The Family Picnic

Please note that this story contains mature language.

If I had more energy, I'd re-enact the Wicked Witch of the West's infamous "I'm melting" monologue because it is hot as balls out here. I don't have any energy left, nor do I think the present company would appreciate the rendition. Not that anyone is nearby. I am alone, which seems to be my lot in life these days.

I had begged my mother not to make me go to the family reunion. Fresh off of my first year of college, I only wanted to spend my first weekend back home sleeping in my bed. I wanted to forget the last nine months. 

Being queer in a small town in western Pennsylvania is no picnic. I had spent most of high school dreaming of leaving this podunk town and going to the big city for college. By “big city” I mean Pittsburgh. Hey, big is relative when you grew up in a town with more corn than people. The University of Pittsburgh was supposed to introduce me to people who understood things. They were supposed to be open-minded, queer-friendly, and cosmopolitan. I was going to waltz right in and be the belle of the ball! I'd show those assholes at Farrell High that I was actually cool to people who didn't aspire to manage an Eat' n Park or relive their glory days on the football team while drowning in a pint of Budweiser at the Loose Moose Saloon.

What had actually happened was a nightmarish first year at college where I learned that I had bitten off way more than I could chew by choosing chemical engineering as a major and was assigned a homophobic douchebag from the wealthiest part of Pittsburgh as a roommate. 

I wasn't cultured compared to him. I wasn’t smarter than everyone like I had been at Farrell. I definitely wasn't making friends left and right. I was honestly just trying to stay above water. It had been a lonely and embarrassing first year, and I had waddled back to my little town, tail between my legs and a new smoking habit that I was desperately trying to hide from my mother. I didn't particularly like smoking but bumming a cigarette outside of my dorm had been the easiest way to strike up a conversation with someone. I was just desperate to talk to anyone. All other attempts at making friends had failed. I had gone to one Rainbow Alliance meeting and was soundly rejected by the queens on campus, who were basically the gay male version of Regina George. I struggled academically, making me a less-than-desirable group project partner, so I wasn’t meeting people in classes either. 

All I wanted was to come home, forget the first year of college ever happened, and, hopefully, start with a clean slate my sophomore year. Sleeping for the first forty-eight hours back home had been action item number one on my to-do list—until my mom ran into my room, roused me out of bed, and told me to get ready for the family picnic, which was occurring on the hottest day of the year thus far.

Fuck. Me. The last thing I need is to see my extended family and be pressured into doing outdoor activities. Things like softball, kickball, volleyball, basically anything involving balls not attached to a guy are really not my thing. I didn't want to answer questions about school. I didn't want to answer questions about girls. I didn't want anything. I just wanted to hide for the weekend and recover. I begged my mom to let me stay home. 

Clearly, that didn't happen because here I am, at the Zogran Family Picnic. Sweating my ass off and suffocating on the smell of burning hotdogs. Joy. 

I'm on top of a long, wooden table under the pavilion because I am desperately trying to get out of the sun, but that means the smell of burning pig is my new best friend. The entire family is out in the field playing a rousing game of ultimate frisbee while my mom and some of my aunts chat around a cooler filled with bottles of Sutter Home Pink Moscato. 

I've managed to avoid most of the awkward questions about my dating life and my abysmal first year at school. I am just hoping my mom doesn't rally the troops, or the sisters-in-law in this case, to bombard me with advice. I gave her some insight into the year I had, I had to explain my grades, but I was as vague as possible regarding the barren wasteland that was my social life. She had asked if I wanted her to call my dad. Abso-fucking-lutely not is what I wanted to say. But I didn't say that. I just shook my head.

"But Sammy, he might have some advice. He went to school. Granted, a smaller one, but he did graduate." 

My dad had gone to a small college to be a shop teacher. He graduated and taught at Farrell High for fifteen years. Then, the drinking started. Then, the cheating on my mom. The DUI cost him his job, and Vicky, a bartender at the Loose Moose Saloon, cost him his marriage…and my trust. No, I did not want to ask Rick for advice. The Zograns, my dad's family, sided with my mom. Hence, why his sisters are constantly chiming in with advice for my mother. You see, I am…different. Which is code for "I think he might be one of those homos," but that's a dirty word around here. They're not wrong, but I'm not interested in confirming their suspicions. Not now, anyway. Maybe not ever. 

I see several sets of eyes look my way. My mom is whispering something, and the aunts look…concerned. That's never a good thing. Fuck. Okay, I have to leave. But where? I am not playing frisbee. We're in a park in the middle of nowhere, so it's not exactly like I can say I'm off to the coffee shop for some AC or something. The creek! There's a creek. I'll take a walk. I'll probably get poison ivy traipsing through the forest, but that's better than some awkward conversation where my aunts advise me on how not to be a loser. I can hear it all now. "Once you get a girlfriend, things will all fall into place." I need to get away from this pavilion STAT. 

The forest is a skosh cooler. It's still unbearably hot, but at least I'm by water. I'm also alone, which is honestly a godsend right now. I park it on a big stone beside the creek and toss pebbles. I'll go back soon. I just need to regroup. The questions will start coming, and I need to emotionally prepare to fend them off. Lie. I'm good at that. Hide behind the façade of a country boy who is just too smart for his own good. Oh, I don't have time for girls; I have too many math problems floating around my head to even pay attention! If only they could see my search history. Dear God, I hope they never see my search history…

"Are you avoiding a family picnic too?"

I startle and nearly fall into the creek. I turn around and see a tall, thin boy with dark hair and black rimmed glasses. He looks like if Velma and Shaggy from Scooby Doo morphed into one character but also kind of hot in a geeky way. I'm intrigued. I'm also nervous as hell. Nothing makes my stomach tie in knots faster than being interested in a guy, and I don't even know what he's into. Okay, just focus, Sam. Just talk like a normal person. Don't put pressure on yourself. He's probably not into you. There's no need to freeze up like an awkward turtle like you usually do. Just be chill.

"I am. I take it you are, too?" Good start. Asking questions allows the other person to respond and the conversation to continue. Thank God my mom made me read How to Win Friends and Influence People. Her not-so-subtle allusion that maybe I am not the best with…people. 

"I am indeed. It's agony. We're at the South Pavilion. I was doing alright at being sociable until I started choking on potato salad. Does your family put raisins and walnuts in that shit? Are they trying to kill me? I feel like it's a test. If you survive Aunt Linda's potato salad, you'll make it in this family." He says all of this with just a hint of a tremble in his voice. He looks kind of nervous. Is he as anxious as I am? Boy, that would be refreshing.

"Oh, I totally get it. It’s a family tradition to have a food-eating contest at these reunion picnics. Any moment, they'll start shoving hotdogs in their mouths two at a time. I tried it once and threw up all over the pavilion. I was not asked to participate the following year." Okay, maybe I shouldn't have gone to regurgitation as a topic, but I am showing commiseration, and that's how people make friends, right? It's like bitching about the weather. 

"What a nightmare! I'm vegetarian. Another thing my family likes to ridicule me for is that potato salad is the only thing I can usually eat at one of these damn things, and I can't even do that without choking." 

Wow! This is a real bona fide conversation! Granted, we're talking about our dietary limitations, but it's better than silence! 

"I'm Sam, by the way." I say.

"Patrick." 

He holds his hand to shake mine—a decidedly straight move, but who knows? He's lanky from afar, but the longer I look, the more I notice he’s really muscular in a lean kind of way. The veins in his forearm pop as he extends his hand to me and his hands are strong and kind of calloused. I like it. 

"It's nice to meet you, Patrick. Yeah, I was not excited about this picnic today. I just got back from school, and all I wanted to do was sleep. I didn't want to smother my senses with the smell of burning pig meat on the hottest day of the year." 

"I just got back too. Where do you go to school?" He asks.

"I just wrapped up my first year at Pitt." I don't want to divulge a lot of info about my year at Pitt. If his experience has been glorious, maybe I'll just make up a glamorous social life. 

"Oh, nice. I'm at Allegheny, but not by choice. I got a scholarship to row for them, so I was kind of forced to accept. I really wanted to go to Pitt." He says with a tinge of disappointment.

 Fuck, now I feel like an ass. All I've done is complain about my experience, and here he is envying it. I really wish we could trade places. Maybe I'd like Allegheny better?

"Well, I don't know if you are missing out on much. I really wanted to go there, too, but it was less than what I had hoped for." I'm trying to make him feel better but also trying to keep the conversation going. 

"Yeah? Why’s that?" 

Uff. I should have known we'd get to this part. You're an idiot, Sam. Now he'll think you're a loser. Why do I care what this guy thinks? Maybe because he's like a nerd-version of tall, dark, and handsome? Which is my type to a tee. Snap out of it, Sam! Don't be a creep. 

"Um…well, I didn't really like my major. And…I guess I just expected people to be a little different."

"Mmm. I hear that. I didn't think the rowing team would be a bastion of progressive thought, but I wasn't quite expecting them to totally ostracize me when they found out I am bi."

Alert! Alert! Bi-guy! We got a bi-guy, here! Fuck! Is this a dream? Am I dreaming? Okay, act natural. Don't pounce on that bit of information. Be nonchalant. Try to be normal. Don't lunge yourself at him and profess your undying love. This isn't an Emily Brontë novel. 

"I'm so sorry. They're fucking losers. College is where people are supposed to be above that simple-minded high school shit." I say. 

"Right? It was such a bummer. Plus, rowing takes up so much of my time, so it was hard to meet other people. I'm also not…the most social." His cheeks are kind of red. It's so adorable my heart almost explodes.

"Neither am I, honestly. And I get what you mean. I was hoping for a built-in friendship with my roommate, but he turned out to be a total bigot. I'm gay, by the way." I slide that in hoping the "by the way" conveys nonchalance and not what I'm actually feeling, which is  "LET'S BE TOGETHER!"

"Nice. I mean, not like 'nice' as in noice a gay dude; I mean nice as in it's nice to meet someone else who gets it. You know? Wow, I really know how to word-vomit, huh?"

I can't help but laugh. "I totally get it. And I'm not laughing at you! I'm laughing because I feel the same way. I mean, it's just nice to have someone to talk to, you know?" Jesus, now I'm word-vomiting. 

"I totally get it." He says with a smile.

There's a pause—silence as we sheepishly smile at each other. Is this awkward or romantic? I can never tell. It's usually the former, but I don't know this time. I wish I was smoother at this! Think of something to say, Sam! End this silence!

"Um…where are you from? You can't be from Farrell. I would know you. Sometimes, I feel like I can count the number of people in that town on my hands and toes." Phew. Let's move this conversation to normal land again.

"I'm from Sharon. We're not too far from each other."

"Yeah. Not too far at all." 

More silence. Okay, I saved it last time. Please, please, please, let him save it this time.

"We should hang out some–"

"I'd like that!" I say it before he even finishes the statement. I know my face is crimson right now. 

He laughs. "Good. Me too." 

"Good." 

He motions to the rock. “Is there space for two?”

Wow. It didn’t even occur to me that he’s been standing the whole time we’ve been talking. Real smooth, Sam. “Of course! I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking.”

“No worries!” He picks up a pebble and chucks it so that it skips in the water. 

“Impressive! In a creek, no less!” I say.

“Oh, I’m a font of useless talent.” He says wryly.

“Well, you row and got a scholarship for it, so that wasn’t a useless talent.” I say as I toss another pebble in the creek. 

“I guess we all have our thing. What’s yours?” He asks.

“What? My special thing? Ha! I used to think it was my intelligence, but I’m not so sure anymore. I didn’t exactly do so hot in chemical engineering.” 

“Yeah, well, most don’t. You’ll find something else. Maybe your special talent is swing dancing? I’m taking lessons at the Sharon Community Center. Want to join me?” There’s not a hint of irony in that question, and I, once again, almost fall into the creek.

“Swing dancing? Are you serious?” 

His face falls and morphs into embarrassment. Like he knows he said something dumb. “Sorry. That’s so lame. I was just looking for a summer activity, but it's dumb. Just an idea is all.” 

His face is forlorn as he looks at the creek. FUCK! I am screwing this up! Gotta salvage this pronto. 

“I’d love to go. If you want me to. I’ve never danced but it sounds fun. Will they play rockabilly and stuff like that? If so, then I’m totally in.” He’s beaming when he looks back up at me. Phew! 

“Yeah, I think so! It might be us and literally two other people, so I imagine we can request whatever we want music-wise.” He says through a giddy smile. God, my heart is in tatters now.

“Will I be dancing with you? Are they gonna be okay with that?” I ask. 

“Fuck ‘em. We paid for the class. They can deal with it.” There’s a confidence in his voice that makes me melt. He’s right. Who cares what they think. Who cares what my family thinks. Who cares what people at Pitt think, or people at Farrell High, or anyone else for that matter.

“I like that mentality, and I really like the idea of swing dancing with you.” I can feel the flush on my neck as I say it. 

He looks at me intently. I’m just noticing how pretty his eyes are. They’re hazel but like…there are specs of green that are just beautiful. 

He inches closer ever so slightly. “I like that idea too.”

Well, this summer just got a hell of a lot better. 

The End