The real story of coming out
I'm sure a lot of you have heard this story, but most of you have heard it in the form of "Mum, I'm gay." "I know, son." And while that is true, it is not the whole story. So here is the whole story; not every word is accurate or necessarily in chronological order, but I think it captures the memory.
--
I don't even remember what I was talking about. It was some important conversation with Peter, or a conversation that seemed important at the time. It was on the internet anyway, MSN Messenger, so I presume in the cosmic sense it can't have been that important. But it was sufficiently so to me that when my parents told me to go to bed, I'd decided to sneak downstairs again, almost as soon as I affirmed for them that I was finishing up online.
In fact, my deception was such that I'd decided to use my dad's computer because it was in his office, a place no one had any reason to go, and that if my parents were going to check up on me, they'd check my computer. And so, wrapped in a dressing gown, my feet frozen, I crept downstairs, switched on my dad's computer and typed as quietly as I could. The clacking of keyboards always sounds so much louder when you think someone might overhear you.
I heard someone coming down the stairs, and I knew instinctively from the way she came down the stairs that it was my mother. My mother, the partial insomniac, who could never just leave me be at three in the morning when I was watching some godawful movie on TV. I created my own little world at night, a world where I could watch TV, I could listen to music, write in peace without the possibility of someone disturbing me. She always intruded into that world, and I hated her for it.
I could've switched off the computer quickly and rushed into another room, pretended to be watching television, but I knew with the monitor switched off she would have no idea whether the computer was on or not. And because the light in the corridor was on, if I were to switch the light in the office off, her eyes wouldn't be able to adjust quickly enough to see me in the room. And she wouldn't go to any great lengths to check if I was in the room anyway. So though the door opened on the darkened room - and at that point, I held my breath just in case - it quickly closed again afterwards. And I heard her go back up the stairs, hopefully to sleep.
It was a close call, but I was confident. Too confident, I guess, because when I heard her come down the stairs again, I just did the same thing again. The door to my bedroom must have been open; if it's closed, she wouldn't open it to check if I was in bed, but when it's open, she edges it open to check up on me. And unluckily for me, it was open, she saw I was not in bed, and having already checked all the rooms in the house, was worried about where I'd gotten to. I mean, I had run away before after all. I didn't know this. She came into the office and switched on the light: I was caught.
She was more shocked to see me than anything, I think. "What are you doing?" she asked. I realised I had no time to make something up, or at least I had no will to make it convincing.
"I was using the computer," I said, as I turned on the monitor. "I'm sorry." And I was sorry, but I think only sorry that I got caught.
"What were you doing?" The surprise had turned to anger.
I hesitated. "I can't tell you. But it was important."
"I can't believe you. I'm very disappointed, Eoin. I can't trust you. I can trust Joe and Linda, but I can't trust you these days. Now go to bed, I'll have to talk to your dad in the morning about a punishment, right now I'm too tired."
I don't know why I cared so much whether she caught me or not. I was shaking, but she was right. She couldn't trust me, and things hadn't been right between us for a long time. Things had become for me a horrible, horrible game. And we never talked, I never even bothered exchanging pleasantries with her. There was a silence. Even the time she had taken me to lunch to have a chat, I think she expected me to tell her there that I was gay. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she had said to me. And all I could do is laugh, and I knew then that she knew. But even then, a year after coming out to everyone else, it was still difficult to say. Especially to someone with whom all lines of communication had broken down.
And I crawled into bed, feeling lowlier than the lowest creature at the bottom of the ocean... I was wide awake, turning things over and over in my head. I doubt I could have slept, although I considered it, possibly thinking things would somehow be better in the morning. I wanted it to all go away, I definitely didn't want to face any kind of punishment in the morning, but stronger than the sense of self-preservation were the words that she could no longer trust me.
She couldn't, I was horribly deceitful, and we were just two people living in the same house, and not sharing a home. I tried to think of something that I could do, something that would solve it all. I was good at thinking up plans, and one did come to me. But it was ridiculous. I couldn't possibly tell her, not there and then.
But then, it was good a moment as any, wasn't it? The thought that I might possibly do it, that now might be the time, petrified me. My mind kept telling me to leave the bed and go downstairs, where she was sleeping (she sometimes sleeps downstairs when my dad is snoring), but my body wouldn't move. I must have been lying there for nearly an hour, having decided at various stages on going to sleep and forgetting about it, getting up and telling her now, or waiting 'til the morning... But I knew if I didn't do it then, I wouldn't do it tomorrow.
And so I walked, trancelike and sleep-deprived downstairs, and hesitated outside the door of the sitting room. But my mother, ever the insomniac, had heard me come down the stairs. "Eoin?"
"Yeah, it's me." I opened the door.
"Why aren't you in bed?"
"I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Is it that important? I'm very tired right now."
"No, it's ok, it doesn't matter that much." And I turned around to go.
I can't imagine how things might have been different if she had just let me go. "No, it's alright, I'm awake now."
"No, it doesn't matter."
"No, go on, what is it?"
I stood there for a while saying nothing. I couldn't say anything.
"Come here, sit down."
I sat down beside her, but still a sufficient distance from her. I breathed heavily, but I couldn't make any words come out. Every time I tried to force them into a sound, nothing came out.
"Eoin?"
"I... I want us to be able to talk. I want you to be able to trust me." I talked on for a little while, not really saying anything. I can't even remember now what I said. But the moment had arrived, frantically, inexplicably, and I could see no way for me to escape it now.
"Mum, I'm gay." And with that, I began to cry.
She drew me close to her, and even had I wanted to resist, I wouldn't have been able to. "Oh, I know, son," she said, in words that said everything, all the months of silence, a sigh of disappointment, of relief... It was everything. "Do you think I never had gay friends?"
"What?"
"A long time ago, back in college... There was a group of guys living next door to us, actors, they were great fun. They were putting on Pirates of Penzance, and they used to have great parties... I don't care if you're gay, I just want you to be happy. Do your friends know?"
"Everyone knows." And now it was true.
"Do Linda and Joe know?"
"I don't know..."
"Don't worry about dad, I'll tell him, but he'll be fine with it. There's just one person I think maybe we shouldn't tell, your granny, I don't think she'd understand..."
We talked for a little longer. I don't remember exactly what about. I don't know that it was that important. Little things that didn't really matter. She asked about some of the guys I had hung around with and brought back home. Little things.
"That was the reason I was on the internet tonight, I was talking to a friend who had just broken up with his boyfriend." It was a lie. It just shows how insignificant the real reason must have been.
"Ok," she said.
And in a little while I went to bed. My eyes were bleary from crying and from the time (late evening or early morning), and I fell asleep almost immediately. I didn't know what it would mean for me or for anything else, and I was unable to reflect. I just slept, dreamlessly.
--
I don't even remember what I was talking about. It was some important conversation with Peter, or a conversation that seemed important at the time. It was on the internet anyway, MSN Messenger, so I presume in the cosmic sense it can't have been that important. But it was sufficiently so to me that when my parents told me to go to bed, I'd decided to sneak downstairs again, almost as soon as I affirmed for them that I was finishing up online.
In fact, my deception was such that I'd decided to use my dad's computer because it was in his office, a place no one had any reason to go, and that if my parents were going to check up on me, they'd check my computer. And so, wrapped in a dressing gown, my feet frozen, I crept downstairs, switched on my dad's computer and typed as quietly as I could. The clacking of keyboards always sounds so much louder when you think someone might overhear you.
I heard someone coming down the stairs, and I knew instinctively from the way she came down the stairs that it was my mother. My mother, the partial insomniac, who could never just leave me be at three in the morning when I was watching some godawful movie on TV. I created my own little world at night, a world where I could watch TV, I could listen to music, write in peace without the possibility of someone disturbing me. She always intruded into that world, and I hated her for it.
I could've switched off the computer quickly and rushed into another room, pretended to be watching television, but I knew with the monitor switched off she would have no idea whether the computer was on or not. And because the light in the corridor was on, if I were to switch the light in the office off, her eyes wouldn't be able to adjust quickly enough to see me in the room. And she wouldn't go to any great lengths to check if I was in the room anyway. So though the door opened on the darkened room - and at that point, I held my breath just in case - it quickly closed again afterwards. And I heard her go back up the stairs, hopefully to sleep.
It was a close call, but I was confident. Too confident, I guess, because when I heard her come down the stairs again, I just did the same thing again. The door to my bedroom must have been open; if it's closed, she wouldn't open it to check if I was in bed, but when it's open, she edges it open to check up on me. And unluckily for me, it was open, she saw I was not in bed, and having already checked all the rooms in the house, was worried about where I'd gotten to. I mean, I had run away before after all. I didn't know this. She came into the office and switched on the light: I was caught.
She was more shocked to see me than anything, I think. "What are you doing?" she asked. I realised I had no time to make something up, or at least I had no will to make it convincing.
"I was using the computer," I said, as I turned on the monitor. "I'm sorry." And I was sorry, but I think only sorry that I got caught.
"What were you doing?" The surprise had turned to anger.
I hesitated. "I can't tell you. But it was important."
"I can't believe you. I'm very disappointed, Eoin. I can't trust you. I can trust Joe and Linda, but I can't trust you these days. Now go to bed, I'll have to talk to your dad in the morning about a punishment, right now I'm too tired."
I don't know why I cared so much whether she caught me or not. I was shaking, but she was right. She couldn't trust me, and things hadn't been right between us for a long time. Things had become for me a horrible, horrible game. And we never talked, I never even bothered exchanging pleasantries with her. There was a silence. Even the time she had taken me to lunch to have a chat, I think she expected me to tell her there that I was gay. "Is there anything you want to tell me?" she had said to me. And all I could do is laugh, and I knew then that she knew. But even then, a year after coming out to everyone else, it was still difficult to say. Especially to someone with whom all lines of communication had broken down.
And I crawled into bed, feeling lowlier than the lowest creature at the bottom of the ocean... I was wide awake, turning things over and over in my head. I doubt I could have slept, although I considered it, possibly thinking things would somehow be better in the morning. I wanted it to all go away, I definitely didn't want to face any kind of punishment in the morning, but stronger than the sense of self-preservation were the words that she could no longer trust me.
She couldn't, I was horribly deceitful, and we were just two people living in the same house, and not sharing a home. I tried to think of something that I could do, something that would solve it all. I was good at thinking up plans, and one did come to me. But it was ridiculous. I couldn't possibly tell her, not there and then.
But then, it was good a moment as any, wasn't it? The thought that I might possibly do it, that now might be the time, petrified me. My mind kept telling me to leave the bed and go downstairs, where she was sleeping (she sometimes sleeps downstairs when my dad is snoring), but my body wouldn't move. I must have been lying there for nearly an hour, having decided at various stages on going to sleep and forgetting about it, getting up and telling her now, or waiting 'til the morning... But I knew if I didn't do it then, I wouldn't do it tomorrow.
And so I walked, trancelike and sleep-deprived downstairs, and hesitated outside the door of the sitting room. But my mother, ever the insomniac, had heard me come down the stairs. "Eoin?"
"Yeah, it's me." I opened the door.
"Why aren't you in bed?"
"I wanted to talk to you about something."
"Is it that important? I'm very tired right now."
"No, it's ok, it doesn't matter that much." And I turned around to go.
I can't imagine how things might have been different if she had just let me go. "No, it's alright, I'm awake now."
"No, it doesn't matter."
"No, go on, what is it?"
I stood there for a while saying nothing. I couldn't say anything.
"Come here, sit down."
I sat down beside her, but still a sufficient distance from her. I breathed heavily, but I couldn't make any words come out. Every time I tried to force them into a sound, nothing came out.
"Eoin?"
"I... I want us to be able to talk. I want you to be able to trust me." I talked on for a little while, not really saying anything. I can't even remember now what I said. But the moment had arrived, frantically, inexplicably, and I could see no way for me to escape it now.
"Mum, I'm gay." And with that, I began to cry.
She drew me close to her, and even had I wanted to resist, I wouldn't have been able to. "Oh, I know, son," she said, in words that said everything, all the months of silence, a sigh of disappointment, of relief... It was everything. "Do you think I never had gay friends?"
"What?"
"A long time ago, back in college... There was a group of guys living next door to us, actors, they were great fun. They were putting on Pirates of Penzance, and they used to have great parties... I don't care if you're gay, I just want you to be happy. Do your friends know?"
"Everyone knows." And now it was true.
"Do Linda and Joe know?"
"I don't know..."
"Don't worry about dad, I'll tell him, but he'll be fine with it. There's just one person I think maybe we shouldn't tell, your granny, I don't think she'd understand..."
We talked for a little longer. I don't remember exactly what about. I don't know that it was that important. Little things that didn't really matter. She asked about some of the guys I had hung around with and brought back home. Little things.
"That was the reason I was on the internet tonight, I was talking to a friend who had just broken up with his boyfriend." It was a lie. It just shows how insignificant the real reason must have been.
"Ok," she said.
And in a little while I went to bed. My eyes were bleary from crying and from the time (late evening or early morning), and I fell asleep almost immediately. I didn't know what it would mean for me or for anything else, and I was unable to reflect. I just slept, dreamlessly.