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Rule #36: It’s never as hard as you think it’s going to be.
Hunter
Ray Thomas Scott
Father - Husband - Brother
Died, age 62
According to his headstone,he was just a father—no signifiers to elaborate on what kind. I sure as fuck hope mine at least calls me a loving one.
Maggie suggested I come here, for closure, I think. She suggested I write him a letter or say a few words to express what it is that I would say to him if he were alive. But, to be honest, I have a hard enough time opening up to living people, so the idea of speaking to a piece of stone placed over a rotting corpse and some dirt is a little bit much for me.
So, just sitting here will do. Sitting here and thinking.
Thinking about how I was crazy to assume two months would be enough to undo all the damage this man has done. It was a start, though. Enough of a break to make me realize that I can’t live like this anymore.
But this time alonedidhelp. It gave me time to reflect, to feel what my life is like without them, and to force myself out of the mental funk I was in. And more than anything, it makes me realize one very important thing.
I can’t live without them, and I don’t intend to.
But I’m not going back to them empty-handed. I want to show them progress, because that’s what they deserve. Which means, I need to suck it up and get over my fear of expressing myself, and stop letting this man—thisdeadman—control my life anymore.
So, I’m here to say goodbye. But I feel the itch to say something else.
“I’m bisexual,” I blurt out loud, surprising even myself.
Oh fuck, that felt good.
“What do you think about that, asshole? I’m bisexualandI’m in love with a man.” A laugh rolls off my lips as I stare at the word engraved in stone. Moss and decay have already begun to show themselves. Weeds sprout along the bottom because he was too much of an asshole to ensure people would care for his grave after he’s gone.
I won’t make the same mistake.
“God, I hope you’re rolling around in your grave right now. Damn, I wish I would have said that to you when you were alive. I bet you would have beensopissed. I can only imagine the things you would have called me. You might have even tried to punch me for it. But you would have been too sick and weak to overpower me, and it would have felt really good to watch you try.”
Damn…okay, I guess I can talk to a grave.I quickly turn to make sure I’m really alone, which I am, so I don’t feel like such a weirdo for doing this. I feel lighter, like something has been lifted from my chest.
“Maybe if you weren’t such an asshole and took better care of yourself, you could have met them. Maybe you would have been proud of me. I have a beautiful wife, and a fucking awesome…boyfriend? I don’t know what I’m calling him right now, but either way, I’m lucky enough to have two amazing people, who want to be with me, and I really fucking hope I didn’t blow it because ofyou.”
A breeze blows through the small cemetery, rustling the leaves that have fallen around sparse headstones. And suddenly, this feeling of being lighter is replaced by a sudden anxiousness. As if losing this burden has triggered my response to go back to them, to gohome.
“All right,” I mutter, looking down. Bending over, I grab the weeds that have laid roots around his grave. I yank a few out and toss them to the side. Then, I brush off the top of the gray stone. “Well, that’s all I have to say. So…fuck off, old man.”
And with that, I turn and head out of the cemetery, anxious to get to my car, to get to the club, to get back to the people I love.
* * *
There aretwo places where all of the owners of Salacious are in the same place at the same time—the bar and board meetings. Now that it’s like a well-oiled machine with a staff of floor managers to contact us if anything goes wrong, we can actuallyallmeet at the bar, just like old times. And since the bar has alcohol (as most bars do) where I can try and drown out my nerves, I decide Thursday night is the place to do this.
Drake and Isabel aren’t here. I don’t know where they are or what they’re doing, which is how it’s been for the last two months, and exactly how I want it to be. I talk to my wife over the phone from time to time to check in, but we don’t talk about anything heavy, and she doesn’t pester me with uncomfortable questions. My too-good-for-words wife understands that I have to do this soul-search alone.
And this is one of the milestones I definitely need to do alone.
We’re on our second round when I clear my throat. “I have something to say.”
Everyone freezes and looks my way. Those five words don’t come out of my mouth often, and even they can tell how rare it is by how rapt their attention suddenly is.
Fuck, this is uncomfortable. And terrifying. And I’m thirty-three. How do kids do this?
