#awful teenage grandpa learning to care about others now that he’s finally got the freedom to be himself

[idkaguyorsomething]

if nobody else is gonna make memes about the original tardis team i’ll do it myself

[notsopinkconfessions]

A Change Of Stage.

DISCLAIMER: Song Tras de mi by RBD.

I never liked silence.

Since I was little, the apartment had always been filled by sound. The laugh and chattering of each of us in the middle of the living room, the shouts of excitement or protest when we watched a soccer game, the background splattering of the sink, the noise of the forgotten tv or radio, my sister’s screams and babbling, music coming from the computer, and my grandpa, or grandma, or mom singing. An orchestra of homey noises. A reassurance of comforting daily life.

You never heard silence.

Except when the storm was coming.

That late school night the tv was off, my grandparents had left already, and my sister was strangely quiet. As if she felt the weight of the decision her parents were taking even when she barely knew how to say ‘mommy.’ Saturating silence surrounding me; only disturbed by my mom’s and her husband’s whispers.

I couldn’t hear them from my room, but that was the point. They didn’t want me to hear what they said. They didn’t have to say it. I knew.

I answered my friend’s texts half-heartedly. My mind drifted to what the grown-ups were discussing. Thousands of overheard conversations and imperceptible warning signs came to me without effort: my mom talking with the school representative asking for more time because she couldn’t meet the monthly payment, her multiple job interviews for positions that did not pay her enough or were too enslaving, my grandpa’s concerned eyes following her when the banks called, my grandma’s imprudent questions when she thought I couldn’t hear, and my stepdad’s tired eyes and bad humor.

Since I was little, even if I don’t say it, I pay a lot of attention to the people around me.

Back then, I knew we were in trouble. For quite a while before my mom said something.

People tend to confuse silence with compliance or absence.

I have always known silence is nothing but delay; the time to prepare for something.

When they called me that night I didn’t know why. Maybe I was in trouble for something I didn’t even notice I did or something else. They never called me to talk about ‘grown-up things.’ Why would they? I was a kid. What insight could I offer? not the way my mom was cranky when she was tired or the way her eyes became glassy when she hugged me because she needed some sort of comfort. Of course not. Neither the way my grandpa studied each of us in silence, like a hawk, knowing everything that was going on and waiting for the right time to ask or help.

Still in my uniform, I walked toward them with caution. Seeking a hint of why they were mad at me. Too much time on my phone? My room is always organized! What if they know I may fail physics again?

But, none of those were right. I can’t even remember their words or their facial expressions. Just the shock and the main idea. Going to the U.S. to work. Quit his job. Mom, my sister and I following him in a couple of months.

Leaving.

They looked at me, expectant. I didn’t think or know how to answer. I cried.

Tengo un ticket sin regreso.

My chest was somehow empty. No feelings, no thoughts. And yet, tears were falling, my breath was hitching, faces were echoing in my head, and my hands were trembling almost imperceptibly. Now that I think about it, my first words were quite stupid: “And my friends?” I think it hurted my mom that the first thing I thought about were people that weren’t even family.

I guess, for someone that likes to be alone, tends to control and analyze everything, and sometimes does not talk much, it was the only worry I could not seem to find an easy solution to. Of all the ideas and concerns that rushed through my mind in a millisecond. That was the only one I voiced.

She looked annoyed and answered peevishly. She said it was only a possibility. I would make new friends and have a better future in the land of opportunity; in the land of freedom. After that, I said nothing; I thought nothing. I let my body, more honest than my words, cry for everything I would lose.

Y un montón de sueños dentro de un veliz.

The next morning, as I looked at the city, a strange melancholy filled me. Like a senior at high school on his last day of school. I tried to memorize each place: the all so close buildings, the streets full of people in their best clothes, the contrast of poor and rich zones found everywhere, the small alleys and corners, the neighborhood stores, the hustle and noise of a city that never sleeps and only knows how to work and sing, and the street memories of a life here.

Memorizing wasn’t hard. I knew this place like the palm of my hand.

Un adiós para mis viejos, mucho miedo.

I like to think that once I go back everything will be as I remember.

Soon, my honey eyes drifted to the girls around me. The same ones that had taken the school bus with me for the last ten or eleven years. The ones that saw me crying and laughing. The ones that saw me lying and apologizing. The ones I had fought with and then had hugged. The ones I’ve seen grow and have seen me grow. They were my family too. We had raised each other.

Now I had to start over in another place?

What a change of stage…

Y muchas ganas de poder vivir.

Abrir las alas para escapar sin fin

Even if she didn’t admit it, my mom knew we had to settle things and say our goodbyes. Those last months were some of the best days of my life. I fell in love and I wasn’t as scared and repressed as I used to be. I started learning how to say ‘no’ to my friends. I stopped lying or caring about what people thought.

I knew the rules of the game, but I didn’t feel like a player anymore.

Para encontrar libertad.

I felt free. I didn’t have time to fight.

At that time, I laughed and cried harder than I ever did. I apologized and I fought.

I saw how much I wanted to start over without all those mistakes following.

My mind was a conflicted storm.

This was my home.

And leaving meant to sacrifice everything I had built in these years.

Lejos de aquí, lejos de aquí.

No one knows, but I took the decision one afternoon as I played with my sister. Do I want to live far away from her? The answer was ‘no’. That settled everything.

The flight felt like a foreign dream. As if it wasn’t happening to me, but to someone else. It probably was because the day I left I started becoming a completely different person. I lost most of my friends in the first month. My mom, stepdad, and I barely saw each other because they had to work too much.

Una guitarra y mi niñez.

And I had the first insight into teenage mom life. Taking care of my sister every day after school and at night was difficult. Really difficult. A baby needs too much attention. I was lonely. I didn’t know how to cook or keep the house tight. I was frustrated. I cried a lot. I wanted to scream.

I wanted my life back.

La escuela y mi primera vez.

Who could I talk to?

It was hard for my mom and stepdad too.

My sister was too little.

I didn’t want to disappoint my uncle.

My grandparents missed me and were worried already.

My friends… What friends?

Amigos que no he vuelto a ver.

I got lost on the first day of school. I entered the wrong class. I had an incredible headache because the mental effort of trying to understand a thousand different kinds of English was brutal. I barely spoke the language. My schedule had a mistake, so I ended up in AP Lang instead of AP Spanish. Can you imagine a first-generation Hispanic immigrant trying to understand an AP Lang class? The teacher literally looked at me talking into a beaten and confused version of English under a very thick accent, to then answer: “This class is going to be very difficult for you.”

I cringed before feeling the tears reaching my eyes. How humiliating, at least no one I knew could see this. I forced myself to keep the composure. The last thing I needed was to cry on my first day of class.

Se van quedando tras de mi.

Then, the mistake was resolved, I embarrassed myself in Spanish class. I couldn’t even enter the cafeteria because it 1ooked like a jungle I wasn’t ready to face. And the cherry on the cake was when the AP Lang teacher ended up being my English Honors teacher.

It had been an awful day.

Lonely. Frustrated. Hurt. Humiliated.

At least, it was finally over.

Well, not quite. My dance teacher wanted to torture me a little more.

Un cigarrillo, una canción.

“For the next ten minutes you guys need to get to know each other,” she said.

And I looked at everyone as if they had fangs, claws, and could see each one of my insecurities.

Las fotos de un primer amor.

I didn’t want to be humiliated again by talking in English.

“Hey,” a girl called me.

She had raven hair and hazel eyes. Her pose was confident and thick. She was intimidating too, but in a different way than the others. She looked at me curiously. “Tu hablas español, no? Eres de Colombia?*” Smiling as if I was a scared animal that would run away if you got too close to it. I probably was.

Recuerdos en mi habitación.

The rush of relief that went through my system was immediate. I smiled. “Si.”

Maybe I could do this.

Yeah, I can do this.

Se van quedando tras de mi.

*You talk spanish, right? You are from Colombia?

Rola.

[hollenka99]

Winston and Oliver

Winston and Oliver have two pretty different upbringings. Winston is brought up by his mother and stepfather in Saint John, New Brunswick, not very well off financially. Meanwhile, Oliver grows up as the son of a successful actor in Los Angeles. It just happened that their fathers had once been best friends, leading to them being childhood friends too. Whenever Oliver's family visited his father's relatives in Canada, Oliver would try meet up with Winston. So, with the help of letters, they remain good buddies.

Still, they start growing up and all their school peers begin developing non-platonic feelings towards each other. Anthony would talk about girls he thought about asking out. Oliver... couldn't relate. Perhaps he wasn't quite old enough. Let's wait a couple years. Still nothing. Okay, God, he's ready to be into girls already. Any time now. Seriously, don't wait up.

Winston is attracted to girls, even has a girlfriend or two during the early 1930s. Yet he feels similarly towards men too. Hmm odd. He guesses it's possible to be interested in both men and women. Who knew?

They were both raised Catholic. However, Winston doesn't suffer internalised homophobia as badly as Oliver does. Over the course of their life, Winston helps him grow more confident with his identity.

Oliver visits his aunt in Saint John during the summer of 1934, preparing to move to New York for college after the holidays. While there, he comes out to Winston. He needs someone to know and he rationalises it in his mind that if Winston doesn't react positively, they can always go their separate ways and leave their friendship behind as a childhood thing. He doesn't want to lose Winston as friend though. Oliver knows he won't rat him out to the authorities either way. So you can imagine the overwhelming relief he feels when Winston smiles and admits he's gay too.

While at Julliard, Oliver befriends a girl name Mary. She falls in love with him and he doesn't have the guts to tell her he'll never feel the same. He loves her but only platonically. Still, he enjoys her company. And well... he's going to have to marry a girl one way or another. He'd rather it be Mary.

Everything about being her boyfriend feels wrong. He's deceiving her. And he's now planing to make that deception lifelong. He really shouldn't be doing this to her. And yet he does, for the sake of selfishly saving his own skin.

Sophia has always suspected her brother was attracted to men. She privately calls him out after he announces he's engaged. Oh and what do you know, she's attracted to 'all sorts of individuals'. Great, that would have been good to know as he came of age. Nevermind. He knows now.

Around the same time, Sophia and Winston start a relationship. After all, Oliver isn't the only Jackson sibling to enjoy hanging out with Winston when they were growing up. They're happy together and Oliver is happy for them. He trusts Winston to treat her well.

Oliver marries Mary in 1940, with Winston becoming his brother-in-law the year after. Things are going well. The two men meet up every now and again. Mary just thinks her husband is spending time with an old friend. Sophia knows what's really going on and doesn't care too much, so long as Winston doesn't see anyone else behind her back.

When Oliver gets the news that two of his brothers have died, it changes how he wants to go about life. They had been 24 and 22. Oliver himself is still 28 by that point. He has some 50 or so years left, assuming he is going to die old. Does he really want to live a lie forever, just so everyone will approve of him? 50 years is a hell of a long time.

Mary unintentionally discovers the truth in 1951. She makes him pack his bags immediately. They divorce on the grounds of adultery. Fearing he'd 'corrupt' their two children (age ~9 and 5), she ensures he sees as little of them as possible.

Unsure of where to really go, he ends up at Sophia and Winston's doorstep. His reputation has been heavily damaged, his career as a composer with it. It feels as if the only things he has left are his sister and his best-friend-turned-lover.

Sophia understands the position she's in. Her husband prefers her brother's company. So she lets them go. She wants them both to be happy. Her only condition is that Winston remains an active part of their children's lives.

This new way of life works quite well for them. Winston moves to New York to live with Oliver. The three Wynton children grow up with their dad living with their uncle every other week being normalised. Their mom bringing 'friends' home every now and again isn't that out there either.

Life carries on, as it tends to do. More nieces and nephews come from Anthony, Harriet and Nora. Oliver definitely feels at home in Winston's company. Winston feels the same.

Still, the two of them have to remain secretive and anxious that they'll be discovered. I can't seem to find what the penalty in the state of New York was for sodomy. Whatever it was, they wanted to avoid it. Being disgraced as an unfaithful husband is one thing. Being in a same-sex relationship during the 50s is something else entirely.

In 1962, Illinois repeals its sodomy laws, essentially decriminalising homosexual relationships. 10 years later, Winston asks Oliver if he wants to move there. All of their children are adults themselves now. Come on, they could be free to be two men in love. Oliver is skeptical. He has built a life here in New York but... not hiding does sound nice. Okay then, let's try life in Illinois.

So they move to Chicago. They take some time to settle in, meeting other local members of the queer community while doing so. They're still not displaying their relationship in public. Decades of being cautious will do that. But then they're eating out with some friends and a couple hold hands. Very publically. And they're not getting any backlash for it. No-one's coming to their table to try get those two arrested.

Winston and Oliver risk holding hands where other people can clearly see them. No major consequences. A while later, they increase the risk by kissing while in public. Again, no legal repercussions.

Oh. Oh shit. They really can be out in public here. They get dirty looks sometimes. But it's not like those people could have them thrown in jail. They're in their late 50s now and finally, finally they can be visibly homosexual.

In 1975, they celebrate their respective 60th birthdays. Their first major birthdays as their true selves. They still can't believe it.

The two of them decide they want to help the younger generation. The queer kids who were coming of age in a time of more freedom. They both grew up in fear of being discovered. These kids need to know the community has their back. Laws changing doesn't immediately change attitudes, after all.

A music store is set up. If someone came saying their friend, Dorothy, sent them, they'd be sent to the back room. Word spread and more arrived claiming 'Dorothy' sent them.

Over the next few years, they watch these teenagers and young adults grow up. Some go to college or move away. Others keep hanging around where they know they'll be accepted.

Then one of the kids they'd said goodbye to returns. Oh wow, it's great to see you. How are things? You and Joshua still going strong? Wait, what do you mean he suddenly became very ill and died? Oh, that's- that's awful. He was such a good guy. We're so sorry. Give our condolences to his friends and family, if you're able.

It's not the last time they have members of their youth club become affected by this strange new disease. Not by a long shot. As the years carry on, they'll have one person coming to them saying their friend was diagnosed. Then they'll have another privately revealing they contracted the disease themselves a while later. Quite a few simply stress about the prospect of potentially getting infected.

Listen, they're just two gay men who are fast approaching their 70s. What the hell are they meant to do to protect these members who were practically children from something this overwhelming?

This disease obviously gets a name. When they hear about the New York Times referred to it as Gay-related immune deficiency or GRID, this ruffles more than a few feathers. Paired with other terms such as 'gay cancer' and 'gay plague', they are livid that the media has decided to target their marginalised group further.

This won't do. The two of them were born in the middle of a huge war where millions of young men died. Winston's father and Oliver's uncle were two of them. Oliver lost two of his brothers to the sequel of that war where even more people died in the millions. Too many young men and women have been needlessly lost this century. Even more are being lost right now but that's obviously not important because of who those people are.

People are dying. Some of them are only in their 20s or 30s. Stop using this as a chance to demonise a community that's already suffered enough, you bastards.

As soon as they learn it is spread through intercourse and infected blood, they promote protection. Boys, here's a condom. Girls, if any of you are planning to become involved with a guy, take one too. Don't expect him to necessarily carry one on him, though he should. And if any of you kids are doing drugs, please stop. You shouldn't be interacting with drugs in the first place but there's no better time to go cold turkey than right now. It would break our hearts to hear you got sick. Please stay safe out there, okay?

The 80s eventually turn into the 90s. While the members of their youth group may have seen them as gay uncle types back in the 70s, they're definitely more gay grandpas now. They keep going, maintaining the store and supporting younger members of the queer community in Chicago.

Oliver dies in 1999, with Winston joining him three years later. They are 83 and 86 respectively. But you know what? They've had a great go of it. Whether it was as childhood friends, brothers-in-law who maintained a secret relationship or long-term partners, they've been at each other's side. They count themselves lucky to have found someone so dear to them and been able to spend their life with them.

They wouldn't have wanted to do it with anyone else.