On Sunday Michael agreed to leave his sanctuary and venture out into the world. He knew his mom wasn't really implying anything by insisting he accompany her to church, but his anxiety, once they left the book store, was palpable. Heart slamming against his ribs and breathing deep and erratic, he hurried to the car and jumped inside, slamming the door. Screwing his eyes tightly shut, he focused on deep, even breaths as he'd been taught by his therapist.

"Michael, honey; are you all right?" His mother's worried voice penetrated his fog of panic. "You didn't take your meds, did you?"

When he opened his eyes, she was scowling at him, that sixth sense mothers have telling her he hadn't taken his prescription. She'd raised him to think of her as a friend, but was still capable of going maternal when necessary. "You know, Mikey, you really need to start taking your pills. That doctor gave them to you for a reason..." she began.

"No, Mom," he said, giving what he hoped would pass for a genuine smile. "It's okay. I really don't need it, I'm fine."

"Well, if you're sure." She put her aging Focus into gear and pulled away from the curb, heading out of town toward the old church his grandparents had attended most of their lives. En route she briefed him on the former members and what they were doing now, about the new preacher and how he was so much better than the last one, and how a committee had formed to clean up around the church and make some necessary repairs to the grounds. It was an old church, with a cemetery surrounding the main building. Generations of his family were lying beneath the earth in that old churchyard, the worn and faded inscriptions on their headstones barely legible. He wondered if he would have joined them there had things gone a little differently in the attack on his convoy.

Shaking his head to dispel those thoughts he turned back to his mother, thankful her attention was on parking the car on not on him. She gave him a reassuring smile and patted his hand. "Ready?" She climbed out without waiting for an answer, smoothing her skirt and hair before turning, waiting expectantly.

Going home now wasn't an option, though it's what Michael really wanted to do, no longer in the mood even if his mother did say the preacher delivered excellent sermons. The last time he'd been here was in the teen's class, now he'd be in with the adults; that made him feel old.

Some of his earlier panic returned upon exiting the car, but he was soon caught up being welcomed back by more people than he recalled knowing in his entire life. His mother swept him along, reintroducing him to former friends' parents who, in turn, insisted on telling all about their children and where they were now. By the time he made it into the building both his head and his heart were pounding. The first strains from an ancient piano, played by a musician of roughly the same vintage, caused a hush to descend on the congregation, allowing him a reprieve from all the attention.

After an hour of Sunday school, he found himself sitting next to his mother on the back pew of the church trying to ignore the stares from their fellow church goers. He hoped the service would start soon and draw attention away from him.

However, when the sermon started Michael wished it would stop. The new preacher was indeed charismatic and well-spoken. Too bad this morning's topic was on the evils of homosexuality. Feeling increasingly uncomfortable, Michael wondered why this particular message had to be delivered today and glanced around discreetly, hoping no eyes were straying his way. It was as though the entire sermon was intended for his ears and the thought shook him to the core. Could people somehow tell? Had they known all along, even before he did?

He always knew that things with Ruth Ann weren't exactly how his friends had described their experiences, but at the time he had just thought, as she had, that he was 'cold' when it came to the physical aspects of a relationship. Michael liked women; hell, he liked Ruthie. Still, when they broke up all he felt was relief.

Then there were the dreams. Repeated visits paid to him by a faceless lover-a male lover. His dream self was never cold when his lover took him to new heights, leaving him sweaty, shaking, and needing to change the sheets. The dreams had started when he was a young teen but intensified as he grew older and had a better working knowledge of the mechanics of sex. The dreams horrified him at first, but he dismissed his fears as just his subconscious mind twisting things.

His bigoted stepfather had called him a fag on a normal basis, considering it to be the worst insult one could receive. Those scathing comments saw to it that Michael kept his thoughts to himself, not even discussing them with his mom or sister whom he could normally tell anything. So his secrets and misgivings remained his own. He told himself he wasn't gay and that he wanted the women he slept with even though those experiences never failed to disappoint. Later, the mysterious dream lover would appear who never left Michael wanting.

Then came the defining moment the night before returning home, when he'd turned a corner from which there was no going back. The first time he'd held a man, had one in his bed, he knew what had been missing in his past experiences and what he wanted. He also knew there'd be hell to pay to get it.

Five minutes before services ended he was drawn out of his musings as his mother took his hand, pressing two small pills into his palm. "Take this and don't argue," she hissed, while everyone else sang the closing hymn. He took a quick look around; confused that time had passed without his noticing. Slipping the pills into his mouth he choked them down dry, whispering, "Thanks." Trust Mom to know when he needed them.

She was right. Leaving the building was much easier than arriving, the meds he normally avoiding taking working quickly to take the edge off his frayed nerves. With her running interference he managed to make it to the car without being stopped by curious well-wishers. Realizing he had the perfect opportunity to say what was on his mind without all the distractions at the bookstore, he steeled his resolve and asked, "Mom, can we talk?"

"Sure, baby; you know you can talk to me about anything," she answered, just as he knew she would, voice caring and concerned. "Hey, you okay?"

He knew she anticipated him opening up about the things he normally wouldn't discuss. There would come a time when he'd have to voice them, but now was not that time. No, in a way that might be easier to discuss as so much of it was just big, gaping holes in his memory; fragments of events like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces missing.

Michael turned to look out the side window, anywhere but at her. It made it easier somehow. Why he felt compelled to talk about it at all he didn't know, but with the sermon and his recent acknowledgement that he was gay, he needed know she still loved and wouldn't judge. The preacher called it a choice but he didn't believe it. Why would he choose to jeopardize his relationships with his family and risk being ostracized? Who would do that? He thought back on the genuine love he'd seen between his two friends in the unit. Even though they tried so hard not to let it show, it was clear that Ryan and Jimmy were crazy about each other. How could someone pretend a thing like that? And who could fault them for taking what happiness they could in life?

He recalled that one of his mother's proudest moments came when he'd gotten into a fight to defend a gay classmate even though he hardly knew the guy. It was the principle of the thing. Three big rednecks against one average-sized teenager just weren't fair odds. She had praised him the whole time she was driving down to the local high school to give the principal a piece of her mind about the resulting suspension for 'defending the weak and helpless.' But that was before he acknowledged that he was gay.

Michael sighed and thought, 'Here goes nothing,' before beginning what could very well be the end of his relationship as he knew it with his mother. He hoped not, but he wouldn't lie to her-ever. "Mom," he said quietly, "I have reason to believe that I might not be totally straight."

A moment's silence, then, "How long have you felt this way?" Her tone gave nothing away about what she might be thinking.

Well, he supposed it was a reasonable question, after all. "I guess I began to suspect when we lived in Biloxi," he answered, slamming the door on the memory of a dark-haired Cajun boy who'd lived next door.

"Oh, that long, huh? You were thirteen when we left Biloxi." She grew pensive and he could almost hear the wheels turning in her mind. "Why didn't you tell me then?" she asked quietly.

"I wasn't really sure at the time and didn't know how you'd take it. Besides," he said, unable to keep the bitterness from his voice, "you can just imagine what Crawford would have said." He shuddered inwardly at the memory of the bigoted asshole who had spent way too many years in his life.

"Now you know you could have at least talked it over with me," she said, sounding hurt. "I could have kept it from Crawford!"

Michael sighed. "I just wasn't sure, ya know? You could very easily have screamed at me that I was going to Hell for being a disgusting pervert. Believe me, this isn't something I just dreamed up, no matter what the preacher just said. It's how I feel. I didn't just decide one day to be different."

"I never would have thought that!" she exclaimed in righteous indignation.

"Yeah, well; that seems to be the general consensus around here."

"Michael Aaron Ritter! Don't you dare accuse me of being like those narrow-minded, self-righteous idiots in this little po-dunk town! You know me better than that!"

There she was in all her glory: the mama bear, defending her cub. How he loved this woman! Slowly he began to relax, feeling better about the whole situation. He should have known she'd be there for him, just like she always had.

"I know, Mom," he admitted. "I'm sorry. This is just hard for me. I had no idea what you might think or say; and I couldn't bear it if you turned away from me."

"Son, that ain't a-happening. Ever. I love you and I want you to be happy. This isn't what I would have chosen for you because I know how hard it'll be. Teddy and Nick caught hell before they finally picked up and moved to Atlanta."

Teddy had been a childhood friend of his mother's and proof, in Michael's eyes, that gay wasn't a choice. There was no way you'd mistake Ted Funderburk for a straight man-ever. Nick, however, was a football hero and all round good ol' boy. The town gossips had reached the conclusion that Teddy had somehow corrupted their favorite son and infected him with the gay disease. The two men had faced a tough battle, but that had happened when Michael was just a kid. After all these years they were still together, so that counted for something, right?

"Well, I don't plan on marching down

Main Street

in a rainbow shirt, Ma," he said. "And I could always go to college somewhere else..." He hated to bring that up because he'd just gotten home and didn't want his mom to worry all over again about his leaving. But he already felt like a traitor for allowing her to create a nice apartment for him when he had no intention of staying any longer than he had to. Still, the worn look around her eyes reminded him of her worries; worries he'd add to by leaving.

"You do what's right for you, son, and to hell with what people say. They can't even run their own damned lives, so you shouldn't let them run yours!" Her soft soprano filled the car then as she sang a line from a 70's song that mirrored the sentiment, then looked over at him and smiled. "I always loved that song. I do have one question for you, though."

Fear momentarily gripped his heart before his mother grinned and asked, "Who is he?"

"What?!?" Michael sputtered.

"If you're telling me now it must be because you've met someone, right?" Her small, heart shaped face glowed with excitement. "Are you gonna bring home a keeper to meet your mama?" she asked with a sidelong glance.

Damn, did she have to be so darned intuitive? Not quite ready to talk about that he bluffed with, "No one yet. But I'm hoping one day."

"Today just might be your lucky day!" she gushed.

The look he turned on her suggested that she'd just grown three heads. Before he could ask what she meant they turned and were pulling into the driveway of his grandparents' house. She must have been driving slowly so that they could talk longer, for an aging Buick was already parked under the shed. His grandparents had beaten them there.

As she turned the key and killed the ignition, he worriedly asked, "What do you mean?" They had just moments to conclude this conversation and he was not going into the house with it unfinished.

"Well, it seems Dad has taken a liking to one of your sister's roommates and invited him to Sunday dinner with us."

"And..." Michael prompted, convinced he knew exactly what she was about to say.

"Well, he's gay!" she blurted as if it was the greatest thing in the world. "I'll bet he can teach you all you need to know." She winked and added, "And he's cute, too!"

"Yeah, I know," Michael replied, but only after his mother had gotten out of the car and was well out of earshot, knowing full well that it had to be Jay she was talking about. He groaned as his mind formed a clear image of just what he'd like Jay to teach him.

* * *

Sunday dinner at his grandparents' house was exactly as remembered: loud and boisterous with plenty of good food like fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, fried okra, buttermilk biscuits, and sweet corn that Grandma had canned herself. Without being told he knew there were would be pie or cake at the end, too. He didn't comment on the small pitcher of tea placed beside his plate, knowing without asking it was decaffeinated as his doctor had recommended. Thankfully, Grandma had used sugar instead of a substitute. Some things he was simply unwilling to give up.

He'd barely talked with his grandparents at church since they were in the Seniors' Sunday school class and then sat with the choir during service. Apparently, his mom had clued them in about his anxiety attacks so they let him leave church and retreat into the relative safety of the car without detaining him, even managing to divert well-wishers from approaching and hindering him. Michael had been reluctant to tell them himself, knowing they'd just worry even more than they already did.

Grandpa asked the blessing and 'Amen' was followed with, "Please pass the chicken," "Can I get some of that okra down here," and "Anyone want the last biscuit?" The table was so laden that passing the dishes was precarious. Finally, all plates were served and they got down to the business of eating and socializing, the glue that held southern families together. Only Jay remained silent, merely picking at his meal with downcast eyes.

Michael found their close proximity distracting, his leg occasionally brushing against Jay's, causing an instant reaction from his easily provoked body. If Jay noticed he had the good graces not to let it show. In fact, he was polite, soft spoken and the perfect dinner companion, if a little reserved.

He'd started to think he had misinterpreted the man's earlier outgoing behavior when Angie abruptly spoke up. "Dern, Jay; what's wrong with you today? You haven't spoken two words and you've barely touched your chicken."

Grandma Ramsey leaned up from the end of the table to observe Jay's plate. "Is something wrong with the chicken, Jay? I could fix you something else, if you'd like."

"No, Grandma; everything's fine. I was just listening to everybody and got distracted." To prove his point he picked up the drumstick he'd been toying with and took an impressive bite. "Great as always, ma'am."

That seemed to satisfy the old woman and she relaxed back into her chair. Angie, however, watched Jay with intense scrutiny, waiting for another faux pas she could comment on.

'She really does treat him like she treats me,' Michael thought to himself.

After dinner the ladies cleaned up while the men retired to the living room to explore that male bonding ritual of sports watching. NASCAR was on. That was one of the things Michael had dearly missed-watching the race with his grandpa.

Since Angie's comment about Jay's behavior, Michael noticed the subtle difference in how he held himself and acted; his captivating smile didn't make an appearance all afternoon. When Gramps excused himself during a commercial Michael finally had to ask, "Jay, have I done something to offend you? I mean, you're not acting yourself. I may not know you that well but Angie does. And....you never called me." He hated how whiny he sounded, but once the words were out there was no taking them back.

"What? Of course I called you! You never returned the call so I thought maybe you just didn't want anything to do with Angie's pet fag." The hurt in Jay's voice was like a slap in the face. Then the words registered.

"You called me?"

"Yeah, Coach Anders gave me two tickets to the Hawks game and I thought maybe you might wanna go. But you never called me back."

Mouth falling open in shock, he grabbed his cell phone. Sure enough, the little icon on the screen displayed a message. He turned to Jay, horror in his eyes. "Oh my God, Jay! I'm so sorry! I had other messages and thought that was it. I never even played yours!"

Jay's was rigid for just a moment, then all the tension seemed to ease out of him. "So you weren't blowing me off?" Michael couldn't help but notice how hopeful he sounded, and found it most encouraging.

"Are you kidding? It was a Hawks game! Do you have any idea how long it's been..." He shut up with he realized how he sounded. "I mean, well..."

Suddenly that smile he'd been missing made an appearance. "That's okay. I know what you mean. It was just a little missed communication, yeah?"

"Yeah," Michael agreed, relieved that Jay was once more acting like he did the day they'd met.

"So, we still on for pizza?"

"Sure. But you should know that I have a hard time going out sometimes; it makes me really anxious. Does that bother you?"

Jay leaned up from where he'd been sitting and looked Michael squarely in the eyes. "You obviously have never met my family if you think a little thing like that is gonna bother me. Jeez, I think we have all the major phobias covered in my immediate family alone. And don't even get me started on the cousins!" Jay was grinning and Michael took it to mean he was joking. Of course, even if he wasn't it couldn't be any worse than his own cousins.

Jay smile and relaxed attitude were reassuring. "Don't worry about it, dude, I understand. Believe me, I do. I'd have taken good care of you."

That might be a double-entendre; in fact, Michael hoped so, but he had to take this slow. Just because things had gone well with his coming out to his mother didn't mean he was ready to announce it to the world.

The mood was broken when Gramps returned to the room. Jay eased his way against the back of the loveseat as though he'd been there the whole time.

Grandpa looked at them both and asked, "Did I miss something?"

Michael's heart skipped a beat until he realized that his grandfather was talking about the race.

Extreme thanks to the usual suspects: Nina, Meg, Lynda, Jared, Tinnean, and this awesome site.