Box of Discarded Moments

Just a note, this is part of a queer character's backstory. There is brief mention of Domestic Violence and Depression.

Yesterday I found a box under my bed, and when I opened it up, I found old photos that I forgot I had. It seems fitting that I found them at the start of summer, most of them were from previous childhood memories when I was on summer breaks from school.

The first one on the top of the pile was this faded polaroid. It looked so overexposed, captured in the moment with me lying on a towel by the pool in our first apartment complex. I was so little. I remember the fateful way I learned to swim that year.

God, it was kinda scary if you think about it. I fell into the pool being a silly kid. When mom would talk about it, she always recounted how calm and collected she was, standing there at the edge, cheering me on to dog paddle to the side. She plucked me out and wrapped that same towel around me, and with that motherly tone of praise, convinced me I had done a great job.

It worked, I wasn’t scared. Hell, by the end of that summer, I was swimming like a fish. I still love swimming.

The next one was from when I learned how to dive, how you got me a scuba suit that was a bit too big, with neon pink stripes on it. I remember wondering how you had known the size I needed without asking me; it was such a mystery. It was a very unexpected surprise, but I was thankful for it.

Sadly, I only used it a few times, and then I got spooked out of ever going in the water again past playing in the waves. Listen, when you have a panic attack in the middle of the ocean, and all you can do is swim back to get to safety. It leaves a lasting impression.

The next one was from when I went out to visit my aunt, one of your sisters, and got to live a bit like a feral child for the summer. God, was it hot in Arkansas, but I had some iconic moments. Saved a baby goose, tamed a stallion without trying, and fell even more in love with living outside of the city. It was such a different kind of existence.

I got to meet so much of your side of the family, which was a heck of an experience. You had a lot more siblings than I realized. I remember how different it was from spending time around mom’s family, you guys were from two very different types of people.

The next one was from when I went to my first summer camp. That was awkward, but I did learn how to build a bonfire you can light with a single match. I also learned how scary it was to swim in a lake so deep you can’t fathom where it ends. You know, I think I’m realizing that I might have some kind of phobia surrounding that.

Oh, that was the same year that I realized I was gay. Nothing like being huddled up in a cabin with other girls, fearing the small black bear rummaging outside, yet still being keenly aware of those I had crushes on being far too close.

The next would be after we moved, and I got to spend more time at the coast because we lived on the beach now. This was about the time I started skipping school a lot. The pressures of conforming with undiagnosed ADHD and autism were too much. I got really good at lying, and spent a lot of my teen years on the beach or in the park, reading.

At the time, I thought I was broken, and I felt bad. I still feel the ripples of that guilt today. Like I was a failure. When in reality, it was just the lack of diagnosing that kind of thing in girls, and the stigma that came with being under those labels. My cousin got diagnosed, and he ended up not even having ADHD.

After that, the photos stopped being taken, though I would take photos of things or places. Depression was bad, but it was just another one of those things you deal with, like it’s your fault. At least I did. I swallowed it down and kept pushing forward.

I do think that I took a photo later that year when I got my old school truck; it was a sad excuse for a hot rod, but it made me think of you and how you loved to work on cars. I remember when I was really little, in the first house, you had started teaching me how to work on engines. You also taught me how to speak a little bit of German.

I still use it when I curse sometimes, and it makes my wife laugh. I speak four other languages now, so I’ve added a few more expletives to my vocabulary.

I also remember, probably during summer, when I needed a place to stay, and I just turned up on your doorstep. You let me, which I was surprised about.

It was awkward, though, living in the same house as the child you raised. The one who called you by your name, because he wasn’t your blood like I was. That short time kind of encapsulated the essence of our relationship. Brief, distant. Sure, you were accepting of me, and even seemed proud.

I think I remember you telling me that as we were working on my truck.

All at once, my chest felt like it was going to cave in under the weight of all the times I'd missed this growing up. I swallowed down the grief, I had no words for it at the time, for the years missed because you couldn’t be a father to me.

My mother had done all the hard work, even if she failed me in the end, too.

I think all the built-up resentment of having to shoulder that burden, and look at the reflection of you in my face all those years, ate away at her. I used to be so angry about it.

Now, well, I know that it wasn’t my fault, it was yours.

You were the one who cheated on her, and then beat her within an inch of her life for calling you out for it. She fought you so hard, I remember that. I watched you do it. I don’t know how old I was then, but I know that it’s one of my most vivid memories.

That was the shame that kept you from being a real father to me.

I have to thank you for giving me the example of how not to be a man, or a parent, because that taught me how to be a better one than you ever were. Even if I did it in the queerest way possible. What makes it all worse is that I could tell you did love me, and you accepted me for who I was. You just couldn’t show up and show it.

That’s the part that hurts the most, that haunts me. It's what I mourn the most. The ghost of what could have been.