Return to Sender, page 4
The loss of Wes left an emptiness in my heart that seemed to grow bigger and wider as the days passed without a word from him. I convinced myself that I would never find someone to replace him, especially not here.
While the possibility of moving far away from my mom made me apprehensive, the thought of branching out somewhere new, and pursuing my own identity as an artist and a gay person without her judgment, excited me. There had to be more accepting places than this town.
“What is this?” A letter addressed to me from The Art Institution of Denton landed on top of my open biology textbook. The mail must have come late today because I always made sure I checked it before my mom got home, to prevent a situation like this from happening.
She and I discussed my going to college, and a full scholarship was the only way that was going to happen. She barely tolerated my interest in art, instead, not so gently pressuring me into pursuing a business major in college. Ms. Santos was understanding and kind enough to let me store most of my creations, including my portfolio, in her classroom to avoid any arguments with my mom. Despite my carefulness, it seemed I slipped up today.
“What. Is. This?” she repeated, each word punctuated by a stab of her finger to the letter. A frowned marred her face.
“A letter?” My smart mouth was going to get me in trouble today, I bet. I wasn’t prepared to fight this particular battle with her today. My plan had been to wait until I received and accepted a full scholarship to a school of my choice. Then she wouldn’t be able to give me hell for my choice in curriculum.
Unceremoniously, she ripped the piece of mail open and began reading. Her frown deepened, reminding me of a recent panel I drew for my Captain Fabulous comic—I still kept up with it for fun—of an angry character whose defining trait was puffs of steam emanating from his ears when provoked.
“They want you to come up for an interview. Next week.” I couldn’t read the tone of her voice, but her expression hadn’t changed.
I was floored. They wanted me to interview? Spots for incoming freshman were limited, and there was stiff competition to get a coveted spot. Ms. Santos persuaded me to apply to the Institution, despite my lack of confidence. Students from all over the world applied. This was amazing news.
“What happened to business school?” The question was aimed at me, full of barbed wires. My mom was not pleased.
“Ms. Santos thought I might have a chance at this art school. I probably won’t get in. There are a gazillion people applying for, like, twelve spots.” I tried to sound dismissive to lessen the blow.
“Art school is not business school. I’ve sacrificed a great deal for you, so you could go to college and make something of yourself. Not to waste it on art.” That last word was said with such venom, I pushed back in my chair.
“Mom,” I pleaded. “It’s a shot in the dark. I have practically zero chance of getting in, but you should still let me go, because it’s a free trip. Who can pass that up?” I crossed my fingers behind my back in a silent plea for her permission to go to the interview.
“How many business schools have you applied to?”
“A few,” I lied. In total, I applied to four art schools and nowhere else, but I couldn’t admit that to my mom. I was only a junior in high school; I had time.
“Apply to two more and you can go waste your time at this art school interview. And I want to see proof.”
It wasn’t a complete victory, but it was progress.
* * * *
February 10, 1990
Dear Drew,
I bought this notebook to keep a journal when my last letter to you was returned. I need to vent my feelings somehow, but it seems silly for a seventeen-year-old dude to have a diary. So, I’ve decided I’m going to write to you even though it’ll never reach you.
Lots of things have changed since I left you. I’m going to tell you the good stuff first.
I have a baby sister! Her name is Jessica (Mom let me name her!), and she is beautiful. She’s eight months old and crawling everywhere. It’s so much fun chasing after her around the house. You should hear her laugh. It’s sweet.
Mom is gone. She left one day last month and never came back. She told me she had a job interview, but Aunt Barbara says that was probably a lie. I want to believe she wouldn’t leave me and Jessica, but I don’t know. She and Aunt Barbara had been fighting a lot. Mom would come in late at night and wake up Jessica. I think she was drunk or something. Aunt Barbara told her to stop acting like a teenager and be an adult. I guess mom didn’t like hearing that. I’m a teenager and I don’t act like my mom.
I dropped out of school right after the Christmas holidays. I know you’re probably disappointed in me. Studying and tests just aren’t for me. You know that. With mom gone, someone had to get a job and that someone was me. Russell hired me on full time at the garage. He knows about my mom disappearing. I didn’t know who else to turn to. He’s been great to me.
With the money I’m making, I can take care of Jessica and give her everything she needs. I really like working on the cars and learning about different parts. Maybe this is my calling.
I dream about you every night.
Love you always and forever,
Wes
Chapter 10
Drew, 1994
College graduation should be a joyous occasion, and it would be if my mom were here. Instead, I had no one cheer me on, except for my fellow graduates. Mom was furious when I got accepted to The Art Institution of Denton with a free ride. She was even more furious when I told her I had a boyfriend.
She blamed Wes for the boyfriend. Wes, my first love. I tried for years to forget about him. I even got said boyfriend! But no one could compare to my Wes. He featured in my dreams at night, and little things during the day brought him to mind.
I remember that last phone call to Mom two years ago. We were barely on speaking terms to begin with.
“Hi, Mom.”
“Drew, how are things? Make it quick. I’m on my way out the door.”
Mom usually had something more pressing to attend to whenever I called. “Oh, okay. Um, I just wanted to let you know that I’m dating someone and it’s getting serious.”
“Really?” Her voice perked up. Now I had her attention. “What’s her name? Is she a student at that little school, too?”
Little school. She never missed an opportunity to take a stab at my school. “Well, she is a he, and his name is James.” I swallowed hard and waited anxiously for her response.
The silence stretched into eternity.
“Mom? You still there?”
Click
That had to be a mistake. She couldn’t have hung up on me. I punched in my long-distance calling card number again and went through the prompts to connect back to her.
As soon as she picked up, she began ranting. “It was that filthy boy Wes that did this to you! I saw you boys in the alley. I knew what you were up to! How could you do this to me?”
The sobs coming through the phone drowned out anything I tried to say. I let her cry for a few minutes, and when she calmed down enough, I said in a timid voice, “It wasn’t Wes’ fault. This is who I am. I’m gay, mom.”
“No son of mine is gay. Don’t call me again until you’ve sorted yourself out.”
I hadn’t. I doubt she even knew I was graduating with a degree in art studies with a minor in education. I’d like to think she’d appreciate the education part. It wasn’t business, but it was far from art. James and I had broken up by this point, and while I did have close friends, there was no one special enough to me to celebrate with.
“Drew Patrick Hampton”
I rose from my seat when the dean called my name to walk across the stage and receive my diploma. As I crossed over to the dean, a loud whistle erupted from the audience. Glancing up at the crowd, I saw Ms. Santos waving frantically with a huge smile on her face. So maybe I wasn’t completely alone.
* * * *
August 19, 1994
Dear Drew,
We buried Aunt Barbara today. Death is a tough thing to explain to a five-year-old. Jessica doesn’t understand why Aunt Barbara had to go away and isn’t coming back. It’s been me, her, and Aunt Barbara for forever. Jessica’s entire life, really. Now it’s just me and her.
Russell’s wife, Felicia, has been helping me figure out how to get Jessica enrolled in school. Jessica is going to be in kindergarten next month. She’s super smart already, she could probably skip a grade. Aunt Barbara would let her watch Sesame Street and she learned all her letters and numbers, and she can even spell her own name. How cool is that?
I still haven’t heard from Mom. I’ve pretty much given up on her coming back at all. Jessica has never really known her. I feel sad about that, but I think it’s for the best that mom isn’t in her life. Living with mom wasn’t the best of environments to grow up in.
I need to find a babysitter for Jessica for when I’m at work. Aunt Barbara cared for her but now that she’s gone…I’m trying my hardest to not be sad in front of Jessica. I have to be strong for her.
This adult stuff is stressful.
Love you always and forever,
Wes
* * * *
December 1, 1994
Dear Drew,
Christmas this year is going to be the best yet. I was stressing over what Santa could afford to get Jessica for Christmas. Even with all the extra hours I’ve been working, there isn’t much left over after groceries and bills and school supplies and clothes and…well, you get the picture. But a wonderful and amazing thing came out of the sadness of late.
A lawyer contacted me a few weeks after Aunt Barbara died. She had a will drawn up, leaving everything to me and Jessica. Her house, her car (I have a reason to get my driver’s license!), her savings…Everything!
She also left a letter to me explaining why she wanted us to have everything. She said her family disowned her years and years ago for being in a relationship with another woman. And that other woman was my mom’s mom. My grandmother! So, in a way, we were related to Aunt Barbara. When my grandmother died, Aunt Barbara never left the house. When me and Mom showed up, she wasn’t lonely anymore. She saw how much I care about Jessica and wanted to make sure we were taken care of.
I’ve invested some of the money for a college fund for Jessica. I want her to have all the opportunities I never had. So, I get to spoil Jessica this Christmas. I can’t wait to see her face when she sees all the presents under the tree. Speaking of tree, I’m taking her to get a real one and we’ll decorate it together. I want to start a tradition, something I never had.
I hope your Christmas ends up being as good as ours will be.
Love you always and forever,
Wes
Chapter 11
Drew, 2003
Sweat was pouring down my face as the summer sun beat down on me. My back ached from packing and lifting boxes. Two moves in the matter of a few months was taking a toll on me.
“Where do you want this box labeled ‘miscellaneous’?” Quentin was standing in the middle of my new living room, holding the box in question.
I set the box in my arms on the couch and wiped the sweat from my brow. “You can leave it there.” I pointed to the coffee table between us.
“We should be almost done, right?”
“Quentin, you know you didn’t have to help me move, I could have taken care of it myself.” One of the many arguments we’d had over the past two weeks.
“I told you; I want to help. Besides, if I left it up to you, you’d still be sleeping on my couch.”
“Look, I’m sorry—”
“No more sorries. We’re both adults, we can handle a break up.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t be sorry.”
“Let’s be glad we didn’t get that puppy from the shelter. Then we’d be negotiating a visitation schedule.”
“A puppy custody agreement?” I smiled my first genuine smile in what felt like forever.
Quentin and I dated for roughly eighteen months before he asked me to move in with him last Christmas. I was reluctant to say yes, mostly because I had gone back into the closet for my mom’s benefit. She knew Quentin was my good friend and colleague, but thought our relationship was platonic. We hadn’t fully repaired the rift I put between us with my gay declaration years ago, but at least she takes my phone calls now.
The situation with my mom did no favors for my relationship with Quentin. He wanted to invite my mom for Thanksgiving, and when I mentioned that we’d have to play the friends only role with her, we got into an epic fight. He didn’t understand why I couldn’t come out—again—to my mom. He thought living together would inspire me to tell her the truth about us, and when it didn’t, that point of tension was our undoing.
At thirty, I was newly single again.
I was teaching at my alma mater, The Art Institute of Denton, when I met Quentin. He was hired as the art history instructor, and I was volunteered by the department head to introduce him and show him around. The attraction was immediate from both sides and we quickly became an item. He was my first serious boyfriend since James in college. Brief flings were my modus operandi as they were easy to manage with a homophobic mother halfway across the country.
Quentin’s family was well aware and accepting of his sexuality. They welcomed me with open arms, and I felt like I had an actual family, which was one reason I kept hanging on to Quentin, even when our issues became too much to overcome.
The other, and more important reason, was that I loved him. He was a good person; genuinely nice and sincere. He never had a bad word to say about anyone. He was attentive and caring—everything I could have asked for in a partner.
When my mom called to tell me she was sick, Quentin insisted on making the trip with me back home. He didn’t understand that I couldn’t show up with a boyfriend with my mother on her deathbed. That would surely kill her, if not before the cancer.
“When does your flight leave?”
I was flying out to see my mom and help make her final arrangements. “Eight o’clock tonight.” I glanced at my watch. “Should be enough time to get the essentials unpacked and get showered before I have to be at the airport.”
“I can stay and unpack for you.”
“No, no. It’ll be fine. You’ve done too much already.”
Quentin closed the distance between us and laid his hands on my shoulders. I looked up into his face quizzically. “I meant what I said. I want you to be happy. While I strongly disagree with keeping your mother in the dark, I respect your decision, but you know I can’t live my life that way. Please call me when you land, no matter the time.” He pressed a gentle, chaste kiss to my lips and left.
I sank down onto my couch and, for the first time in almost a year, I thought about Wes and wondered if he’d found someone to share his life with.
* * * *
June 20, 2003
Dear Drew,
Jessica finished her first year of high school with straight A’s. She’s so freaking smart, I tell ya. You’d love her. She reminds me of you sometimes, with that big brain of hers. She said all her subjects were a breeze. I even met with her principal, and she’s going to be taking more advanced classes next school year.
She helps me a lot at the garage. Not with fixing cars, but with the paperwork. You wouldn’t believe all the forms involved in owning a business. Oh, I forgot to mention that Russell sold the garage to me when he retired. I’m a business owner! Who would have ever thought I’d own a business and raise a kid all by myself?
I met a guy. His name is Ricky. He brought his truck in for an engine rebuild and we got to talking. He mostly hangs out with me at the garage. He told me about this bar in the next town over that’s a hangout for guys like us. I’d like to go one night, but with Jessica it’s kinda difficult. I haven’t told her about me. I’m scared of what she’d think. With the exception of you, she’s the only person I love and the only person whose opinion I care about.
I still love you always and forever.
Wes
Chapter 12
Wes, 2013
“Wes, who is Drew?” Jessica held up an envelope, an old cigar box in her lap.
She was cleaning out the spare room to convert to an office. After working at a major accounting firm for a few years, Jessica decided to branch off on her own. She needed a working space for her business, and the spare room fit the bill. Over the years, we’d used the room to store miscellaneous pieces of furniture and other junk we didn’t need or use. My bad habit of never letting anything go rubbed off on Jessica. Having to leave my belongings behind with each move as a kid left a lasting impression.
My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach when I recognized the box and recalled the contents. My tome to Drew. “A friend from a long time ago.”
“You’ve never mentioned him before. What happened?” Her thick, wavy brown hair was pulled back from her face with a red kerchief, revealing her open and curious expression. I believed I could confess my entire relationship with Drew to her at this moment and suffer no judgment from her. Question was, was I ready?
I sat down on the carpet beside her. She placed the letters on the floor in a neat row and looked at me expectantly. “Like I said, it was a long time ago. I’m not sure I remember.”
Removing the notebook from the box, she fanned through the pages. “These pages remember.” A single piece of folded paper floated out from between the pages. She unfolded the paper to reveal the drawing Drew gave me of our first kiss.
I drew in a sharp breath.
“He was special to you.” It was a statement, not a question.
I nodded and took the drawing from her hands. “He was my best friend at one time, when we were younger.”
