Page 43 of When Ben Loved Tim

“See ya,” I say breathlessly as he walks out the door.

I’m rinsing our bowls in the kitchen sink when my mom joins me.

“Has your friend gone home?” she asks.

“Yeah,” I reply. “He just left.”

“What a handsome young man.” The seemingly innocent statement is laced with meaning.

“He is,” I admit, turning to face her. “I’m crazy about him, Mom.”

“That’s wonderful!” Her smile becomes less certain as she studies my face. “Isn’t it?”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Oh.” She sounds genuinely disappointed for me. “So he’s not…”

I press my lips together and shrug.

My mom leans against the counter. “Remember what I used to say when putting a bandage on your knee? You should. I had to often enough. You were such a clumsy boy.”

“I still am.”

“Do you remember though?” my mom presses.

I nod. “You always said that pain is our body’s way of letting us know when something is wrong.”

“The same is true for our hearts,” she says, rubbing my arm affectionately. “Love is a good thing, even when it’s unrequited. But if it starts to hurt…”

“I’ll come ask you for a bandage,” I promise her.

“You do that, darling boy. Now tell me everything!”

I blanch at this request. “No way!”

My mom puts on a wounded expression. “Someday, when you’re a parent, you’ll realize how much it hurts when your own child refuses to share his thoughts and feelings with you.” She sighs dramatically. “I guess I’ll have to keep relying on Allison for details.”

“Ha ha!” I say before peering at her in suspicion. “You guys don’treallytalk behind my back, do you?”

“What choice do I have?” she says, still playing it up.

“Fine, fine,” I say with an eye roll.

We sit at the kitchen table, and I tell her everything. About my feelings for him, at least. I don’t mention that we’ve kissed, or that I skipped school to take care of Tim after putting him in the hospital. My parents aren’tthatunderstanding. But I do try to impart how amazing I think he is… and how special he makes me feel.

* * * * *

My mother’s words are prophetic. I feel the first sting of love when going for a walk with Tim on Sunday night. He’s distant. I’m not sure why. Something could have happened at the party he went to, like his friends making fun of gay people, which would remind him that this isn’t an easy path. Or maybe while at church he sat through a hellfire and brimstone sermon about the sin of homosexuality. God forbid anyone listen to their own heart. I wait until we’re undeniably alone and shrouded in darkness before I reach for his hand. Tim jerks away at my touch.

“Hey,” I say, trying again.

He stops walking. I lean toward him, hoping for a kiss.

Tim takes a step back.

“Is everything all right?” I ask.

“Yeah,” he answers, turning his face away.