Dreams Come True

Excerpt:
IT'S an undeniable (and utterly unavoidable) reality that - no matter how much we may love them, even in light of their obvious issues with sanity - at some point, we all manage to thoroughly disappoint our beloved families.

Me? I began disappointing mine at a very early age.

Six years old, to be exact.

My father, a natural-born athlete, fully expected his only son to follow in his lofty footsteps and, in gleeful anticipation, he enrolled me in every possible Little League activity known to man. But we soon learned that (a) I possessed no athletic ability whatsoever, and (b) I suffered from severe asthma, which would fortunately become less severe with time and the proper medication.

Tragically (to my father's great and never-ending dismay), time did nothing to change my complete lack of athletic inclination. I had two left feet, I couldn't catch a ball, throw a ball, or hit a ball, and when it came to basketball (my father's most beloved sport), I made the proverbial fish out of water look graceful and beautifully elegant.

Needless to say, my father wasn't happy. He couldn't understand how his son could be so "hopeless." My mother tried to help, but I could tell that even she wondered what had gone so horribly wrong.

Luckily for Russ and Emma Truman, my sister, Ava, was everything any parent could want their child to be. She was beautiful, brilliant, outgoing - we're talking head cheerleader, homecoming queen, prom queen, track and field champion. There wasn't a subject she didn't excel at in school. Ava had the golden touch and naturally, she relished being Little Miss Perfect in our parents' eyes while I lurked in the background, wishing I could simply disappear completely, because I was fairly certain that no one would even notice.

I was extra baggage.

Nothing more.

Especially after he came into the picture.

Payne Rogan.

Being Little Miss Perfect, it was only natural that Ava would attract and begin dating the most perfect guy in our hometown of Bricks, North Carolina.

A junior like me, while Ava was a sophomore, I knew who Payne Rogan was before Ava brought him home and happily introduced him as her boyfriend.

Payne - or Pay, as he liked to be called by his friends, and I was most certainly not his friend - was Ava's ideal social counterpart in every possible way: he was popular, from a wealthy family, an only child, smart, clever, and (because the universe hated me) Payne was the athlete my father had desperately wanted me to be.

Baseball.

Football.

Track and field.

Payne excelled at all of it.

Especially basketball, my dad's greatest passion.

Payne was the team captain, the MVP. College scouts began watching him during his freshman year, he was that damn good.

Naturally, my father loved him. For Russ Truman, Payne was like the second coming of Christ. He would sit with Payne for hours and discuss basketball and how it was supposedly the greatest thing ever, while I seethed.

My mother had failed to give my father the son he wanted, but my brilliant, oh-so-perfect sister rectified that horrible mistake (me) by bringing Payne into our lives.

Boy, did I hate Ava for that.

I hated Payne more.

Of course (again, because the universe hated me), Payne was simply stunning, and it was around this time that I came to the realization that I was gay. Having Payne running around the house nearly all the damn time made me painfully uncomfortable.

He was so damn pretty.

By our junior year, he was six-feet-one, all long limbs and muscles, with perfect skin, thick black hair, and darkly lashed cerulean blue eyes.

And his smile?

Dear God, help me, but his smile was stunning; he had the most amazing lips. They were naturally pink and so damn pretty. I wasted away many nights thinking about those lips and telling myself I was completely insane.

I hated Payne Rogan for being everything I wasn't, but at the same time, I couldn't deny (to myself) that I had a crush on my sister's boyfriend.

Pitiful, I know.

Granted, it seemed to me that pitiful was the theme for my life at that point; I was gay (which no one knew), I was the greatest disappointment my father had ever known (which everyone knew), I was an "oddity" (again, something everyone knew), and every time I turned around, I found myself face to face with the guy I loved/hated.

Payne was at our house every day; he was in the living room with Ava (and often, when our parents weren't home, he was in Ava's bedroom with the door closed), and for one agonizing hour each school day, I had to share English Lit with him.

It figured the bastard would be in my favorite class.

Mr. Perfect-and-Popular Payne sat in the front row, while I languished in the back, but anytime we were forced to bestow a presentation to the class, I had to face Payne while doing it, which only made me more nervous.

And I was already painfully nervous when it came to public speaking.

To make my life even more sadly cliché, I was somewhat (agonizingly) shy and, therefore, pretty much a loner. I kept to myself. I had a few friends, but I was most comfortable reading or writing. I was best when I was on my own; the bookstore and the library tended to be my favorite hangouts. I usually had my nose buried in a book and my only "physical" exertion came from swimming in the indoor pool my parents had installed.

I considered that exercise - it kept me in shape - but my father considered it a waste of time. But truth be told, he considered everything I did a waste of time.

Swimming wasn't basketball.

That was Payne's domain. He was the King of the Court, King of the School; he was my father's substitute son, Ava's boyfriend. The bastard had a starring role in my life, and while Payne seemed most content to ignore me the majority of the time, there were moments when he felt compelled to remind me that I was on his radar.

One such occasion?

The first day of our senior year, several of Payne's equally popular friends found me in my usual perch in the library, which made me the ideal target for their harassing comments. Needless to say, this wasn't the first time they had thrown insults in my direction. I was deemed a "freak," a "dork," and a "zombie," but that particular day, a new slur was thrown into the oh-so-merry mix.

Fag.

Wide-eyed, terrified, I just stared at my tormentors, wondering if the insult was random, or if they somehow knew what I had never dared utter out loud.

I opened my mouth to try and stutter out a defense, but before I could, like some sort of avenging angel, Payne appeared and stepped between me and his friends.

"Back off."

His friends snickered and the ringleader, some prick named Bart, laughed. "Ease up, Pay. I don't intend to hurt the zombie."

"He's off limits, Bart."

"Are you serious with this, Pay? You're defending a fag?"

"He just might be a fag, but he's Ava's brother and that makes him off limits."

The thrill that came with Payne defending me died when I realized he wasn't defending me; he was defending Ava's brother, because he was a good boyfriend and, apparently, good boyfriends did things like that.

Without a word, I grabbed my books and almost ran from the library, not looking back. After that day, I made it my life's mission to avoid Payne Rogan whenever possible.

Not an easy task, but I did pretty well.

Occasionally, when Payne and I did end up in the same room together, I got the impression he was watching me, but I figured he was trying to decide if his friends were right about me being gay. A week before graduation, I decided it was well past time for me to admit the truth to my family, once and for all. I was sick of living a lie. My mother was constantly asking me why I wasn't dating. She pointed out her friends that had daughters and tried setting me up on dates on more than one occasion, and I had to come up with excuses why I wasn't interested It was tiresome and exhausting and I decided that, whatever the fallout, I had to accept myself and take pride in who I was.

I waited until we were sitting down at dinner and then I very calmly explained the truth.

I told them I was gay.

My father stood up and walked out of the room without a word, but his reaction made it clear that I had once again disappointed him.

My mother sighed, but much to my surprise, she told me it would all be okay.

Of course, we both knew she was lying.

Ava chose that moment to announce she wasn't surprised. She had told Payne ages ago that I "played for the other team," and I decided I really hated her.

I hated Payne.

I hated my father, for thinking Payne was perfect.

I hated myself.

The days that followed were tense. My father attended my graduation, but I figured he was there for Payne, and while my mother did what she could to smooth things over, I felt more uncomfortable and out of place than ever.

A week after graduation, I decided to head to New York early. I was set to start NYU in the fall, so I told my mother I wanted the chance to familiarize myself with the city, maybe find a job. I figured I could live in a cheap apartment until the time came for me to move into my dorm room. Much to my great relief, my mother didn't try to stop me. She knew I was looking for an escape. I think she understood that it was too hard being around my father, who had taken to ignoring me even more than usual. It was my mother who drove me to the airport alone.

She hugged and kissed me, wishing me well, asking me to promise that I would call and write to her, and I did.

New York was wonderful. I was happy to tell my mother all about it; the city was so alive, there was an energy about it, and for the first time in my life I didn't feel completely out of sorts. I didn't feel a need to hide myself. I allowed some of the walls to fall away. I allowed myself to become more outgoing. I actually made an effort to meet people and make real friends. By the time classes began, I felt like a new person.

I related all of this in my phone calls and letters to my mother. I told her I had decided to make use of my creative nature by majoring in English Literature and Theater. I was working part-time at a theater. My grades were excellent. I had shucked my glasses in favor of contacts, and I even admitted to her when I started dating.

She seemed genuinely happy for me, which meant a lot, especially since my father never wrote or talked to me when I called.

Ava spoke to me whenever she answered the phone. She told me about school, her new boyfriends, how she couldn't wait for her chance to graduate so she could attend college.

The only bad part (aside from my father freezing me out) was my mother's compulsive need to keep me thoroughly updated on Payne Rogan.

Truth be told, I referred to many of her letters and e-mails as The Payne Rogan Newsletter.

Payne was doing wonderful at Duke; Payne was MVP of the basketball team; Payne decided to major in Sports Medicine; Payne spent his summer coaching basketball for underprivileged kids; Payne had recorded a public service announcement for The Humane Society; Payne, Payne, Payne. I wanted to scream that I got it already.

Payne was perfection.

Throughout the four years I was in college, I didn't see Payne (I never returned to North Carolina, not even for Christmas), but I knew all about his life, and when my mother and Ava finally came to see me, they showed me pictures of him.

This was during my senior year at NYU. I had changed a lot in the time since I had left home.

Not only had I shed my hated glasses, all the swimming I had done over the years (and still did) had finally paid off in the form of actual, noticeable muscles. My blond hair was much longer, a little unruly, and my skin was clear.

Much to my disbelief, I was considered "cute" by guys and girls alike.

I wasn't "Payne" handsome, mind you, but very few people are, and Payne's perfections were once again pointed out over dinner one night. I had taken Ava and our mother to one of my favorite pizza places, and my mother started dropping hints that Ava should consider dating Payne again. He was a real catch, and there was no doubt he would find great success. I sensed Ava had heard all of this before, and I sensed it annoyed her, hearing it again, but her reaction completely threw me, when (without warning) she dropped the biggest bomb ever.

"Mom, forget about me and Pay. I won't ever be with him again."

"But he's a good boy-"

"Look, I know it's not my place to throw this out there, but to get you off my back, here it is: Mom, Payne isn't interest in getting back together with me because he's gay."

My reaction?

I started laughing.

I laughed until my stomach hurt and I had tears in my eyes, but Ava looked at me and assured me she wasn't making some twisted joke.

Perfect Payne Rogan was gay.