One-hundred and Twenty-nine days before.

I spent my last day at home before Culver imagining. 

Thinking of a reality I wished to reach, despite the insoluble nature of it.

Imagining a life of being happy, it is a thing of no competency for me.

It always slips through my fingers, hitting me harshly, with the flash of the cold reality the instant of presumed success. 

You see movies and books with their lovely endings, and spurious views of a simple life, often I wonder why it seems to just be a joke to me. A simple illusion to keep the audience contempt that there is always hope. No one ever wants to see anything that is slightly unhappy, a story without the happily ever after, a fairy tail about the real life struggles of the human population that dont have a prince to sweep them off their feet.

In the narration of my life I dont want a sweetening of it, I want people to see that everyone is not as perfect as they appear. Appearance can be very easily deceived wrong, believe me, eyes do not nearly always tell the truth.

How about me for example, a 15 year old teenager living in picturesque-small-town Ohio, gay, social neglect, with my down- trodden family problems. You might think I just hate everyone in this town.

 Well truly, I could give less of a shit about anyone and everyone here.

I have tried to be biased, to hate the so called preps and jocks, but I really think that the whole thing is pointless.

The whole representation of sorting everyone into these so called bubbles is just the most ridiculous thing. It seems that everyone is just too lazy to get to know people, and instead hates them, or separates them. 

Maybe that is why my social life is so non-existent, because living in Westerville Ohio, I dont even belong to a bubble. My bubble popped, so Im just residue on the floor, sitting there, while the bubbles mock me with there perpetual existence.

 ........

Culver Creek Preparatory School in Alabama is the boarding school my parents decided to ship me off this year. 

Unsurprisingly, Culver looked exactly like every boarding school my parents could scavenge, far-far away from Ohio, so they didnt have to face my existence. 

Except a few little details. The fact that Culver is an all boys school in the middle of Alabama, with the heat, and cabins, and camping, and hot and sweaty boys...... If you dont understand what Im getting to here, that was just a perfect description of Brokeback Mountain. 

 I was fine with that, I guess, not like I have a choice.

My parents honestly just chose Culver because it was the furthest place from here that they could afford. That is not surprising, considering that has been their motive since I could go anywhere without parental supervision. The farther away I am from them, in everyones opinion, the better. 

I maybe see my parents a whole of four times a year, between school, and their so called business trips. I remember a time that I used to take these excuses and see them as real, I see now that all they are doing is going anywhere to stay away from me, giving excuses so that they dont look bad in front of their boss.

After all, no one likes parents who reject their kids. 

So when my parents walked through the door the night before my departure to Alabama, I expected it not to be for them actually wanting to see me, but to  be able to say that they went.

With their unexpected arrival, the atmosphere immediately went from the normal state loneliness, to an utter tenseness as thick as frozen jello.

How lovely, I thought, we really have such a good connection.

I wondered if any other families feel like this. The dreadful discomfort and betrayal when your parent walk in the room. 

 I think that my parents noticed the harsh zeal of everything. Or maybe, since they showed up unannounced I was listening to Whiney Houston very loudly and dancing around in the hallway and they saw me so now it very awkward and Im out of breath. Either it may be,we just said a few drudging hellos and then we parted our ways.

.........

After the seeming ages of unpacking, my parent finally decided to come down to make use of this family reunion. My mother started to cook dinner, and my father regretfully sat next to me on the couch. 

I looked at him, he looked at me. I wish I could say we just have this unspoken communication, like that really close people do, but sadly, thats is really not the case. My father and I just sat there in silence. 

Not a comforting silence, a very disturbing silence with Americas Next Top Model blaring loudly in the background.  Just so we are clear, my father is in NO way the type of guy who watches Americas Next Top Model, or listens to Whitney Houston for that matter. He is the type of guy who watches NASCAR racing, and says proper twice in a sentence. He is the type of guy who pretends his son is a normal straight boy who likes football and porn, because somehow, in his twisted mind, porn is better than being gay.

And I can certifiably predict that when your son is watching Americas Next Top Model and Heidi says to a girl that she needs to put more sequins on that, you can hardly to pretend your son is a normal straight boy. On that note, my father not-so nonchalantly grabbed the remote and immediately changed it to SportsCenter.

Thence I had to watch almost an hours worth of  middle aged men talking about other middle aged men, throwing around balls, all hot and sweaty. 

I dont know about you, but that sounds pretty gay to me.

Thankfully, a siren of relief sounded from the kitchen doorway, calling us to dinner. Perhaps i may be released from the isolation of our fraudulent fatherly-bonding, but now I have to talk to my mother who, unlike my father, is keen to social interaction. I prepare myself for the worst.

"So, Blaine,what do you think of your new school?" my mother started, smiling like she has never left. 

"Its fine" I said stoutly, looking down at my plate.

"How was this Summer?"

"Great." I offered.

"What about academics?"

"Stimulating."

The questions came in an endless flow, as did my morose one liners, until a question caught me.

"Well...... Umm......" My mother stuttered off. "How is the singing thing going?"

My stomach clenched tightly, suddenly I wasnt very hungry at all.

"Its not." I said numbly.

"What happened?" She inquired.

I sighed heavily. "Life."

She frowned in primitive concern, but eventually gave up on talking. 

Now we were back to the silence once again. I ate my chicken, it was very bland, adding tremendously to the zeal of the room. 

No one had anything to say, it was just the same as every time, the awkward silence, cowardly questions, the whole melancholy atmosphere of it all. I was tired of it.

"May I be excus--" I started to ask, getting interrupted by my mother

"Do you have you eye on any guys?" She said in a rush.

My father stopped eating. 

In shock, I dropped my fork in my slimy green peas, splattering gross juice everywhere.

Gay is not something you talk about here.

The night I came out to them was the worst night of my life. Everything changed, my whole life was turned upside down and over. I had hope until then that maybe my parents loved me, it was a faint, naive sliver of hope that was torn to shreds, the second my confession slipped from my lips. He wanted to kick me out, they both did. Wanted me gone forever. I was only 13, and they wanted to kick me out on the streets.

The only reason I am still staying with here is because of Copper. He showed up and yelled at my father for hours, the argument was the worse I had ever seen. I will never forget having to stay upstairs and just hearing the yelling, the screaming and pounding on the walls. It tore my to pieces.

Since that night we have never, never talked about being gay. The statement that my mother has just said has broken the number one rule, you dont talk about it. When my grandma died, we didnt talk about it. When Cooper left for LA, we didnt talk about it. After the Sadie Hawkins dance, we didnt talk about it.

My parents think that if it is not spoken, then it is non-existent.

I had no plausible way to respond. I wanted to disappear, get away so i dont have to experience this again. 

A voice broke through my racing train of thoughts.

"You are excused." My father said gruffly.

My legs ran faster than my mind, and I was taking the stairs two at a time to reach my room. I realized that was the first thing my father had said to me in almost a year. The magnicallity of everything pushed me to race faster.

The screaming started before I even touched for my doorknob.

"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU! YOU KNOW I DONT WANT TO HEAR ABOUT HIS FAGGY BOYFRIEND!" My father thundered.

My hand clenched tightly, until my fingernails were drawing blood on the thin skin of my hand.

I walked slowly into my room, trying to hold on to the numbness, until the pain hits. I collapse weakly on the bed and the dreadful feelings rush through, full force. Hurt flooded my every pore of my body, each yell from below like a needle puncturing through my skin.

I hated that I cared so much.

No matter how hard I tried, to turn my feelings away, they always struggle through fighting. It was a constant internal battle to just try to keep everything locked up. It was my coping mechanism, just hiding it away in the depths of my being, so it only could arise rarely.

I wanted out, I couldnt wait for them to leave, to go to school, to do anything but sit and feel miserable.

................

One-hundred and twenty- eight days before

Alabama is hot.

No weather that ever touched Ohio could have possibly prepared me for the lurid heat of 15 miles outside Birmingham, Alabama

Poring sweat, the sun burning my back, and not to mention the tragic state of my hair due to the humidity. At home, I barely go outside to even go get mail or groceries. 

With my horrendous hair and lightweight body, unpacking my things was an absolute no-can-do. Once I pitifully managed to get everything out of my moms Porsche, I was considering just passing out, and skipping the welcoming dinner, they didnt need me, it was fine maybe I could just sleeepp........

"Is it just me, or are you feeling like you want to die." My mother reflected from the cabin door.

I bite my lip sitting up from my almost place of rest, the whole ride here she hasnt even said a single word, not about her question last night, or the yelling, or that my father had taken a flight that morning without a word, or place he might be. I dont understand her sudden on and off interest in my life, it has always been that way, Im was just tired of it.

The truth was, I didnt want her there. I wanted my mother, someone who cares and loves and nurtures. She does not count, she is just a women. A women that shows up at the worst times, and puts on this preface of a mother, giving me hope so she can hurt me more. It was an endless cycle, she never stayed, she was never going to stay.

"Can you just leave." I finally said, my voice broke, but I pretended that it didnt.

I looked up at her, and she didnt look sad. I guess I hoped for her to gave some kind of  remission, just a final reprise that I am her son. But she just looked blank. Her face was passive as she nodded, she felt nothing at her own son telling her to leave. All I wanted was a bit of emotion, even anger. Just something to keep hold of for my naive faith. 

It felt as if everything was in slow motion. 

I finally heard the squeal of the Porsches tires as she drove away.

.......

"Holy shit! Im going to be so freaking late!

I jumped, falling into a pile of clothes I had been separating, quickly turned around to find my roommate, Noah Puckerman, approximately 10 minutes before the welcome dinner. 

He was a stocky built muscular boy of about 16 or 17, with a drastic Mohawk running a straight line down the middle of his head, and a seriously wrinkled Pink Floyd t-shirt. I wondered how even managed to get a T-shirt so wrinkled, that must take serious wrinkly skill.

He was a bit intimidating, people are a bit intimidating to me in general, so I sat there playing with my fingers for a second. Introductions have never been my thing. I dont meet people often, Im usually avoided, or I try to strike up a conversation and the reply is somewhere along the lines of get the hell away. Then again that was Ohio, what do you expect.

"Uh.. Hello," I said, standing up and reaching out my sweaty hand out to the boy with my brave face on."I am Blaine Anderson."

Noah looked my hand for a second and took it, smiling. 

"Damn, you dont haveta be so tense. " he said with a smirk, shaking my hand jerkily, "Im Puckerman, Puck for short--."

Puck-huh. So no Noah.

"Okay then---------- Puck." I caught myself.

He laughed,"Its okay kid, you can call me what ever you want." Puck said.

I nodded, "Okay Puck."

"So we shall be late together, Blaine and I." He said in a Yoda impression.

I laughed,"We actually have 10 minutes until we have to be down there." I corrected.

"Wait.... Why a are you still down here?" Puck inquired.

"I didnt .....well....I didnt know where the cafeteria was." I said shyly.

Puck smiled,"Well we better get down there Anderson!" He says, dropping his things on the floor and reaching a hand out to me. I grabbed it and out the door we went.

Puck laughed and talked about his trip to Alabama on our journey to the cafeteria, occasionally throwing in some facts about Culver. He is a Junior, one year ahead of me. I learned that we have the same English class and both live in Ohio! I mean goddamn what are the odds of meeting a guy from Ohio. But I didnt worry about him being mean, cause he just seemed like a really nice guy.

It was weird. This guy I had just met five minutes ago, was more friendly to me then anyone had ever met before.

He continued with his seemingly endless banter and jokes, claiming that I must have a nickname.

"Dude, Anderson, your part of the group now! Come on, any stupid childhood nicknames, cute little things?"

I bit the inside of my lip, I really didnt have any childhood nicknames, never had a nickname at all in fact.

"No, not really." I said.

He frowned,"Oh..., well I bet Kurt could give you a good one, he is the best at it."

"Whos Kurt?" I asked curiously.

"Hes a buddy of mine, you will love him." He said, grinning as we walked into the hulking cafeteria.

Yes, I must tell you, he was right about me loving Kurt.