Wood: A True Lover's Story

“Dad. Good afternoon. I wasn’t trying to stop by unannounced and surprise you like this, but I been calling trying to reach you.” Wood smiled through the pain and regret. He was trying his best to show them he was still their son. Same eyes, same voice, same heart.

His father carefully inched his wife to the side and stepped out onto the porch. Wood didn’t embrace him because he had a feeling he wasn’t approaching him for that. “Boy, didn’t I tell you to never step foot back in my house again?”

Wood slumped so hard until he had to brace his hands on his knees. Jesus. “Are you serious?” Wood gritted out, suddenly feeling exhausted. “It was an accident, damnit!”

He heard his mother gasp, and his father’s imposing figure seemed to grow even larger, making Wood feel like the junior he was. Despite the sharp stabbing in his chest, Wood stood to his full height and looked his father in the eye. His old man seemed worn, and his face had aged well beyond his seventy-three years. His hair was thinned bald in the middle, leaving patches of gray fuzz around the sides. Wood stared at the man he thought he wanted to be like most in the world, stared at a man that was once his hero. Flashes of their relationship whipped through his mind as he gazed into his father’s eyes and said his final goodbye. He knew when a man was done, finished… repulsed. And he could see it all, times ten, expressed in his father.

“Don’t you take that voice in front of your mother! Listen to how you speak. Where’s your respect? You come here looking for forgiveness, boy, then you wasted your time,” his father said gruffly, never breaking their stare-off.

Wood knew he was close to giving up, but he locked his knees and stood firm, forcing himself to remember Brody’s words. He remembered that he’d paid his penance. He’d paid his debt to society. He was allowed to live his life now. But it didn’t mean he could make others forgive and forget it. If they weren’t ready to move on, then Wood had to do it alone… without their compassion.

Wood turned to his mother. “Momma. I apologize. I came here to say—whether you accept it or not—that I’m genuinely sorry. And I love you both, always have, and I always will.” Wood shook his head and swiped at the moisture building in the corner of his eyes. “But I feel that even if you two could’ve forgiven me for the accident… you’ll never forgive me for being gay. And I’m sorry, but I’m not apologizing for that.”

“Then I guess you best get going,” his father said coldly.

Wood narrowed his eyes, utterly confused. How could this have gone so damn badly? “Dad. Can I just say one more thing? How can you stand in that pulpit every Sunday in front of impressionable young people and preach God’s word on forgiveness and mercy… but then you live the total opposite? When I used to listen to those sermons, you’d call those kinds of so-called Christians hypocrites.”

“Wood Jr.,” his mom admonished. She still hadn’t moved from behind the door as if he wasn’t safe to be around.

“What pulpit!” his father yelled, and Wood shrank back at the anger he saw. He’d never seen his dad lose his temper to the point where he balled his fists as if he was about to attack. “The Board of Bishops took my church. Eighty-four percent of our congregation left after what you did. Killing that innocent woman. No matter how much we said that we didn’t raise you that way, it didn’t matter.” His dad scowled at him. “We gave you a beautiful life by raising you in a God-fearing, morally decent home, and look what you gave us in return.”

“I’m. Sorry. I’ve said it so much I’ve lost count. I wrote you repeatedly saying exactly what happened that night—since neither of you came to my trial—that I wasn’t drunk at all. It really was an accident. I want you to know that I’m not holding any grudges about you all not being there for me during the scariest time of my life or never writing. I’m too old for that now, and too much time has passed. I really wish we could get beyond this, but I don’t think we can…” Wood trailed off to see if anyone would deny his words, but his father continued to seethe while his mother turned her face away.

Wood sighed. It was freezing and his father was going to end up catching pneumonia if he didn’t get back inside. “I understand. I guess this really is goodbye.”

His father nodded stiffly.

Oh God! The hurt almost made him drop to the ground in defeat, but he’d wait until he was alone to lose his shit. “Can I have my belongings that were removed from my condo? My landlord said he had to give my possessions to my next of kin and that he contacted you,” Wood said. They suddenly looked guilty, and Wood started to get nervous. “It’s okay if you didn’t move my furniture—I guess you had no way of storing all my stuff. But…” Wood bit anxiously on his lip. “But you did keep my portfolios, right? My drawings, my equipment?”