I Should Be Laughing:Harry Sends A Letter

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Wyatt had asked over breakfast the morning that Harry told him of his plan. The two men sat in their yellow kitchen, the door to the back porch open, allowing a cool bay breeze to creep inside, as well as the sound of dogs barking and buses climbing the hills.  “We could drive up on the weekend and tell her ourselves.”

“No.” Harry said, toying with the eggs on his plate. “I want to…. I think it’s better if I send a letter. I haven’t seen her in seven years, Wyatt, not since I went home that first Christmas after I moved. And she wasn’t…she wasn’t too thrilled with me then. I think she likes the distance, the physical distance…the emotional distance, too.” Harry ran his palms over his eyes.

“She’d never come here, and I don’t feel right going up there, parading into her house and saying: “‘Hey! I’m gay!’”  He waved a hand at Wyatt as though he was the Grand Prize in a game show giveaway. “’ And this is my new boyfriend!’” He stopped smiling. “I think a letter is best. This way she can think about it for awhile, let the news sink in, and when she wants us to visit we’ll go up for a long weekend.”

“It seems so impersonal to me.” Wyatt poured more coffee into Harry’s cup. “I sent letters, too, and—.”

“Not letters like this. You told your parents face to face.” Harry said.

“But I stopped seeing them for awhile, until I realized that I needed them to see me, to know who I was, how I was, that I was happy. I’m telling you, Harry, you need to do this in person. She’s your mother and—.”

“And you don’t know her!” Harry snapped, the sound of his voice stopping all other noise in the apartment, save the ticking of the clock on the stove. “She could be so cruel. She used to…. Once, I was eight, or nine, she’d had an unusually bad quarrel with Renny…over something stupid, I’m sure. I can’t remember. All I know is that she was drunk and Renny picked those times to goad her.” Harry looked away from Wyatt, toward that ticking clock, and a look appeared on his face. Wyatt got the impression he was replaying that long ago scene between mother and daughter in his head.

“I felt sorry for her, you know? My mother, crying like that…and I…I went to hug her, to tell her that I loved her. I wanted to make it okay.” Harry pushed his plate away; tears glinted in his eyes. “She had gone to the back parlor, and was sitting in this easy chair by the fire. I came up behind her and touched her on…she didn’t hear me come in…didn’t see me…her hand flew up and she hit me in the face.

“It was an accident, but I started to cry…I wasn’t hurt, just scared.” Harry shrugged at the memory, the tears fading fast. “Then, instead of asking if I was okay, saying she was sorry, she started to yell…

“’Goddamnit Harry! Leave me alone!’”

The envelope with the letter was in his hands; Harry turned it over and over. “I know this is chickenshit…sending her a letter…but I have no idea how she’s going to take this news, and I don’t think I could stand looking in her eyes and seeing that she hates me for who I am. For loving you.”

Wyatt nodded. Harry sent the letter and never heard from his mother again.