Entry# 4: Probably not the right things to say—part 2
Entry# 4: Probably not the right things to say--part 2
I woke up the next morning, well "woke up", as in I was scared shitless the night before so I just closed my eyes whenever my parents walked by. Other than that, I didn't sleep at all. For gawd's sake I didn't even make a journal entry! Though, under the circumstances, who would? I got out of bed, dressed, and padded my way over to the kitchen to eat breakfast. I was met by my dad on the way out of my room.
"Going somewhere?" He asked.
"N-No, I guess I'm not." My ears folded back and I looked down, then slowly padded back to my room.
He spoke again as I walked back. "I'm just showing you where you're going to go in life with what you chose to be."
"What?" I could tell I was getting agitated;my tone of voice, and pitch skyrocketed.
My dad told me then "Faggots go nowhere in life, boy. They can't do anything, and every fur hates them." I lost my temper then, screaming at him things I'd never say, even to the devil.
"No!" I screamed. "No! You have no fucking clue what in fffucking HELL what other furs think of gays!" I could feel tears welling up once more, though it was because I was actually cursing and yelling at my dad, not because he was being insensitive.
"Don't you EVER say those things to me!" His eyes burned like napalm into my heart, raising his paw to where I would regret it going. He continued his rant with: "You, you, fucking little, no good, son of a bitch little..." He paused. I knew what was coming, and so I interjected.
"What?" I said. "Little fucking FAGGOT? Is that it, huh?" Now the tears spilled down my eyes, dampening my muzzle yet again with their warm, melancholy comfort.
"Yeah" I said. "That's right, I'm gay, homosexual, I play for the other team. I'm a little happy faggot! And y'know what? I don't care what you think, 'cause this is the way I am! I-" I was cut short there.
I woke up sometime later, lying on the couch in the living room, my head feeling as though it were on fire. The world around me was still spinning, and I knew that he'd hit me. Wow, I thought, he's never hit me before...I really screwed up this time.I tried to move my head but it hurt too much. Each muscle in my body seemed to be on fire. Every time I moved, they would try to stop me, brining a sharp, pulsing ache down my neck to my spine. I willed myself to look away from the couch; my dad was sitting there with an ice pack in his lap, paws on his head. He put the ice on my head, it hurt a little, and then the numbing sensation of ice was all I felt where I had been struck. I managed to make a noise, not words, only a grunting sound.
I managed to see my father get up from his chair and move it closer to me. He extended his arm like a crane across the gap from his legs to the couch, and laid his hand on me. Slowly, he stroked my head fur, being gentle as my mother, and being careful not to touch or go near the bump, rising above my head like a rolling hill. I must still look like I'm asleep. Perfect. My thoughts ran ramped through my head, giving me ideas to torture him, to ask him for forgiveness, etc. However, I listened to the thought that said to just lay there and see what happens. I did, and soon after he started to speak.
"Stupid boy" he said. "Why'd you have to do this?" I was starting to get angry again already. "Why do you have to torture me like this, my first born son, my pride and joy. You have no idea how much I love you."
Even though I wasn't able to do this in reality, in my mind my eyes opened wide and I just thought WHAT? H-He still loves me? Even now, after what just happened?! He continued by saying:
"I know you're not doing this to rebel against your mother and me, I know this is hard for you, but you just can't be like this. You have to think, about what it's gonna do to the family, to our furiends and to yours. What is going to happen to your brothers? I don't want them, or you, to get made fun of, exiled, or bullied because of something that happened to you. And for Christ's sake..." He went silent.
I knew that this was hard on him, and on mom, hell, it was hard on everyone. And to think that all this time, he wasn't mad at me. All he was was worried about us, the family as a whole. I couldn't tell if the ice bag was leaking or if I had started to cry, but I felt something wet of my face. Whatever it was, my dad just took his paw off of my head, wiped the liquid off my face and whispered
"Shh, its all right, buddy."
This was a new side to him; I'd never known that he felt this way about me, or that he could be this gentle and caring. After what felt like an eternity, he went on with his little speech, probably because either he thought I was unconscious still, that I was in or going to be in a coma, or that he was practicing it for when, or if, I woke up.
"...For Christ's sake boy, just know that I love you. I always have, I do now, and always will. I mean it, always." His voice quivered, which is always strange to see and hear, especially coming from a giant bear like him.
"I don't know what made you decide to be like this, but, if it's something you're adamant about, then I'll have to help you get through this. And don't think that I won't, not even for a second."
While listening to this I couldn't help but feel like such an ass for the things I'd said to him this morning. I tried, and tried, until I forced my self to move. Slowly I raised my hand, and reached for his knee. I think he saw what I was at least trying to do because he immediately took my paw in his. It was giant and strong, but this time it felt different. It was as though he was holding a newly hatched chick. His pads were warm and soft, with some of his fur sneaking in between the gaps in his paw. Through a heavy heart, pain, regret, and so much happiness and relief I said,
"I'm sorry dad." My voice was horse, and I could only mumble my words but he had heard them.
"No, don't be sorry son. I should be the one apologizing. It's just that this....this is just something I'm not prepared for. I never could have been prepared for it either, so I just didn't know how to react."
"Oh, and dad..." I don't know why I had stopped talking. Probably because I needed to gather myself up to say what I did next. So, while I did that he simply asked me,
"Yes?"
"I love you too, dad. And always will. I mean, you can't be a boy and not love your dad, right?" I chuckled a little, like the chuckle in between laughing and crying, he did the same.
I tried to sit up. He helped me up, one paw on my back, the other still holding mine. I was still a little sore, but I could at least move now. We looked at each other, then he came towards me and embraced me as if I'd been dead and was now alive again. I knew I was still his son and he, my dad. It would be difficult, but I knew that somehow, somehow I-no, we would get through this.