Here the Whole Time - Vitor Martins Page 0,20
how I feel right now.
So, without any shame, I just put the truth out there.
“I am, too. Gay, that is.”
“Yeah, I figured,” Caio responds, almost immediately.
I’ve never talked to another gay boy my age (unless you count the internet), and suddenly I have a million questions to ask. They appear one after the other in my head, and I feel like I might explode.
“Does your mom know?” is the first one I ask.
“She does. I’ve never said it out loud, but I’ve also never hidden it. I think it’s kind of obvious. I don’t know. And she always says things like ‘Stop waving your hands so much when you talk, Caio’ or ‘Sit like a man, Caio.’ So, yeah, she knows but pretends she doesn’t. Like I said, she’s complicated. Yours?”
“She knows. I told her.”
“Really? And how did it go?” Caio is so interested he plops on his elbows to hear about it.
“It’s not a very exciting story. I said, ‘Mom, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m gay. Please love me.’ Then she said she had always known and it was all right, and she would love me forever, et cetera,” I say, but this is a very condensed version of the story.
Like everything else in my life, the real story was a little more dramatic.
It happened last year, when I bought the teen magazine with tips to get over your body-image insecurities. After realizing that an article in a stupid magazine wasn’t going to be of any help, I cried a little, but the crying got out of control, and suddenly I was crying hard. Sobbing, drooling, and making noise. My mom, who was painting in the kitchen, heard me cry and ran to the bedroom to see what was the matter. I’d felt so ashamed! Ashamed of my body, of my crying, and especially of my mom seeing all of that. I didn’t know how to explain it to her. I could have said, “So, Mom, as you might have noticed, I’m fat. At school, fat people aren’t the popular ones, and in general, everything sucks.” But I didn’t. I was afraid of saying it.
My attempt to hide one secret ended with me revealing another one. Still with my eyes full of tears, I said, “Mom, there’s something I need to tell you. I’m gay. Please love me,” and she cried, hugged me, and promised to love me forever. In the end, I went to bed happy that night. It was a weight off my shoulders, and ever since, being gay has never been a problem.
Of course, I’m not about to tell Caio the full story on the second night we share a bedroom. But he seems satisfied by the short version, and after some time in silence, I hear his voice really low:
“I hope one day my mom will love me like that, too.” It sounds a little sad, as if he’s about to burst into tears at any moment. I want to hug him, because that’s what you do for someone who’s about to cry, right?
But I don’t have the courage.
“Don’t be silly. She’s your mom. She’s loved you from the second you were born,” I say, and hope these words are enough to make him feel hugged.
After that, Caio doesn’t say anything else, and I stay quiet until sleep comes.
I WAKE UP TO CAIO’S voice whispering to someone on the phone. I don’t want to interrupt, so I pretend to still be asleep. I know it’s not right to eavesdrop on someone else’s conversation, but I don’t know what to do, and I’m too sleepy to think of a way out of it.
“Yes, Mom. I told you, everything is fine, the food is good, I’m showering every day, and my clean clothes will last until you’re back,” he whispers into his phone, and I notice a slight annoyance in his voice.
The call isn’t on speaker, but I can still hear his mom on the other side. I can’t understand every single word, but she seems annoyed as well. She’s always been that type of person. The type who yells.
“All right, all right. As soon as Rita is up, I’ll ask her to give you a call. But really, Mom, there’s no need for that, I’m not a child—” He gets interrupted, and his mom continues to talk without taking a breath.
Suddenly, she says something that makes Caio exhale impatiently. Apparently, his mom can hear that, too, because right afterward he starts to explain