Broken Home

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There he was again.

The boy.

The boy that Evan avoided and chased at the same time, every day.

The boy that caused so much confusion to Evan, one day giving him fear, the next day giving him happiness.

Evan lived in a town by the name of Jekkton, Arizona. There was nothing special about Jekkton, nor will there ever be. It's smack dab in the middle of the desert state. There are three schools, named creatively: Jekkton Elementary, Jekkton Junior High, and Jekkton High. There's a grocery store called Jekkton Market and a restaurant by the name of Jekkton Café.

Evan found such redundancy exasperating. He dreamed of a city of colors, a city with no name. No building had the same name. Everything and everyone was unique, and that was okay. Evan liked his colorful city. Everyone in it loved him, and he loved everyone in it.

Evan started to pay attention to the television as he got older. His parents would religiously watch the news every evening at nine o'clock. One night when the television clicked on, he saw a flag with rainbow colors waving in the blue sky. The camera then cut to a clip of a man, kneeling down and proposing to... another man? Evan's dad groaned loudly and clicked off the television, then stomped into the kitchen. All Evan heard after the situation was,

"Why'd you turn off the TV, dear?"

"They were having another faggot parade."

This confused Evan. He had so many questions, but whenever he was tempted to ask, his stomach would broil, remembering his father's word:

Faggot.

The word made Evan want to punch something.
The word made Evan want to cry.
The word made Evan want to find one.

Evan wanted to apologize to whomever the faggot was. He wanted to get on his hands and knees and beg for his father's forgiveness. He may not know who it was, but he knew one thing: it was a terrible, terrible word.

Now Evan is fifteen. He knows what faggot means. But he still doesn't understand why. Why his parents use the vulgar word. Why they don't treat it like they would a curse word.

The word now sent not a broil, but a fire of emotions to his heart. A blaze. A bonfire.

Why, you may ask?

Because it was his secret.

Only one person knew, the person that helped him to realize, to understand. Her name was Cassie. Cassie took him to her house, that took him to her shed. They stood alone, crammed in between garden tools. The shed was humid, but the sweat was already on Evan's neck. She held his hands gently, and he said it.

The first time it was a mumble, a mutter of sound lost to the musky air.

The next time, following seconds after, was a strong voice, one he didn't even perceive that he owned.

Evan Stoke stated that he was gay.

The girls face lit up. She pulled him into a hug, not even caring if they were almost drenched in sweat by this time. The girl was infinitely patient, a hero to him. Evan cherished this girl's kindness long into his old age.

Back to the boy.

His name is Atwater. Sean Atwater. Sean loved the James Bond movies. Evan knew that. So never once had he written his name as Sean Atwater. Never. Evan wrote it as Atwater. Sean Atwater.

Sean's name could be found in a lot of places that he wouldn't expect. A binder, a lunch table, a poster, a laptop, and countless pieces of stray binder paper that happened to fall prey to Evan's doodling habits. Sean would never expect anyone to like him, for that matter.