Saddened and frustrated by the bitterness and hostility he had created during his visit to his parents, Will returned with Billy to Ann Arbor.  He knew it was not likely that his parents would receive the news of his being gay with understanding but he hadn’t expected the ferocity of his father’s anger nor his mother’s obsession with losing the respect of her friends and her unambiguous self-pity.  He didn’t even receive a warm greeting when he arrived.  Granted, it was a surprise but at no time during the visit was he made to feel welcome.  His repeated expressions of love were never reciprocated, much less acknowledged.  He was left with only one conclusion: the trip was a colossal mistake.

Waiting for the return flight, they found a secluded area in the airport terminal where they could talk privately.  “I’m sorry, Billy ... sorry for subjecting you to the firestorm at my parents’ house.  I expected it to get ugly but it was much worse.  I’m sorry.”

“No need t’ be sorry,” Billy said.  “Ya done told me what it’d be like.  I went along ‘cause ya might need support.  ‘Sides, like ya said, it was important that they meet me.”

“I thought so at the time.  But I really didn’t anticipate they would insult you so cruelly.”

“It don’t bother me none.  Never has.  When I was a little kid and my daddy told me the one ‘bout ‘sticks and stones.’  He said that mean people say bad things but I can ignore ‘em.  Oops.  I didn’t mean to say yur folks are mean.  Took a while for me to believe it but I do now.  So what they said didn’t hurt me none.”

“Oh, but they wer mean!” Will exclaimed.  “I guess I got used to it growing up when my father would constantly criticize me.  So it doesn’t bother me as much now.  But what they said about you hurt me deeply.  By any measure the trip was a total disaster.”

“Listen up to what I got t’ say, Will Benson, ‘cause ya need to stop bein’ so hard on yurself.  First off, ya had to tell ‘em ‘bout us some time or ‘nother.  And it was right to tell ‘em in person.  Second, ya told ‘em ya loved ‘em.  They needed t’ hear that.  So what if they didn’t say they loved ya back.  That woulda been nice but ya knew it weren’t likely.  Thirdly, ya didn’t make no mistakes.  Ya was calm and broke the news easy like.  Ya stood up to yur daddy just like ya always wanted t’ do.  That took courage!  And I was proud o’ ya for doin’ it.  Finally — are ya listenin’? — the problem is not y’all.  It’s them.  They’s successful in their own way but they got mixed up ideas about what’s honest ...and what’s really important.  Can’t say if’n they’s happy but I got no doubt a’tall that I am ‘cause we’s partners.”

Billy’s efforts to console his lover were appreciated but did little to lift Will out of his depression.  It was two days before the bitter taste of the visit home began to fade and another two days before he was fully back to his normal self.  Billy was patient, knowing that it would take his lover time to heal from his emotional wounds.  By that time, both had returned to their jobs and their life resumed.

Very late one night two weeks later, they were comfortably relaxing in bed cuddling after an especially satisfying interlude of loving sex.  They were surprised to hear the doorbell and looked at each other quizzically.  “Who could that be at this time of night?” Will asked.

“Only one way t’ find out,” Billy replied as he got out of bed.  He put on a robe and walked toward the front door of the apartment to the accompaniment of repeated door chimes.  Upon opening the door, he saw a frail and obviously distraught young man — about sixteen, he guessed.  He wore tattered jeans and a torn sweat shirt with dried blood stains.  The long hair on one side of his head was matted with dried blood.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” the lad said.  “I thought Mr. Benson lived here.”

“He does that,” Billy replied.  “And who are you?”

Before the boy could answer, Will, now properly dressed in a robe, came up behind Billy and exclaimed, “Justin!  What are you doing here?  It’s almost midnight.”

Without answering, the young man pushed past Billy, wrapped his arms around Will, buried his head in Will’s shoulder, and began to cry.  Billy was only momentarily confused until he concluded, accurately, that the troubled boy was one of Will’s clients from the Social Services Agency.  Will silently comforted the unexpected visitor until the tears subsided and then said, “Come in, Justin and tell me what the problem is.”

They sat in the living room — Billy in an arm chair and Will and Justin on the sofa.  The distressed boy was clinging to Will and fighting to stem the flow of tears.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Benson.  I know the Agency discourages visiting my case worker but I didn’t know where else to go.”

“It’s all right,” Will said softly.  “If you’re in trouble, I’m glad you came here.  Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Dad came home drunk.  He asked me where Mom was.  I said she wasn’t home.  He yelled, ‘The whore bitch is out fucking some scum bag, is she?  I’ll teach her a lesson.’  He went to her bedroom.  You knew they have separate rooms since he kicked me out of my room and made me sleep on the couch.  He started to trash everything.  I tried to stop him but he screamed at me to stay the fuck out of his way.  I guess I didn’t move fast enough because he came at me with fire in his eyes.  I’ve seen him drunk lots of time but never this bad.  He swung a table lamp at me.  I ducked but it broke across the side of my head.  I’m no match for him even when he’s drunk so I ran out of the house.  I waited outside, figuring that he’d pass out and it would be safe to go back in.  Just when the commotion inside quieted down, a pickup truck pulled into the driveway.  I didn’t know the driver but I saw Mom next to him.  I saw her kiss the driver and say, ‘It was fun.  See you again, stud.’  When she got out and saw me, she starting yelling at me for spying on her.  I tried to tell her what Dad was doing but she wasn’t listening.  She just kept yelling at me and calling me names.  I don’t think you want to hear that part ... it was pretty vulgar.  I didn’t know what to do.  Both of my parents were pissed at me.  I left and walked the streets for an hour or so.  Then I remembered you saying I could call you any time.  So here I am.  What can I do, Mr. Benson?”

“First of all, let me see where he hit you.  I can tell it was bleeding and we’d better take care of it.”

Having cleaned the superficial cut and applied antiseptic, Will led Justin back to the living room.  Billy had gone to bed.  After extended disclosure of abuse by Justin’s parents — previously unknown to Will — they discussed the next steps.  Will promised to get more involved in the young man’s situation but couldn’t say what the Agency might be able to do to help until he checked with his supervisor.

“If you’re not comfortable going home,” Will said, “you’re welcome to stay overnight here.  But quite honestly, I’m worried about your safety if you go home.”

“No,” the young man said.  “I’ve bothered you enough already.”

“No bother, Justin.  I’m happy to help.  Of course you’ll have to sleep on the couch because I’ve only got one bedroom.”

“If you really don’t mind.  And the couch is fine.  That’s where I sleep at home.”  Justin paused before asking, “You’ve got only one bedroom?  Does that mean you share it with the other guy that was here?”

“Yes.  The other guy is my partner, Billy Simpson.  I apologize for not introducing you but I was more concerned about your difficulties.  And your next question is whether we’re gay.  The answer is yes.  We don’t hide it but we don’t broadcast it either.  Does that bother you?”

“No.  Surprised?  Sort of.  I just never thought about it.  I mean you were just another case worker from the Agency.  I know a couple of gay kids at school and they’re smart and friendly.  So I’m cool with it.”

<><><><><> 

After much bureaucratic manipulations, Justin was placed in a foster home with an ‘empty nest’ couple.  Will maintained contact with him and was amazed at the difference a loving home made.  No longer a frail, shy boy, Justin became a healthy, confident, and happy young man.

Billy never tired of hearing about the dramatic change in Justin.  But was he surprised when, after a glowing report on the young man’s progress, Will said, “Success is what you want it to be.”

“Whatcha mean?” Billy asked.

“For example, your family is eminently successful because they’ve achieved their goal of a happy, loving family.  I admire them for their success.  My parents are successful because their priorities are affluence and social standing and they’ve certainly achieved.  My most important success is finding and being able to love you.  But there’s another measure of success.  I’m proud of what I’ve been able to do for Justin.  That’s my idea of success — not just him but others like him ... helping them overcome problems not of their making.”

The End.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

My good friend, Iatia, added immeasurable value to this story with his support and encouragement, his creative ideas and suggestions, and his meticulous editing.

AUTHOR’S CHALLENGE

What you have read is prelude.  Life goes on.  There is obviously more that could be told.  However, I leave it to you — if you so choose — to imagine the continuation of the story based on the events thus far described and in a way most compatible with your hopes and fears.

Will and Billy:  Will they continue to cultivate and cherish their love?  Or will the cultural and educational gap between them create frictions that threaten their union?

Will’s parents:  Will they stubbornly adhere to their concept of what’s right and as a result irretrievably lose their son?  Or will they mellow with age and arrive at reconciliation?

Billy’s parents:  Will they continue to maintain the loving bonds in their family ... even with their ‘wayward’ son, Billy?  Or will something unexpected bring about a cleavage between them and one or more of their children?

Sean, the pessimist and homophobe; Rod, the generous host and advisor; and other minor characters:  What does their future hold?

And finally:  What is YOUR definition of success?  How does one balance caution and courage?