I Am a Man

I can’t feel my feet anymore and my fingers are tingling painfully. I pull my scarf tight around my neck but there is no warmth because all the snow has taken my clothing as a haven itself. As my wet turtle neck sticks to my throat as if it itself was begging for warmth my eyes begin to sting painfully, but not only from the snow and freezing wind. I feel the tears build up painfully and my throat contract, my shoulders beginning to wrack. But I am not afraid to cry and although my head is lowered from the weather, I show my grief proudly as if the entire world were watching.

          I’m not sure where I’m headed, just that I need to go somewhere. I cannot go home, turn around to the place I was just banished from. So I wrap my arms around me and continue on, trying to forget the scene that just took place. But with the snow sucking all the warmth and strength out of me I find it’s the only thing I can think of and it replays itself over and over in my mind. My father’s deep voice echoes throughout my head like a child’s call bouncing off the walls of the cave, pushing itself deeper and deeper into myself.

          “Get out of my house!” My dad roared his eyes red and fists clenched. I stumbled back slightly, but raised my head high.

          “You can’t do that! I’m only sixteen and I’ve got no where to go,” I countered back though I was pretty sure he would kick me out without much force.

          “If you’re old enough to suddenly change your sexuality on me then you’re bloody old enough to live on your own!” He yelled back, stumbling towards the door, drunk with his own anger that I did not understand.

          “I didn’t just change!” I yelled back, furious at his misunderstanding. “I’ve been like this since a boy but I finally had the courage to come out!”

          “Well it was a stupid choice,” He growled, fumbling with the door knob that had been soaked cold by the icy air outside.

          “Dad, I’m still a man! I’m still the same guy I was yesterday,” I refused to walk towards the door and took a step back, throwing my pea-coat on the floor as if to show my defiance.

          “Any boy that loves other men is no son of mine!” He yelled back, his arms now shaking as he came towards me, forgetting about the door that now flung wildly open in the wind.

          “I’m still your son! I’m still a man!” I cried back, now losing my temper along with my tears. I turned around and began running for my room, pain exploding inside me. The pain then shot to my neck as my father grabbed my scarf and yanked me back into the front hallway. I could almost feel his frustration rippling from his body through my scarf and into me.

          “You are no son of mine or of God’s,” He growled, staring deeply into my eyes. “There is no such thing as a real man who can take the name of my son and still think they love other men,” His eyes were narrowed and his gaze grew hard and painful.

          I urged myself not to completely lose my sanity on my father and let the tears fall freely instead of holding them back. “I am as much as a man as you, if not ten times more,” I pray that my voice sounds stronger than I really feel and stand up straight, my hands by my side. My father, either too exhausted from his anger or surprised from my response, backed up as I picked up my coat from the table. I slipped it on and straightened my scarf, holding my head as I high as I could as the cold wind surged into our little house, shaking the low lying ceiling fan.

          My father stared at me as I avoided eye contact, founding myself absently glancing at the fan and recognizing how much it represented our family life. Cold, fragile and falling apart.

          “Get out of my house,” My father’s voice was cold and harsh, his eyes like daggers as I finally managed to meet his gaze. “Now.”

          I forced my trembling hands into my pockets and spun around on my heels, wincing only slightly as the wind attacked my thin body, the cold immediately sinking in. But I kept on walking, holding my head high until I heard the door slam behind me and all light that once lit the old country road disappear. All l wanted was to run back into my house and fall to my knees, to convince my father it was all a joke and I really did love women.

          But there was no way I could go back to my life hiding and afraid. I was now, to the world, who I was meant to be. I wouldn’t go back just to be accepted as a ‘man’ by my father only to live like a coward.

          So I take one step at a time, my feet gone and my fingers going numb. I face the snow and wind as the wall blocking me from being who I really am, knocking it down brick by brick, step by step. Each foot forward is one second closer to becoming the true man I know I am.

         

         

Author's Note

Had to write this for an English project. No I am not a man.
But we had to write a story with the theme 'the varying interpretations of masculinity' so this is what I came up with. Hope you enjoy...

Reviews

[Tyler Dean Allen]

you did really well at fleshing out these personalities in a story as short as this. sounds like my dad, honestly. Except... with other things, not sexual orientation of his kids. but anyways, i enjoyed this one, good job arizona.