.. Was it out of respect? Habit? Disappointment? Maybe all of them? It didn’t matter. She wasn’t there. She hadn’t been there for years.I opened the door to my room, which was right in front of hers. It was certainly my room. The vanity that I insisted my father to buy when I turned 14 was still there. There was the old computer I used to play games on which was outdated even back when I was still in school. The bed I used to sleep in at night was tidy, just like the day I left it. The closet even still had my clothes. Nothing had changed. Everything was exactly the way it was when I left it. Did my parents leave it that way, hoping for all these years that I would come home?How long did they wait? How long did they keep their hopes up? Did they ever thought that I wouldn’t be coming home at all?My hands stopped right before I touched the doorknob of the door that separated their bedroom from the hallway. Could I handle this? I was afraid. I was deathly afraid. Even now, in my mind’s. Even a little boy on his bike called out to me"Shake it, don't break it!" as I walked up ourdriveway. The nerve!At first Mom didn't recognize me when I entered thehouse. "What happened to you!" she exclaimed. "Did thescouts do this?", she enquired. My mom can get veryemotional, and I could see fire in her eyes. Sobbing,I told her the whole story, and she said she wasmarching me right over to Mr. Carlson's house to showhim what those brutes did to me and to give him apiece of her mind. I begged her not to, but sheinsisted. She said she wanted him to see for himselfwhat they did to me. If she drove me there, the magicmarker on my fanny might smear, so we would have towalk. She didn't even call him first to make sure hewas home; she just took me by the hand and led me outthe door back into the street."Come on, Tommie, let's go. We can't let them get awaywith this!" she said. Now even my own mother wascalling me Tommie! Did my own mother think I was asissy-ass-faggot-pussy too?Down the.
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