Free Tango by Justin Vivian Bond Page B

out that it was not a homeless man; it was actually my Pop-Pop. He had been out for an afternoon walk and had fallen. We rushed quickly to the hospital. He seemed to be okay but was complaining of a terrible headache. Later that night he died of a cerebral hematoma. When I got back to school two days later I explained to Toni that the man was not homeless, but had in fact been my grandfather. I asked her to thank her mother
for calling the hospital. Toni was very sad that my grandfather had died, as was I. Pop-Pop was the first person I’d ever been close to who died. My grandmother had died when I was so young I never really knew her. The only things I knew about her were how beautiful her clothes were because I had dressed up in them when I was younger, and I remember seeing the pink suit she was buried in when I kissed her goodbye as she lay in her casket at the viewing. After Pop-Pop’s death, my parents and his son Tom went through all of his and my grandmother’s possessions, taking what they wanted. In the attic was an old antique bed frame that hadn’t been used in years, which had been in the family since the eighteen hundreds. I asked if I could have the bed frame and it was given to me. We had a huge yard sale and got rid of the rest.
    When Pop-Pop died, I was sad but I didn’t really feel much. It wasn’t until one night six months later when I was lying in that bed that I realized I would never see him again and I burst into tears, sobbing so loudly both of my parents came running into my room to see what was
wrong. All I could manage to get out was, “I miss him,” through heaving sobs. I’d never cried so hard in my life. I also spent a lot of time thinking about what my Christian cousins told me after his funeral: “Your Pop-Pop did not accept Jesus as his personal savior before he died so no matter how kind and how good of a person you think he was, he is not going to heaven.” I refused to accept that Pop-Pop’s fate was to burn in hell for eternity. Suddenly, all of these so-called good people around me started to look very shabby.
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    I KNEW THAT IF I MENTIONED ANYTHING ABOUT religion to the lady psychologist or if it became in any way evident to my parents that she had even the slightest anti-Christian views we would never see her again. For my parents it was enough of a challenge that we were going in the first place, but if seeing a psychologist led me to challenge our basic beliefs, it would be over.
    I wanted to continue to see the lady psychologist for a while longer. I liked her. She was
young and cool and allowed me to talk about my feelings. Sometimes I would see her alone and sometimes with my parents. During one of our private sessions, I mentioned the fact that I was afraid I might be gay. I told her a little about my relationship with Michael and that I didn’t want to continue with it. She said that lots of young people experiment and it didn’t necessarily make them gay. I was relieved to hear this although I was also afraid that it wasn’t true.
    The following week I told her that I had thought about what she had been saying. I agreed that it was a phase, and I was not going to see Michael anymore. We never talked about him again but she did say one thing to me that was helpful, something that made every cent of the three dollars an hour she got worth it. She told me that because my parents were willing to put me through college, if I studied hard and was able to graduate from high school with decent grades, I would be able to choose a school anywhere I wanted and get out of town. I would discover that there were other people like me out
in the world, and I would find a place where I belonged. Being stuck in Hagerstown would be a great tragedy.
    I knew she was right, so I resolved that I would somehow get through high school and as soon as I did I would get the hell out of there.
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    THE SUMMER BETWEEN EIGHTH AND