.”

“O-okay,” I say. “What about Hope and Faith?”

“Oh, my daughters aren’t going to give me any grandchildren,” she says. “Faith is studying for her master’s degree in women’s studies, for crying out loud. And Hope is still living with her college roommate, even though they graduated 10 years ago.”

“Hmm,” I say.

“I know you’re young, and I know you’re … small for your age, but soon you’ll grow into a big, strong man,” Aunt Eva says. “And so, you need to be more … manly, more macho. Girls like macho men. They don’t want bookworms or boys who act in plays. You need to get out there and do things that other boys do — sports and outdoor stuff.”

I look at Mama. What has she been telling her sister?

“Well, I do that,” I say. “I like to go running, but you won’t let me. And I like to go camping. I got that from Papa. I also like to read and play music. I like being in plays.”

“You shouldn’t be so … artistic,” Aunt Eva says. “Girls don’t like that.”

I look at Mama, who is not looking at me. She is avoiding looking me in the eyes. Why is she letting Aunt Eva talk to me like that?

“‘Artistic’?” I ask.

“People will call you that, but they’ll mean something else,” Aunt Eva says. “It’s another word for … queer. They will be calling you a homosexual. You don’t want that, do you?”

“Of course not,” I say.

“I didn’t think so,” she says. Aunt Eva is finished making her point, I guess. She turns back to Mama and continues telling her tales. 

“That reminds me … Bill Wilbur, the choir director, and Albert Cabot, the organist, are apparently sexual deviants,” she says. She darts her eyes at me and then at Mama. “We need to put those perverts out to pasture, if you catch my drift.”

“What do you mean by that?” I ask.

She sniffs.

“Let’s just say that if all the homosexuals want equal rights, then they should all get in line — against a wall.”

“A wall?” I ask.

“For a firing squad,” she says.

After we settle in for the night, I think about what Aunt Eva was implying. Does she think I’m queer? Does she think I’m a homo? Does Mama think that? Is that what they have been talking about? Is that why we’re here? So she can try to set me “straight”? What the hell? Maybe I should tell them I have a girlfriend. Maybe I should tell them about Paige. But I guess I should talk to Paige first. I think she wants to be my girlfriend, but I really don’t know...