The Last Exit to Normal (5 page)

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 my
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.

Bummed at not seeing her, I picked up my pace, wanting to get back before it got too hot. When I got to
the town square, I made a beeline for the drugstore. That’s when I saw her truck parked in front of the
library.

Miss Mae could wait, and I could fry on the way home.

The Rough Butte Public Library consisted of two rooms with a bunch of books in them. A Hitleresque
old lady, possibly Miss Mae’s evil twin, stood guard at the counter. Libraries are foreign affairs to me, and I
can’t really remember ever having been in one. Dad and Edward read a lot, but the main use I’ve had
for books comes in the form of ignoring them as much as possible.

Besides the Hitler-looking woman, there was one person in the place. Kimberly Johan. I saw her right off
the bat, standing in front of a row of shelves. Today she wore shorts and a baby-blue tank top, her hair still pulled back,
but with sandals on instead of boots. Hitler Lady looked at me over her glasses, then smiled warmly. “Hello,
young man. Is there something I can help you find?”

I was confused. Librarians were supposed to be mean and pinch-faced old maids, and people here were
supposed to turn their noses up at people like me. “Uh, I just was walking by and decided to come
in.”

She smiled even more warmly. “You must be Benjamin Campbell. Welcome to Rough
Butte.”

I wondered if my name was tattooed on my forehead. I nodded. “Thank you.”

“I take it you like reading? We might not have as big a selection as the city, but I think you might
be able to find something here to your liking.”

I glanced toward Kimberly. “Actually, I think I know what I want.”

She looked at Kimberly, then smiled and gave me a wink. “Well, good luck, then. You just make
yourself at home.”

Kimberly had a book out and was flipping through the pages. I mustered up my best walk and sauntered
down the aisle, stopping next to her and pretending to look at the shelves. She was at least five-eleven. Three inches
taller than me. I could learn to love tall women.

She didn’t look up from her book. “Need an attorney?”

I looked at her, wondering if she was crazy in the head. Just my luck to fall in love with a loon.
“Why? Do I look like I need one?”

She rolled her eyes, her face cheery and her eyes deep blue. “Well, you are in the law
section.”

I looked at the books. “Oh, yeah. No, I was just . . . I’ve always had a fascination with
the law. You know, laws and everything.”

She laughed. “Your name is Ben, right?”

“This town doesn’t have many secrets, does it?”

She lowered her voice conspiratorially. “Eyes and ears everywhere.”

I nodded. “You’re Kimberly.”

She smiled. “Like I said, eyes and ears everywhere.”

“I asked my Momdad’s mother, Miss Mae, who you were.” I looked at her.
“You live down the street from us. I saw you the day before yesterday.”

Her eyes widened in surprise at the Momdad comment, which told me she knew about our
“circumstances,” but she let it pass. “I know. I was going to my uncle’s farm to help
bale.”

“Bail what? A boat?”

She laughed. “Hay. Bale hay.”

“Oh. Those square straw things, right?”

“You
are
from the city, aren’t you?”

I shrugged. “I’ve never eaten anything I’ve killed or smoked a corncob pipe, if
that’s what you mean.”

She frowned. “Not everybody in a small town is like that, you know.”

“Ouch. So that means you’re not interested in a date with a city guy?”

She looked at the books, then at the carpet, then anywhere but at me. “I’m really
busy.”

“Have a boyfriend?”

“Not really. Just busy.”

“Not really” meant “yes” in my book, but I didn’t push it,
because even though I might be girl-dumb, Edward had taught me that women speak a different language.
“Does everybody work around here?”