Tony, my gay, mutilated son. I had a feeling he was different. He never did talk about the girls at school, and when half naked women came on the TV, he never paid any attention to him. Still, this is something I’ve had a hard time accepting. I can’t look at him the same way. It’s hard. But I still love him, and I don’t want my own bias to worsen his life more than it all ready is. He’s been through so much torture, not only from these past few weeks, but also from before. His mate, Luke, told me what he was feeling, and what was going through his mind every day and night since he himself found out he was gay. That in it’s self it torture. Torture I inadvertently caused. I can never forgive myself for letting any of this happen. I can only make it easier to recover.
At this very moment, Tony is asleep on his bed. I sit on the edge, rubbing Tony’s fluffy chest like I used to do when he was just a kit. It was a mistake throwing a welcome home party. I knew it as soon as Mary suggested it. I know she only wanted to make her son feel at home again, but it was just too soon. I should never have let that happen either. It’s all my fault. I’m a terrible father. My son lost a leg because he felt he couldn’t trust me. What kind of man could be proud of that? My own father would be ashamed of me. He always loved me for who and what I was. He even told me he would still love me if I was gay. Grant it, that was a very short phase of my life, but it was appreciated greatly. I have failed Tony. Now all I can do is hope for a chance at redemption.
“Forgive me, Tony.” I say this softly, and kiss his forehead. He’s so peaceful while he’s sleeping, save for the few twitches and looks of pain that cross his face. They only last a little while before they go away though. I can’t fathom the war that must rage inside that small head of his. All the emotion, the pain, the feelings that grown men can’t comprehend. He must be lost, and there’s nothing I can do to save him.
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I stifle a cry as I see my husband kiss Tony’s forehead. I can’t believe this happened. I saw all the signs pointing to Tony being gay. I ignored them. I didn’t want to accept it. Now, because I couldn't let Tony know that I would love him no matter what, this happened. If he had the love and support of me, he would never have ran away. I can see it plain as day, even now. Clay spotted Tony with his friend, Luke, on the Farris wheel. We talked briefly. We agreed that Clay should talk to Tony, and let him know we approve. As soon as Tony saw his father though... He ran. He was nothing but a flash of fur disappearing into the near by forest.
I knew I should have followed, but Janet stopped me. She said that they had to work it out on their own. In a way she was right, but this might not have happened if I went in after them. Or if we hadn’t have agreed to confront Tony. We could have waited until he got home, where it would have been safer. But no. I shouldn’t have let this happen. It’s all my fault.
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“Goodnight Luke. I love you.” I lean down and kiss my son’s cheek.
“I love you too, mom.” My boy rolls over in his bed as I walk out of his room, shutting the door until there’s a small crack to let in light on my way out. It’s been two weeks since I got the call from the police about Luke. I was so worried. The day he disappeared with Tony, I had gone in after him, Tony, and Clay in the forest when they didn’t come out. I found Clay. His skull was fractured. It was such a horrific sight. The thing is, when I saw him, I immediately thought of my Luke. I thought he might have been beat to death by Tony. I wouldn’t have doubted it either. If a boy can do that damage to his own father, there’s no telling what he could do to his mate.
God, I feel guilty. Firstly, because all I could think about was Luke’s safety. Not Clay’s, not Tony’s. Then of course, I told Mary not to go after them. I should have let her go. I should have gone with her. It’s all my fault. I could have changed everything, but I didn’t. I’ve failed as a mother.
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I can’t sleep. I’ve been home for two weeks, and I’ve been grateful to have my bed back and be back with mom, but I can’t get Tony out of my head. He’s been through allot. More than I want to imagine. My poor kitty... Damn it, I’m crying. I can’t cry. I need to be strong. Tony needs me to be strong. He needs me to help him get back to normal. He can’t do it alone. He’s got his own depression to get through, and all the scars, both physical and emotional, to heal. At least, what can be healed.
...Gawd, this shouldn’t have happened... I should have made sure Tony’s dad was dead before running away. I shouldn’t have yelled at him, and hit him... He would still be with me... We would have found out from the newspapers that his parents were looking for us. It was on the front page the day after Tony ran from me. Both of our pictures with a plea from Tony’s parents. Everything could have turned out just fine...
I hit my bed and dig my nails into my arm out of anger. Tears I’ve tried to suppress come to the surface. I bury my head in my pillow and let out a long cry. This is the worst pain. It comes in waves, and the slightest thought can make it flare up. As soon as I calm down again, I get another image of Tony, mutilated, and covered in blood and semen. Then I cry twice as hard. The cycle continues for what seems like eternity before I lose any and every notion of time, soon succumbing to exhaustion. All throughout the ordeal, I kept repeating the same thing. “It’s all my fault.”
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