Skeletons

☠️3☠️

“Is this the family of Greg Preston?”

“Depends who's calling.” I glared at the ivory wall next to the house phone.

“I'm Ashley Headley with The New York Times―”

I hit the End Call key and set the phone back in the receiver.

“It's fucking national news,” I muttered.

“Watch your language, Raphael,” my mom scolded from the kitchen sink where she was washing the dishes from lunch.

“I already said I'm not making any statements!” Aunt Janice yelled from the living room sofa. I stepped into the living room to see her gnashing her teeth with folded arms. “God damn it, Greg.”

I headed to the back of the ranch to my uncle's room where I was trying to clear stuff out. He had so much junk in this house. It'd only been days since his death but dust had collected as if years had passed. The sunlight coming from the window lit up the particles floating around as I sat down on his bed and looked at the stacks of papers and shoe boxes full of God knows what on his dresser.

The doorbell rang and I rolled my eyes but didn't move an inch. Every day, random faggots came to our door. They left flowers on the doorstep and Aunt Janice tossed them straight into the trash.

“Don't answer it, Raphael!” Aunt Janice called. I heard my mom sob. Everyday, she just sat at the kitchen table, staring into space. I didn't know what was with her and kitchen tables. And right now I didn't want to console her. I got up to shut the bedroom door and sat back down on the mattress.

Uncle Greg.

I thought I knew him. He lived in another country, but up through high school, never failed to call and wish me a happy birthday the day after his greeting card and a check came in the mail. Uncle Greg had a great sense of humor, somehow making dad jokes and puns actually funny.

I remembered his wedding day clearly. I was too old or maybe not cute enough to be the ring bearer, so he made sure to give me attention during the reception. We danced to country music and he patted me on the head before going off on his Honeymoon to Hilton Head, South Carolina.

This Uncle Greg here, though…

I looked around the room and back at the papers and boxes. The real Uncle Greg wasn't the one who kissed Aunt Jan at the altar and played catch with me at Summer barbeques. The real Uncle Greg was someone who'd rather be kissing other dudes, going to gay bars, and doing whatever other filthy shit those fags do. He'd fucking lied to all of us. Why?

Unclenching my jaw, I stood up and went to the dresser. Most of the papers were bills and other business shit. I stopped on a scrap of paper with a phone number written down along with the name ‘Will’. The area code wasn't local. Could be a guy dealing with business. Or, considering there was no last name, could be someone else… An acquaintance? His boyfriend?

I folded the paper and slipped it into my jeans as the phone rang.

“I'm ripping this thing from the wall!” Aunt Jan yelled.

Sighing, I opened the bedroom door and went out to where Aunt Jan was actually standing at the wall-hanging phone, trying to take it down. Mom was sitting at the table, covering her face.

“Aunt Jan, can I talk to you?” I asked in a low voice.

She looked over and nodded. I lead her to the mud room and closed the door. I'd already washed Uncle Greg's old clothes to give to charity. Gayness wasn't contagious, so it's not like it mattered if a straight guy ended up wearing them.

“Aunt Jan, I know you're stressed and frustrated. I'm doing the best I can. I’m paying the funeral home tomorrow and I will help with the guest list. I'm handling the people who keep bothering us.” I took a deep breath before getting to my main point. “My mom is on eggshells right now and your yelling and… complaining isn't helping. Just let me handle everything so she and you can rest.” I was worried about talking to Aunt Jan this way. Her Southern upbringing was big on respecting your elders. But she was getting on my nerves and making things harder for my mom, so I couldn't sit by quietly anymore.

I was surprised to see her nod, though she did purse her lips. “Maybe your mom and I should stay at a motel.”

Have my mom not be around me where I could watch her? I didn't like the sound of that and my face must have given that away because Aunt Janice held out her palm.

“I think it'd be good for us to get away from all the noise. I'll take good care of her.”

Aunt Jan was probably right. Even if I dealt with the calls and visitors quietly, their presence wouldn’t go unnoticed and it would stress Mom out.

“I don't have the money to put you two up for that many days.”

“Don't worry. I'll handle it. Thanks for taking care of things, Raphael.”

“Yeah.”

☠️☠️☠️

The next day, after visiting the funeral home, I'd taken my aunt and mom to the motel. As I drove down the street back to the house, I noticed a familiar car parked outside. My jaw clenched.

Once parked in the driveway, I slammed the car door shut and headed for the front door as Gay Boy ran up.

“I just wanted you to know what we have planned.”

That stopped me in my tracks. I turned around and sneered. “What did you say?”

“We're holding a silent protest the day of the funeral. We'll be on the street outside the church holding up signs and waving rainbow flags. You and your family can't ignore that your uncle was a gay man. The police are still looking at it as a hate crime. The country has still acknowledged it. All his LGBT friends are still mourning.” He held up his phone to my face.

My eyes were first drawn to the dark picture of my uncle smiling. The person next to him was cropped out. We hadn't given a single photo to the media. “Where the hell did you get―”

“You weren't his only family!” the guy snapped.

I then noticed the headline. “Family Ignoring the Murder of their Gay Relative.” What fucking bullshit.

My fist clenched and it took everything I had not to punch him. If I did, the fucker would probably call the news and I'd be the next one all over, under headlines like “Crazed Homophobe Punches Harmless Gay Man.”

“Stay the fuck away from us,” I spat and stomped to the door. I turned around one last time to tell him, “And keep your shit away from our funeral!” before slamming the door closed, causing the entire frame to shake.

Inside, I slid to the floor. How dare they paint our family that way. My whole body was burning with rage as my chest heaved. I was pissed. I hated my uncle. I hated the news. I hated that fucking LGBT rights group and their leading fag. How dare they all do this to our family. How dare they.