#just to scream homophobia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

fyrewalks · 8 months ago

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meta: bob + broken glasses

one.

bob is ten the first time someone breaks his glasses. it happens two weeks after his bubbe returns home to new jersey; two weeks since his mom has been out of bed or off the couch longer than a few hours. nearly three months since his dad's latest deployment and six since his older sister, stevie, died.

it happens on the playground, easy to assume it's some childish skirmish over a swing set - bob's shy even then, made worse by his grief, and prefers to stick to the outskirts and swings during outdoor play at day-camp. (summer day-camp instead of montana, instead of his mom accepting the good natured teasing about her being a city girl or the not so quiet arguments between his grandma and dad about who will take the floyd ranch someday.) none of the counselors hear the taunts. bob doesn't repeat them. the kids accuse him of being different; he assumes they're saying it because of his dead sister. (he won't realize the kind of different they mean for a few years.)

he hides his broken glasses in the back of one of his drawers. his mom doesn't notice, his dad's calls home are too infrequent, gracie's six and easy to distract. it's not till a few weeks of meal trains and hushed discussions about his mom and doctor's appointments among the aunties who come over to watch them that anyone notices he's supposed to be wearing them at all.

two.

the second time it happens, bob is a few months shy of fifteen, all awkward limbs and little self-confidence. it's his second cross-country meet and he doesn't want to be there. the floyds are back in virginia - after three different middle schools, there's only a few vaguely familiar faces here and none of them are on the team. it leaves bob feeling more out of place.

he came out as summer ended on a friday night, a rare shabbat dinner that's just gracie and their parents instead of the eclectic mix of friends from their synagogue and whoever on base that wants, or needs, a place to be on a friday night. his mom cries, though she tries not too, while it's his dad whose the first to hug him and reassure bob he's loved no matter what. he knows his parents talk about it later, that they confide in each other their fears about his future, but they brave his confession with watery smiles and the promise everything will be okay.

he doesn't come out at school. it's less a definitive choice and more that he doesn't need to. other kids simply just know. bob isn't sure what gives him away - if it's his slouchy posture, his voice, or something else entirely. most leave it alone, but there are taunts and curses in between classes; he's shoved into a locker, once. bob doesn't like it, but considers it tame. he's bounced between montana, virginia, and florida his entire life, usually living in the shadows of navy bases. he isn't ignorant. (new jersey, at least, only carries the weight of his dead sister.)

it's tame until it's not. until his second cross-country meet. bob's in the middle stretch, pace decent enough to keep up with some of the older kids, and he's actually starting to enjoy himself. and then there's a hand on his back and he's crashing to the ground, literally tasting dirt. bile rises in his throat as he watches his glasses get stomped on deliberately, he can't unhear the accompanying slur.

he makes it to the finish line with a limp, mud on his face, and broken glasses. when his mom fusses over him later, bob blames it on being clumsy. no sense in making her worry; he doesn't like it when she cries.

three.

bob's sixteen with a long summer of open blue sky awaiting him. he skips dinner with his grandma up at the big house in favor of the bunk house with the ranch hands hired for the season. someone hands him a beer with a wink and a sly 'don't tell your grandma'; it doesn't taste great, but after a day of fixing fences, he likes that it's ice cold. he likes that he belongs, he likes that he can imagine his dad at this age too - it's the first time he feels like a man.

most of the ranch hands know him, they've seen him grow up in bits in pieces. they finish dinner and bob's content to listen to the way conversation flows and settles around him until they drag him into it too. does he like school, what's florida like, how are his folks and sister back home. then - you kissing any girls, yet?

bob answers honestly, he hasn't kissed anyone. at first, he doesn't mind the laughter, but it turns bitter in the mouth of one of the new ranch hands. there's something ugly in his eyes.

a chair scrapes back and adrenaline blurs it all together. there's shouting and fists and someone pulling him out of the way. trying to retreat, bob catches an elbow in the face and his glasses end up under someone's boot.

the unmistakable sound of his grandma's shotgun ends the skirmish. his grandma stays behind to deal with the mess while an older ranch hand gets him fixed up in the big house. later, when bob still can't sleep, his grandma sits on the edge of his bed with a sigh. it's too dark to read her expression. she tells him that his dad will take it better coming from him rather than her and that if he wants to drink in her house, he better never get drunk or stupid; he can't throw a punch worth a damn.

four.

he's eighteen, and his mom won't stop crying. there shouldn't be tears, not with bob's new diploma and a mit acceptance letter pinned proudly to the fridge. at least, there shouldn't be so many tears; it is a bittersweet occasion, an unavoidable reminder of the dead sister forever frozen at fourteen.

grief isn't the reason for the tears, though. no, the real reason is the neat stack of paperwork tucked safely in bob's desk committing him to the nrotc and eight years of navy service after. it's a choice he refuses to budge on and it leads to a few tense weeks in the floyd household.

he knows somethings wrong the minute he walks in the kitchen two weeks after graduation, both parents seated at the small table, clearly waiting for him. gracie isn't home; she's got regionals coming up, they should be with her at practice. (bob's long since taken the backseat to her gymnastic aspirations and he's mostly been okay with her hogging their parents attention; he just hates that it's their focus on him that causes alarm bells to go off.)

it starts off simple enough - reminders of his parents sacrifices. his dad doing his best to ensure his children wouldn't be forced to choose between the life sentence of a ranch or the navy. his mom, happy with the life she chose, but still always wondering about the life she might have had if she hadn't dropped out of college to marry and raise children. it's the reason they both pushed so hard for academics and sports and extracurriculars. then, it's the pricey flight lessons touted as more of a financial burden then it really is for the floyds. if he wants to fly, isn't that enough for him?

bob might not get the whole picture, but his maternal grandparents paid for his truck. all cash. between all three grandparents, he knows his parents haven't hurt for much (so long as their pride hasn't stood in the way).

but god dammit, what about his own sacrifices? what about bob, ten and anxious and terrified, begging his mom to get out of bed? what about bob, stuck in the routine of waking up gracie and making sure she has breakfast and lunch even after his mom escapes the fog of depression? or his childhood? one marked by four elementary schools, three middle schools, and two high schools. no one should be surprised that he chose the navy when his dad's service defined his early life.

why is his choice to join the navy and fly any different than gracie's devotion to gymnastics? it's the same risk. gracie could break her neck too.

or, what about plain want? clear blue sky - bob saw so much of it on the ground, he wanted the 30,000 ft views too.

but these thoughts are kinder than the words actually said. bob drags up every awful detail of his mom's depression, how his dad's grief and ill timed deployment felt like neglect. it doesn't matter if his points about chores and helping with gracie were valid after that. the damage is done on his side.

there's more yelling and tears and then the final blow - his dad shouting that bob's gay and it makes him weak, the navy will chew him up and spit it him out. but his dad's temper runs fast and quick, it ends with a too quiet 'fine, if the navy's your choice, you got a day to get out of the house.' they won't burry another child.

bob, the ever dutiful son, listens. on the flight to montana, cramped in a back row, he looks at his glasses held loosely in his fist and thinks it might hurt less if they were broken.

four, five, or six?

three months after his parents kick him out, he goes from montana to boston. he starts at mit and he finds, surprisingly, with some encouragement from new friends that beer and whiskey and cigarettes make him braver than he's ever been.

and the thing is, he's got his dad's same quick temper; it's just he's never had much use for it, always too quiet and too shy to find anywhere to put it. but a crowded bar? a guy being a jerk and not listening? sure, that's as good a place as any.

turns out, his grandma is right - bob still doesn't know how to throw a punch. sometimes, he remembers how he got the bruises, crooked frames, and scratched lenses. sometimes, he doesn't. either way, bob tells himself he's got it under control. except - he misses classes, he can't wait tables hung over, and no one is exactly impressed with him at the nrotc.

in the end, it's a combination of things that get bob to quit drinking his second year of college. (although, he still occasionally sneaks cigarettes when stressed.) gracie crying, a few letters from his parents. more than a few genuine apologies. a concerned commanding officer, citing his dad's respectful career record and how bob won't measure up like this. a patient rabbi and a better group friends than his first roommate, the one who dragged bob out partying his first night in boston. trading bars and beers for the library, more classes to average out his abysmal gpa.

it changes somethings, a relationship with his parents that sometimes feels like walking on ice, deciding to focus on weapon systems than outright piloting, but not everything. bob recommits to his faith, goes back to pretending things don't bother him, and decides life's a lot easier when people think he's just some nerdy stick in the mud than someone who can't handle his liquor.

#hc: bob floyd #homophobia tw #whooo boy this became my brain child yesterday and today #whoops #i just have so many thoughts on how growing up /where/ bob did and /how/ bob did influenced his experience as a gay man #with a healthy dose of childhood trauma from his sister's death and the ensuing depression and grief both parents struggled with #and what happens to the parentified kid when that's not something they have to contend with anymore?#but also - i gotta find some happy hcs memes to reblog after this #if you read this whole thing i am smooching you #pls come scream about it in disco!!!

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