#simone bowman

“Honey,” Simone says after a while — a statement, a reminder that he is cherished, he is loved, he is safe. He knows there’s no way on the planet his parents would throw all that away just because of... of who he loves. “Was there anything you wanted to talk to us about?”

There is, and all three of them know it. If Frederick’s trio of thumbs up emojis (plus the generic dinosaur tacked on the end) and Simone’s Of course! Hope everything’s okay. messages were anything to go by, they saw his hastily-worded text — Hey can i talk to you guys about something — he sent in a spurt of bravery just after a particularly good swim practice. He curses his past self for such confidence. What was he thinking? Did all the sleepless nights and Am I Gay? quizzes and moments of silence that almost turned into confessions mean nothing?

The word part is, deep down, he knows there’s no point in keeping it secret. His parents will love him, Darius — when Brand explains what gay is, if their parents haven’t already told him — will be a little confused but still love him, God will still love him... So why can’t he just. Fucking. Say. It?

“Brand?” Frederick repeats, a concerned curve to his eyebrows pointing to the unspoken question are you really okay? and Brand realises he didn’t even answer his mum.

“I’m, uh...”

Comments in Christian chat rooms saying I accept I just dont rlly support and Man shall not lie with other men and Jesus loves you in spite of your sins! buzz to the forefront of his brain. He could summon the pixelated font if he screwed his eyes shut and tried hard enough — but then, that would entice more questions, and he wants this over and done with as quickly as possible.

(Just. Say. It.)

“Mom, dad...” Okay. Good, solid start. “I recently realised something... a— about myself... I don’t know if I like it yet, but— but it didn’t feel right that you don’t know. So I want to tell you. Myself.”

They both hold silent, an unspoken invitation for him to proceed. Waiting for him to unlatch his ribs and tell them. The love in their eyes swallows up any thought that they’d do anything but love him unconditionally.

You can do this, Brand. He imagines a miniature cartoonish version of him in his brain, cheering him on with pom-poms and rainbow flags. You got this! Just two words!

Just say it.

Deep breath in...

Deep breath out...

“Mom... dad... I’m...”

All the air rushes out of him, and his shoulders deflate, like all the tense pressure in them deflates like a popped balloon — his lips glue themselves together with his own spit, and he couldn’t get out another word if he tried. He’s never hated himself more.

“We know, honey,” Simone says.

“And we’re proud of you,” Frederick adds.

The breath hitches on a knot in his throat. He dares look at his parents and— God— their eyes are filled with so much love. Suddenly, Brand really wants to cry.

“And we— I am sorry if we ever said anything that made you feel like you couldn’t tell us that,” Simone says sincerely. “Because we love you no matter what. Who you love won’t change that.”

Brand sniffs, gulping back tears that feel like rocks scraping down his throat. It went perfectly. Of course it did. There was no reason to be as afraid as he was — they know now. His chest feels lighter, he no longer wants to break apart his ribcage, and finally, he feels like he can breathe again. It’s like shrugging off his school bag at the end of the day: barely bothering him until he takes if off his shoulders, digs through the four textbooks he was lugging to and from school, and wonders how on earth he was carrying all of that at once.

But the bag is down, dumped by the door of his bedroom, and he can breathe again. He can relax. He can lean into the back of the chair— hey, he’s never properly relaxed into this chair, has he? and know things are going to be okay.

A tear splashes onto the dinosaur tablecloth, right onto a blue brachiosaurus.

“Oh, baby,” Simone says, the gentle nickname rolling off her tongue like drops of water from a leaf, sweet nectar dripping out of a tree, and Brand starts crying even harder.

Two chairs scrape the slate floor, and in a heartbeat, his parents are hugging him — holding him, shushing him, rocking him somehow in perfect sync — and he’s made of long limbs and tough callouses and brave words, but now... he feels like a little boy again.

“We love you,” Frederick whispers into his hair. “So much. And we always will, no matter what.”

“I— I thought...” His words evaporate and wither on his tongue — because what did he think? That they’d renounce him? They’d tell him he’ll burn in hell — he’s heard it before, in webpages and churchgoers he’s had the good sense to close down pretty quickly — and that God will never love him? Brand might not be perfect, but being gay... he knows it’s not worthy of that. He can’t change it (and believe him. He tried).

But he can’t stop the sickening thought sliding off his tongue — “I was scared God wouldn’t love me anymore.”

Frederick lets go, Simone following suit, and for a second Brand fears the absolute worst. His eyes — usually pinched with laughter and brimming with a knowing sparkle — are as serious as he’s ever seen them.

“...Dad?”

“Brandon.” And man, does that one word — the full name, only reserved for the most serious of occasions — hurt like a gut punch in his chest. “Why would God put love in your heart, only to tell you it’s wrong?”

The words ring around him, crashing with the force of a wave breaking onto the shore, soaking dry edges of untouched sand in pure, utter relief. “I...” Brand shakes his head, his hands shaking even harder by his sides.

“We are all God’s children, honey. Including you,” Simone says, her voice butter-soft. “He made you perfectly.”

“Even if you don’t love yourself right now, we love you. And God loves you too. That’s kind of what religion is all about.”

Brand is openly bawling now, his throat growing salty and thick with tears. He can barely press his lips into a wobbly smile, but he manages, and his parents give him smiles of their own. It feels like being handed a small part of the universe. A star he can cup in his own hands and call it strength.

“But,” Frederick says, a jokey warning in his tone, “Door open when guys come over, alright?”

“Dad!” Brand complains, but he’s laughing.

“And whoever you end up with had better treat you right,” Simone adds, her voice playful but Brand knows she’s being dead serious. He feels like there’s a giant shield around his entire body. Nothing can hurt him with their arms to fall back into. For the first time in his life, he feels something good inside him and calls it power. Not the vicious, sharp stuff that pumped through the veins of a scrappy teen whose boots were too big to hold him. He’s growing into who he is now, slim wrists filling out into strong ones. His jawline sharpening into a face he’s proud to say is just like his father’s, his eyes softening into ones just like his mother’s — and a smile entirely his own.