The house is cold,as always, when I walk in from work.The lights are off, but the tv is on, buzzing some old nickelodeon show. I never watched nickelodeon growing up, I was a cartoon network kid myself. Then again,my parents couldn’t afford cable until I was maybe nine, so I was actually more of a PBS kids kid.
I walk into the kitchen,where Bruce is stirring something in a sizzling pan.The kitchen is lively,with all the lights on and a song by ‘The Smiths’ playing softly from his phone.I only know it’s The Smiths because it was the first band my husband ever introduced me to. Back when we had first met in college.
“You left the tv on.” I mumble with a stifled laugh. Bruce glances over at me quickly,like he wasn’t expecting me.
He laughs. “I did?”
“Yeah.” I go up behind him and lay a kiss to his neck.”Sit.” He orders,gesturing over to the table.I make my way to the table and slowly sit down in a chair.
I stare at my husband,watching the way his hands work so meticulously around the kitchen.I admire it. I can’t cook for shit.
He hums to the song as he scoops grilled vegetables onto two plates, and he reaches for a pot sitting on the back of the stove and sets it back on for a minute.
“So..what’s the dinner plan?Besides the veggies, I mean.”
“Well, vegetables and mashed potatoes.” Bruce had always been iffy with meats.He’s eaten them, but he’s constantly teetering on calling himself a vegan.
“Hope that’s not a problem, I put alot of work into this nice,big dinner.” He teased,scooping the mashed potatoes onto the plates and sitting the pot back down on the stove.
“It looks like you put alot of work.” I say. “Yeah,actually,what’s with you suddenly cooking? You never cook.”
“I have something to tell you.Well,ask you.” Bruce sighs as he sets a plate infront of me.My brows furrow as he sits across from me.
“My parents wants us to come visit.”
I stab my fork through some vegetables. “Okay.”
“Just..okay?”
“Yeah.” I nod. “If you want to visit them, then I think it’s a good idea. Never met them anyway,and my mom comes around her all the fucking time,like she owns the place.”
“Yeah, true..uhm..Keith,my family’s weird. Not about the fact I’m gay,no,they don’t care about that,but–” He sighs. “It’s all just..weird.Don’t be surprised about– well,anything. But,if you ever want to leave, then say the word and we go-“
“Bruce.” I cut him off. “We’re gonna go,and I’m gonna accept you for you and your family for who they are and everything is going to be fine.We can just pop in for a weekend,a day even,if you don’t want to see them.”
Finally,Bruce’s eyes soften, and he sighs. “Okay.”
—
The house is nice.
It stands out from all the others on the street. It’s a cool,summer sky shade that stands out from all the brown-tone houses that align the street,and there’s a children’s picture hanging in the window.It’s of a little boy,scribbled in red crayon, holding a puppy,scribbled in black crayon,standing infront of a large blue-scribbled house.
“That’s actually mine.” Bruce laughs.
“No shit.How long has that been there?Since ‘56?” I tease, and Bruce fondly rolls his eyes.
“You’re only three years younger.You’ll catch up.” He raps his knuckles against the door.
“Yeah,okay,old man.” I quip. The door opens and a shorter woman steps out and stands at the doorway.Her eyes widen,and she gazes at Bruce with a large smile on her face.”Brucey!”
“Brucey.” I whisper to him teasingly,squinting my eyes.Bruce shoots me a look and accepts the woman’s enthusiastic hug.
“Mom!” He beams.
So this is his mother.She looks sweet enough,with her warm voice,welcoming smile, and her cute gray sweater.
She pulls away and takes a look at me,scanning my figure from my shoes to my olive green sweater.”You must be Keith!” She greets and falls towards me with her arms enthusiastically put out.
“You must be Bruce’s mother!” I smile and wrap an arm around her,giving her a passive pat on her back.She pulls away,turns on her heel,and walks back into the house.”Come!”
I glance over at Bruce,who follows her with no argument.I follow suit, not sure of what the plan is.
The halls are decorated with pictures.Pictures of a young bruce,smiling brightly with his cute blonde curls falling in his face and over his wide cerulean eyes.He looked so adorable as a kid.In some of them, there is a small ravenette girl sitting next to him, usually dressed in a long dress or a poofy gown-like dress.
It’s cute.She’s cute.She must be Bruce’s sister.Bruce has barely mentioned her in the past five years, but what I do know of her is that she was much more of a home-body and parent’s favorite than Bruce.Bruce always told me he was the black sheep at home, all of his opinions and feeling and thoughts were so much different from his family’s.
We follow his mom down the hallway and to a living room.”Sit.” She says,more of a command than a suggestion, and it reminds me of Bruce.
The living room is decorated with paintings, traditional paintings. Basic paintings of sunsets and fields. The wallpapers are unusual. They’re a baby blue shade,which is different than alot of houses,ours included,which usually only use tan,neutral tones.
She leaves us in the living room.
“The wallpapers are unique.” I laugh softly.
“I know they are.” Bruce sighs,readjusting himself uncomfortably. He’s uncomfortable. I see it in the way his face falters. My hand goes over his and gives his hand a gentle squeeze.
“You okay?”
Bruce glances over at me.”Yeah,it’s just..being back here feels so weird.I haven’t been here in years.”
“Well..” I trail off. Bruce has barely talked about them,ever.Anytime he does it’s about how out of place he felt or just a one-off nostalgic memory.It IS kind of weird to be here,knowing nothing about this place besides how..different Bruce felt compared to the inhabitants.
Before our conversation even continues, his mom and an older man,with white,poorly-combed hairs sprouting from his head, come walking into the living room.The man gives us a tight-lipped smile,and he reaches forward and offers his hand out to me.
I take his hand and shake it. A single,firm shake of our hands.
“Nice to meet you.You must be the..one keeping our boy happy?”
“Well,I’m pretty sure he’s happy.” I joke,glancing over at Bruce. I notice his refusal to say ‘man’,not that it’s a big deal. Just a noticeable choice of words when you’re gay.
His mom gestures for us to stand up.Bruce stands up slowly,and I tentatively follow suit.His fingers clasp around mine as soon as his parents leave the room,expecting us to follow.
“We’re leaving tomorrow morning.” Bruce whispers.I furrow my brows and nod slowly.If that’s what Bruce wants. “Okay.Is everything okay?”
“I guess.” He sighs. “I just– I don’t like it here.I never have.”
“Alright..that’s fine.” I smile at him,and I give his hand a gentle squeeze,which seems to calm him down.
We walk out into the hallway, and I look at a family portrait at the end of the hall. The two children,wrapped in their parents embrace,and Bruce looks so out of place I want to laugh.
“I know.” Bruce breathes. “I look like a viking kidnapped by a family of goths.”
I laugh at Bruce’s comment,and I jump and turn as his mother yells for us.
–
Dinner isn’t loud or quiet.It’s full with soft music and quiet,familial conversation.It’s grossly domestic, with his father setting up the table and his mother working magic on the stove. Still no sister to be seen.
I bring it up to him as we enter the dining room,which was just a small,brightly lit room with unusual duck-feather-yellow toned wallpapers. “Don’t you have a sister?”
“Yeah. Brooke.” Both kids have names that start with ‘B’, I’ve noticed. “Uhm..who knows where she is.” He sighs passively, and I give a nod and sit next to him at the table.
His father comes in with large plates of food,and he sets them in the middle of the small table,nearly taking up most space on the table.His mother walks out and looks at her husband.
I can hear her sigh. “Please get Brooke to come down here.”
“How is Brooke,anyway?” Bruce asks softly,standing up to help his mother get utensils,which I hadn’t even realized weren’t on the table.
“She’s fine.Fine as she can be.”
I don’t question the whole interaction.Bruce sets utensils infront of me,and sets them at the rest of the spots on the table,and he sits back down next to me,wordlessly.
Soon, his father walks into the dining room, followed by a thin,wide-eyed ravenette who is wearing a plain blue t-shirt and a pair of paint-covered jeans.I notice a bright green paint stain on the hem of her shirt.Her mother sighs. “Jesus, Brooke,couldn’t wear anything nice?”
“It’s just Bruce and Keith.” She says, as if she’s known me for a long time.As if I’m just as close as the rest of them.She sits down across from me and smiles at me.”Hey Brucey.” She says playfully,but something about her voice sounds..dead.Monotone.
“Hi Brooke.” Bruce replies, voice without that spark I know it has.
Their mother looks up at me.”So,Keith,tell us about yourself. What do you do for a living? You look like you do some art stuff.”
I become immediately anxious with the way the room’s attention shifts over to me,and I shift uncomfortably in my seat. “I– I uhm..I write,sometimes.I don’t know if you consider that art or anything-“
“I do.” His father nods. “Most certainly do.I think it takes a real creative mind to paint a nice picture like that using words.”
“Well,I try.” I hum unsurely.Bruce sighs. “He works in retail, at the moment.He graduated college last year, and he’s looking for a teaching position.” He says it as if he’s had the answer planned out.
“You want to be a teacher?” Brooke looks up at me,her green,chameleon-like eyes wide.”What grade?And what subject?”
“Uhm..well, I was thinking highschool.English teacher,preferably.” I shrug.
“Yes, and he actually got a call back from a school the other day.” Bruce hums, seeming like he’s trying to steer the conversation so I don’t get uncomfortable. Which is probably for the best. I’m not great when I’m anxious. His mother’s eyes widen.”Fun fun fun.” She whispers, and Bruce’s neutral face doesn’t even falter slightly.
“So,Bruce,what made you wanna come back?After seven years of..” His mother’s jaw tightens. “..of no calls.No texts.Nothing.What suddenly makes you want to come back?”
Bruce doesn’t answer.He ignores her,and he picks at his plate with his fork.His mother exhales sharply.This is getting awkward.Brooke seems to feel that way,too.She shifts uncomfortably,kicking one leg over the other and nervously mashing the fork through her broccoli.
“Your mom asked you a question, Bruce.C’mon,don’t be like this-“
“Like what?” Bruce looks up at his father, and Brooke takes that as her cue to get up,leaving her plate.”Thanks,mom,but I’m not hungry.” She sighs and pushes the chair in.”And I wanna show Keith around.”
His mother glances at me at the sudden mention of my name, and Bruce looks over at me with eyes that plead ‘don’t leave me here.’
“Yeah,sure.Keith,go ahead.” His mother gives me a small smile.Bruce swallows thickly and turns back to his mother.
I inhale sharply and stand up slowly.”Okayyy.”
I follow Brooke out the dining room and down the hallway.
“You guys better go in the morning.” Is the first thing Brooke says.
“We are.” I nod.This could be a good time to ask questions. “What’s the deal with Bruce and your parents,anyway?”
“They’ve just never forgiven Bruce for leaving,I guess. To tell you the truth, I don’t fully know what their problem is either.”
That could be a lie.It could also be the truth.Who knows at this point.I follow Brooke up the steps, and she leads me down the upstairs hallway.The wallpapers are quickly becoming the first thing I notice about the rooms of this house.Each one is unique, yet all are bright. Bright pink roses adorn this wallpaper.
She grabs a key out her back-pocket,and she fumbles with the handle of a door at the end of the hall before opening it slowly and gesturing for me to follow her inside. I hesitate– but decide to just follow her.The room is presumably her bedroom, with cerulean walls,which I could barely see under the plethora of paintings hanging on her walls.There’s an easel sitting in the corner,with a half-done painting of dolphins splashing out of fluffy-looking waves. “You painted all the pictures in the living room?”
She hums. “Mhm.”
I want to laugh, because it dawns on me that they out every piece of art of Brooke’s all around the house, and all Bruce gets is one children’s drawing in the window.
It’s not very ironic at all. A viking kidnapped by a family of goths.
She locks the door behind me, and she proceeds to tell me about one specific painting.
It’s a family portrait, or she says it is.She pulls it out from under her bed and holds it up. It’s kind of hard to make out.It actually looks like a replica of Bruce’s drawing in the window, except it’s now her,Bruce,their parents, and Bruce is still holding that dog. “Did you guys..actually own a dog?” I manage to ask.
“Yeah.Kitty. Bruce named him.He thought it was soo funny.” She says,making it sound like a joke though her voice and eyes are dead,devoid of much soul.
I nod. “Sounds like him.”
“The real reason I brought you up here is to tell you that you need to leave.”
“We are going–”
“No.I mean tonight. Tonight, you need to go.”
“Why?” I furrow my brows,and I find myself slowly backing against the wall.”You just do. I can feel it;The shift in the air.The lingering tension from the things said and done.”
I nod slowly, and I feel myself becoming anxious. I’m not good when I’m anxious, I get quiet. I stop talking.It’s a reflex. Her void stare burns into me.
“When I was a kid, all I wanted was for us to be happy..but Bruce left seven years ago. Before then, he was always popping in and out.He never stayed home too long. But,one day,he just..left.He stopped communicating with us,he took nothing with him except his clothes and cash from mom,and he left.”
She slides the painting back under the bed.
“Our parents resented him for leaving, and I resented him for not bringing me.”
My breath is becoming jagged, my hands are becoming shaky.I’m growing anxious by the minute.
“I don’t want to be here, but now I can’t leave.”
I take a heavy breath and look around the room, avoiding looking her in the eyes.I try to desperately tell myself to calm down,and my hands grip on one another becomes intense.
She silently unlocks the door,and I try desperately to regain my composure as we walk back downstairs together.
Brooke is right; We need to go.Tonight.
–
I have to go to the bathroom.
I don’t want to get up,though.I’m afraid of what I will see if I get up.I can’t wake Bruce up either.It took forever to get him to go to sleep, I can’t wake him up because of some stupid paranoia.
I couldn’t get myself to ask him to leave tonight. He was finally willing to act like everything was okay, and he finally seemed somewhat comfortable, I figured we could wait until the morning.
I slowly make my way off the bed, and I look around his room.It seems jarringly teen-like,like it hasn’t been touched since Bruce was last here.An old Nintendo sits on the dresser, and all the clothes in the closet look like they haven’t been touched in ages.Something’s off,though.Just..something.Maybe it’s something in the air.But something about this whole house is off,and now that everyone’s asleep I can finally notice it.
I make my way out to the bathroom, and I open the door and slowly walk inside.
I get done using the bathroom, and I walk out into the hallway. It wouldn’t hurt to look around.
The whole thing with Brooke becomes fresh on my mind, and suddenly I start to wonder what in the world was possibly going on at this house.I walk through the house,using my phone flashlight to flash around the hallways and the living room,finding nothing, until I get to the kitchen.I look through the cupboards, hoping the find something. I smoked weed in highschool;I know how to hide shit.I search through the obvious hiding spots in the kitchen until,behind the fridge, I find a small black journal.
I pull it out and look at it. It’s covered in dust.It looks like it hasn’t been touched in ages. I slowly make my way upstairs to the bathroom,incase anyone sees me.I lock the door, and I turn to the journal.I slowly open it.
It’s Bruces.I can tell by the fact that he made sure to space all of his sentences. He told me he was made fun of for never spacing out his sentences in elementary,and that he was told all of his writing looked like one big blob, so he started paying extra attention to if his sentences were spaced out or not.
I page through it.
Ramblings about how he felt he was losing himself.How whenever he stared at his mom’s paintings for too long, he felt a part of his soul went missing.She had her paintings everywhere. He couldn’t look away from them and keep himself if he wanted to.
It gave me something to think about.Brooke took on that artistic trait from their mother,and it seems like she was..afraid of losing herself.Which is why she resented Bruce for leaving, because she knew she was going to lose her soul to it.To her.
Once she started painting herself, her soul was already gone.
Maybe those bright,colorful wallpapers were just a poor attempt to make it seem like the family still had any soul left.
I shut the journal and slowly bring it back to it’s spot behind the fridge. I recollect myself and walk upstairs.
I get why Bruce doesn’t want to be here. He can physically feel himself slipping away whenever he’s within these walls. His soul slowly leaves him.It slowly drains out of him, and he becomes less and less of the happy,smiling little viking he once was. That little viking kidnapped by a family of goths.
I wake him up early, at around 6:54AM, and I tell him I want to go.
Bruce immediately sits up and helps me pack.We leave silently,without saying goodbye to his family.
I regret leaving Brooke behind,but it seems she has already lost herself. Nothing would change. You can’t really give someone a new soul,once it’s gone,it’s gone.Bruce is just lucky he got out when he did.
I glance over at him as we drive off the street.
“I read the journal.”
“The one behind the fridge?”
“Mhm.”
“Well,atleast I don’t have to tell you.” Bruce jokes softly.He gives a thoughtful frown.
“I’m sorry.” Is all I can really manage to say.
“It’s fine.Everything’s fine with you.” He says, and just by the tone of his voice I can tell that his soul still burns within him,and I smile at the fact.