You hear someone trying to open the door. Shit.

While you quickly try to retrieve all the pictures that you carelessly left all over the place, fear overcomes you. It’s out. Your secret is out. You can’t explain why you’ve locked yourself into the room to your father, let alone your uncle, it would kill your grandma. Then they’d kill you.

A soft knock on the door.

You hear your name said almost as a whisper in your uncle’s voice.

You want to reply, but there are no words, you can’t explain. So you finish putting the pictures in the box and quickly hide it under the bed, then you run to the door and open it.

Your uncle turns around rapidly to look at you, he looks very worried. Not angry, though. You stand, frozen, at the door to his bedroom. You look at each other’s eyes, then he walks one step, two steps, three steps forward and takes a look at his room from over your shoulder.

“You shouldn’t be in my room,” he says, looking at you again.

“I’m sorry.”

He walks past you just as you notice that you forgot to straighten the bed. You see him look at the closet but he doesn’t open it. His puts his hands in and out of his pockets, runs one through his hair, scratches his sides.

“Your dad is waiting for you downstairs.”

You want to leave, you do, but you also want to stay. You want to ask him about the pictures. About him. You realize you don’t know your uncle at all. You thought you did, but you don’t.

Suddenly, he leans in for a hug. You hold tight, but he’s just soft. He smells just like his closet. Before you let go, he kisses you on the head.

Just as you’re sprinting down the stairs, you realize that you’re not afraid of being gay anymore.

This is the last post for this blog. Thanks to everyone who enjoyed it.
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