Inspiration

In the darkness of my room I search with a small flashlight. The small beam reminds me of the spotlights in the big city that pierce the night sky. I imagine, for a second, that my flashlight is a spotlight searching through the darkness of my room for some hidden truth. Toys come to life as the light flashes upon them, briefly, before I move the light to another space in my room. Outside a thunderstorm lights up the night sky with the occasional burst of lightning, the small beam from my flashlight vanishes whenever the sky lights up.

I can hear my mom in the other room as she laughs at “Night Court”. The light coming from the rest of the house flickers and then all but my flashlight goes black. I can hear my mom begin to yell for me as though I would be lost in the dark. She comes into my room with a flashlight that is larger than the one I am using to look around my room.

“Are you ok?”

I look at her for a moment: the light pointing at me, blinding me for a moment, before she points it toward the wall.

“I’m fine, Mom.”

“I’m going to check in on your grandfather. Do you have your flashlight?’

I point my flashlight in her general direction. I can still see spots from when her flashlight blinded me. She closes the door and the darkness surrounds me once more. I had not realized how dark the room was until that moment.

I continue my search of my room. I wonder if I am too old for toys, or maybe I am too young for porn. The porn sits on the foot of my bed. I begin to think that maybe I should put them away when I am not home alone.

I found the porn in the abandoned building down the street. It was while I was playing with my friend, Joey, that I came across the stack of magazines. I would have shown Joey them if it were not for the fact that it was gay porn. I know that I am gay, but I do not want anyone else to know. It’s not that it embarrasses me, but it’s not like I live in the big city.

The lights flicker on for a second, the television coming on just long enough for me to hear the punch line of a joke from “Night Court”, before it all goes black once more. I can hear the disappointment in my mother’s voice as she, at first, argues with the television then pleads with the television as though it could make itself come on again. I shake my head uncertain if insanity is an ailment passed down generation-to-generation or just some random affliction. 

I reach for the stack, maybe three or four, magazines that inspire me whenever I find myself home alone: I mean home alone except for my grandfather, who is not fully aware of anything except the soaps that he watches during the day. I begin to think that this is a great moment for inspiration when I realize that my mom could come in my room at any moment. Anyway I can only see parts here and there with my small flashlight, so I stuff the entire stack of porn under my mattress hoping that my mom will not find them.

I switch off the flashlight, place it beside my bed, and I close my eyes waiting for them to adjust to the lack of light. When I open them I no longer hear my mom, she’s most likely sitting with my grandfather, and I do not hear the storm outside my window. I can imagine in the briefest of moments that I am accepting some award for my performance in some made for TV movie. I begin to rehearse my acceptance speech when the phone rings.

Will it be my dad calling from prison to tell me that he wants to try to be my dad again but, no, it’s too late in the day for that, or is it someone with a wrong number? I wait in anticipation as I listen for my mom to answer the phone. I do not hear all of the words my mom says, but it does not sound good. Something about he’ll have to call someone back because his grandfather has died. Who is she talking about? I begin to think about everyone who I know that has a grandfather, until she comes into my room.

Her face is weeping. She never cries. It’s not like her. She looks at me: the flashlight illuminating her and the area behind her. I can see a toy watching me from behind her. It seems that all of the toys illuminated by my mom’s flashlight are watching me as she tells me Grandpa is dead. She finishes her speech as though she were some presidential candidate making a campaign speech. She stops speaking abruptly and leaves me alone once more.

I do not think about my grandfather, but about whom it was that had called me. Was it a boy I know? Would it be improper if our first date were my grandfather’s funeral? Not that anyone in my family would approve of me being gay, and not that I need anyone’s approval but maybe that’s why I find the thought of me showing up, with all of my family gathered around the coffin, with a boyfriend.

I’ve never had a boyfriend, though in my dreams I am married to Joey. Maybe Joey was the one who called to find out how I am doing or maybe it wasn’t. Either way my dreams take hold of me for a moment and I no longer need a magazine for inspiration. I am close to being inspired when the door opens again. The lights have come back on. Joey stands in my doorway beside my mom. I cover myself with a blanket, but it’s too late. The love of my life has seen me, all of me, and we’re not even married.

I tell my mom that I have to go to school despite the death of Grandpa. I do not see Joey until after school as I am heading home. He had seen too much and had run out of my room so suddenly that I was unable to make any excuses.

“Sorry about running away like that.”

“That’s ok. I would have done the same thing.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Neither one of us speaks again until we have far enough from our school that no one can hear us.

“So, what were you thinking?”

“What was I thinking?”

“Yes.”

“When?”

“Last Night.”

“What do you mean?”

“Were you thinking about me?”

“Why would you say that?”

“Because I think about you when I do that.”

“Oh.”

“So, were you thinking about me?”

“Yes.”

“Cool.”

“So, you’re?”

“I am what?”

“You’re gay, too?”

“I guess.”

“Cool.”

“Cool.”

I wave to Joey as he continues down the sidewalk toward his house. This moment makes me think of a romantic comedy, but with gay characters. A bird sings somewhere above me in one of the trees that line our street, my mom yells at me from the porch for daydreaming, and I find that I am inspired by the mere thought of Joey. The boy that I hid the fact that I had found gay porn from, and the boy that I had admired so often in the showers after gym are making me carry my books in front of my pants so my mom doesn’t notice. I realize that Joey was the one that had been so determined to play in an abandoned building down the street. Joey was the one who urged me on into the room where I had found the stack of magazines.