I AM THE STAINED ONE -SHORT FICTION

Will a father learn to love and accept his son's male partner, or will he push them out of his life forever?

How could one unopened envelope bring me this much anxiety? The penmanship alone makes my heart race to deadly speeds. It’s like the grave opens with the dead desperately crawling back into my life. Except, he had never died, only in my heart.

“Why are you such a hard-hearted prick?”

Dexter, my son’s words echo in the chambers of my soul. “I’ve spent my life pleasing you. Honor role. Student body president. Scouts. I’ve done it all. I never did drugs. I never violated curfew. And yet, you are willing to abandon me?”

He thought he could erase the most grievous of sins by listing his accomplishments.

“If you pick this path, then none of that matters. If you inflict such pain upon your mother, then you are dead to me.” I retaliated.

“So, this is it?”

“I guess so. This is your choice, not mine.”

We stared at each other as his twenty-two years passed between us.

“This is who I am. I am done hiding.”

My fists balled up. My jaw tightened as I pointed to the door. I recall that I had clenched my jaw so tightly that I couldn’t open it the following day.

Tears streamed down Dexter’s face. I had always hated how soft he was, crying at every little thing. Now it made sense.

I couldn’t take the theatrics anymore. Those tears reminded me of all the signs that had led up to this moment.

“Then go. What are you waiting for!” I yelled, pointing to the door.

My son Dexter ran out of his childhood forever with a yelp that sounded like an injured animal.

I should have cared. I should have stopped him. But he had sinned against God, me, and, most damaging, his mother.

So, I built a wall around my emotions and closed my life and heart to him.

Now, after twenty years of silence, I sit here with this package. I peel the envelope off, and it shakes in my hand. I don’t have the stamina to do this. I want to throw it in the garbage and return to my day. I have a tee time scheduled and need to leave in ten minutes if I am going to make it. My clubs call my name from the entryway.

I turn the envelope over several times in my hands. Twenty years and Dexter’s handwriting has stayed the same. My fingers trace his name.

Dexter Palmer.

When was the last time I thought about him? It probably has been a few years. My life went on without him as if he hadn’t existed. But he had.

He had been the joy of my world and the reason for living for my wife, Marge. She never forgave me for kicking him out, yet she never forgave Dexter for the pain.

I grab a letter opener and slowly slice open the envelope. I pull out an invitation.

Not what I expected. I guess I thought it would be a card from Dexter, begging my forgiveness.

The Happy Couple Announces

Their Wedding

At

Christ’s Church of the Lamb

I study the picture of Dexter leaning against a wall, embraced by some dude.

I chuck the card, but it doesn’t go far as it lands next to my foot.

I thought he was begging for my forgiveness. After twenty years, this is what he sends?

I storm out of the house with my golf clubs.

After a lousy game of golf, I can’t return home, knowing that card waits for me. I drive to the coast and rent an Airbnb to hide. Although the brilliant sunset and perfect weather create a lovely evening, I cannot enjoy it.

When I return home, the card greets me as if it stayed up all night waiting for me.

I ignore its presence most of the day, but my thoughts keep drawing to it. Finally, I pick the damnable card up.

I had hoped with a little time, the image would change, and Dexter would be embracing a woman.

But it didn’t, to spite me.

I study Dexter. He doesn’t look like the spindly young man who left my home. That kid is gone. There he is, filled out. He is middle-aged now. How shocking that he looks so much like I did at that age. He has graying hair around his temple. At least his hair hasn’t thinned like mine.

I try not to observe the dude he lovingly gazes at. I drop the invitation to the ground.

He is marrying at forty-two. That is kind of late for a first marriage, isn’t it? Maybe this isn’t his first marriage. Perhaps he is on his second or third.

I finally allow curiosity to win as I open the box Dexter sent. My hand shifts in papers.

An article in the newspaper says, Local Doctor takes prosthetics to India. A younger Dexter stands surrounded by smiling children in India. His kindness emanates in the picture.

I pull out a medical journal that has a tag marking page 34. It is an article written by Dexter about a surgery to straighten scoliosis.

I pull out three more medical journal articles Dexter published.

I hold several prestigious awards for Dexter from Hospitals. He even included his Eagle Scout. I remember how much time Marge had spent helping him get his Eagle.

I can’t help but feel pride for Dexter. He has made something amazing of his life.

-A doctor of some kind. Wow! Those are bragging rights for any dad. I wish Marge were alive to see all this. It might have brought her peace.

I pick up the wedding invitation and look at it again.

Sure, Dexter has made something of himself, but he is about to marry a man. How can I accept that? Am I supposed to let his boyfriend into my home? Let them share a bed together? I can’t even stomach the image of introducing this dude to all my friends, “...and this is my son’s husband.”

Venomously I shake my head.

I can’t!

I won’t!

At church, I nod to sleep during the sermon when the priest says something that grabs my attention.

“Stop mourning the child you lost!”

Silence. A cough from behind me.

Am I mourning Dexter? I don’t think so.

“Rejoice in the child that you have.”

His words strike my very spirit.

“Rejoice in the child that you have.”

Dexter turned out to be a model citizen. He took prosthetics to India. In shame, I realize he’s more of a Christian than me.

“Rejoice in the child that you have.”

Can I rejoice in the child I have? For the last twenty years, I have built hate around Dexter. When he came out of the closet, I stopped loving. I stopped caring. Can I rejoice in this child?

“Stop mourning the child you lost!” I suppose I have mourned the child that I have lost. I wanted Dexter to be the son I had raised and more. I didn’t want a gay son.

During the night, I wrestle God.

Deep, painful sorrow wracks my soul.

What had I done?

Dexter was a poster child. He had only brought Marge and me happiness during his childhood. I should have been with him every step of his life, pouring out unbiased love.

My vision blurs as the fire of my sin consumes me.

It is I who had sinned.

It was me!

I will never be able to undo the past.

I will never get those lost twenty years back.

I walk into the church with a heavy heart, aware of my stained soul.

I sit through a lovely ceremony, remembering when Marge and I married, and I miss her. The preacher said beautiful things about love and commitment. She would be here with me if Marge were alive, supporting our son.

And then, the moment grasps me.

The ceremony ends as Dexter stands there with his new husband, hand-in-hand. When Dexter looks up, tears stream down his face as he launches his body into my arms.

“Dad, you made it. You made it,” he sobs.

And there, in my arms, I hold my world.

My son.

My progenitor.

And I let the love of God fall upon my heart.

Instantly, I abandon my fallen dreams. I surrender twenty years of disappointment.

I release Dexter of my expectations. It was selfish of me to place conditions on him. He shouldn’t have to do anything to earn my love. I love him for Dexter.

I rejoice in the son I have!

I wish Marge were here.

May God, Dexter, and Kevin forgive me for my grievous sins of judgment.

I turn to Kevin, my son’s new husband.

“Welcome to the family, son,” I say to Kevin as I pull him in for a hug, and the three of us embrace as our family heals.