Assignment #4 - Wes Davis - It's All Gonna Be Okay

The dull scrape of forks and knives against cheap porcelain plates bears the weight of the otherwise silent room. A family of five - three triplet boys, their parents, and the three dogs sitting around the table waiting for a meager leftover bite - eat. The scream of the thoughts in one boy's head are so loud he's sure his mother, who sits to his left, can hear every word. He wouldn't be welcomed here, not if his parents had a choice. Their staunchly right-winged views on the queer community keep his throat tight, unable to scarf down the lasagna going cold on his plate. He may never be welcomed here. The family portrait that adorns the cream colored wall above the stained-wood dinner table stares him down with the glaring truth. That person in the portrait, the young boy with swooping brown-blonde hair, isn't him. It never will be. 

Coming to terms with one's true identity is an emotionally exhausting journey. No matter how he feels now, he knows this will all pass, and that he will be okay. As the boy with the swooping hair forces down a miniature bite of now cold lasagna, he repeats this to himself. That motto, that it's all going to be alright, is now more of a daily mantra than a gentle reminder. As he excuses himself from the table the chair groans against the faux-hardwood floor. He abandons the suffocating crowd of four in the dining room for the vacuous kitchen. A symphony of sound floats through the air. The wheezing laugh of his father, the tired sigh of his mother, the chatter between brothers, all bittersweet to his ears. He's disgusting, he tells himself. He has no place in being here. Just push it all down, he doesn't have to face his reality. 

Sliding the sauce-smeared porcelain plate into the dishwasher, he balls his fists, squeezes his eyes closed, and silences that voice in his head. He gnaws on his cheek with hands now pressed firm against his temples. He is none of those things, he tells himself. Stop fighting, please stop fighting this, he pleads with himself. His brows un-furrow and hands fall to his sides as soft light fills his vision. He rolls his shoulders back and releases his cheeks from the firm grip of his molars. 

It's all gonna be okay.