Breath

New Hampshire Avenue, right outside my apartment building the Elise.

It’s 6:40am. All I managed to pull over my pajamas was a thin coat. It feels heavy on me. Heavier than the sleep I so badly want to resume.

Mom prompts a hug goodbye in the elevator, “Ok sweetie...” She tightly squeezes my back as we embrace. I can feel her pudgy arms press against me. I will miss these cute hugs. My hands rub her soft sweater as we descend from the fourth floor to the ground floor. I will miss this sweater, too.

I help her put the luggage in the trunk of the Uber in the 40 degree weather. It’s brisk. I feel like the wind is attacking me in deliberate blows. My eyes squint from the tiredness but also to protect my eyes from the wind.

She sets her stuff down in the seat, turns around and prompts another hug. “Goodbye sweetie” she says in the sweetest voice. I give her a tight hug and say “You’re the best mom ever.” I say, and smell my foul breath as the sweet words leave my mouth. She replies, “Best kid” in a tiny voice.

When we let go I realize what had happened and my face is in awe and shock. “You just said I’m the best kid!” I exclaim

She is sinking into the car seat now and is laughing and smiling with her eyes in a way that she does when she says something she’s not supposed to.

In my mind she validated that I am her favorite kid.

By the time she closes the door she’s seen me do the ‘yesssss’ motion by bringing my fist towards me in a swoop, making her laugh increase in intensity.

I watch the car round the u turn toward the Watergate and I wave goodbye. The warmth of the moment made me forget that it is 40 degrees. I am still smiling when I turned around toward the door.

One short story of creative nonfiction

Breathe

It takes me ten seconds to leave my apartment building and enter the Marriott Hotel lobby. I see my Dad and Mom standing next to the couches, waiting for me to come so I can see him off before his flight tomorrow.

I won’t see him for another three months. I barely saw him this past week. While I attend university in Washington, D.C. his visit was not to see me. He came for work conference. The three of us have had four meals together in the course of this week but he contributed thirty a total of 30 words.

I remind myself that his actions speak louder than his words. He did choose to stay in a hotel that was right next to my apartment building. I am lucky for him, I remind myself. I choose to show my gratitude. However, all I can force myself to do is give him a weak hug. I don’t look him in the eyes when I say, “Bye, Dad.” It’s late. His flight is early. He immediately turns around and returns to his room.

I sit down on the couch with my mom and she exhales. I hold my breath. I let the goodbye sit with me for three minutes. It boils over to my heart.

“Mom, I have to use the bathroom. I’ll go up upstairs.” I knock on the door. Dad opens it hesitantly.

“I just came to use the bathroom.” I continue the facade and storm through the open door and enter the bathroom on the right.

Deep breath.

Like a soldier on a mission. I exit. With purpose I march to him in the living room. He’s standing in the middle of the living room with his arms crossed. I don’t look him in the eye until my words come out.

“I realized I never had a frank conversation about Abby with you.”

He looks me right in the eye like a deer in headlights. Softly he squats to sit down on the table right behind him. He sits so gently because we wants me to know he is attentive.

“I have been afraid to ask for your opinion because of the way you responded to Georgia. Two winters ago Georgia told you and mom that she was dating Anna. You didn’t say anything to her all of the winter break. But when you were dropping her off back at the airport you did. You told her ‘I think you are making a mistake.’ Then sent her on her way back to Boston.”

With a puzzled look on his face, he says, “Oh I did not mean that.”

“I can understand and respect that people need time to accept and evolve. I was so scared to ask you about this because your opinion matters. You were my number one supporter. I would not let it change my behavior but it would have an emotional impact on me.”

This entire time he looks at me gently.

“So, I am expecting that you tolerate me but you don’t endorse it.”

“Dad, I need to know. Would you come to my hypothetical future wedding?”

He makes a face as if I have asked him a dumb question.

“You haven’t even told me about Abby.” He scoots over on the table. I sit down next to him. I feel poised but I am trembling.

“Well,” I lift my head up and staring at the warm yellow light on the empty wall, “She studies public policy. She is passionate about making systems more inclusive.” My eyes lit up and a smile erupts on my face.”

I pull out my phone and swipe through 30 photos of Abby and I. The one I choose lights my heart up. Both of us on the university quad at Brown University from two weeks ago. She is wearing a fiery orange shirt that contrasts with the mellow teal shirt that used to be Mom’s. Our wide smiles and twinkly eyes make the argument for me.

“She’s from New York. Actually, she grew up 10 minutes away from where you grew up. She is so kind and wonderful. We were both sheltered growing up. We are both passionate about making the world a better place. ” I find myself trying to argue why we are a compatible couple.

“Oh she went to Hebrew school for eight years.” I mention this to prove Abby is a moral person. “That is what instilled in her a sense of social justice. It is like how Sunday school instilled in me a sense of social justice.”

“I find it funny that I was the most religious of your daughters.” It is too early to make a gay joke, I realize. I return to my serious tone. “But I still think the principles I learned there do drive me.”

“I did not expect I would get this emotional. It’s because-” I gulp to stop the flow of tears, “you were my number one supporter.”

I take three consecutive breaths. It’s the first time I have let myself breathe in this room. In this pause he stands up, right in front of me. He motions for me to stand up.

He reaches out his hands. I put my hands in his. I look up for the first time at him. His face is so serendipitous. So at ease. It’s as if he just smoked his first joint, though I doubt he ever has.

Warmth emanates from him as if his aura is made of sun and I am laying on green grass on a brisk October in Providence.

I smile back. I accept his warmth.

“Let’s just breathe,” he says, lifting my hands gently and lowering them as he lets out his first breath. I follow him for five deep breaths.

When I open my eyes and see his smile is still there I begin to cry heavily. I let my head fall forward onto his chest. The tears are coming from a deep place. My secret was stored in a glass bottle and thrown into the tumultuous sea eight months ago.

Each cry is as deep as a meditative breath that can calm a wave.

The first wave of tears subsides momentarily. It is enough time for me to say “You’re my number one support.”

Four waves of tears roll in and out at a slower pace each time as if a storm at sea has settled and the shores can rest.

“Okay.” I take a step back from our tight embrace. “I know you have to sleep before your 14 hour flight tomorrow.”

He walks me to the door.

“See you soon, Dad!”
He gently shuts the door.
It is more than I could have imagined. It is just what I deserved.

I walked toward the elevator with pride. My head is held high. I notice my reflection in the mirror to my left. I fully turn to see my pale face now splotchy with red. My eyes are bloodshot. But I smile wide.

I laugh in my head. Seeing myself experience this vulnerable moment is dissociating. For a brief moment I feel like I am filming a YouTube video titled “My Coming Out Story.”

“See I finally did it.” I say to the benevolent battalion of queer content creators on YouTube who inspired me to have this moment. Finally, after watching five years worth of others’ Coming Out Stories, I have my own to tell.

I wave them goodbye.