Benevolence Sunday

Jack stepped onto the tram as if it were a working day, when he would do his ritual 20-minute commute. Although it didn't take long, he was eager to move into his own apartment in Manchester’s city centre, rather than living in the fishtank of his parental home in the suburbs.

As the world swished by, and the landscape became more and more industrial, Jack’s shoulders unknowingly stood taller. As the tram pulled into its final stop, he whipped off his drab jacket and unveiled a surprise: a glitter-emblazoned LGBT pride t-shirt. 

“Oh-my-god, I LOVE IT!”, a voice on the platform cried out as he stepped out.

“It’s incredible isn’t it? I found it in the charity shop on the King’s Road. The hardest part was making sure my parents didn’t stumble onto it”, he said.

“Did you hide it in your drawer with your porn mags then?”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I think you’ll find it’s 2022 Alan. The internet is a thing. We’re not all old queens like you.”

“Well I might be old, but at least I’m not shuffling around my house pretending to be a straight man. When are you going to tell them?”

“I’m not. I told you that they’ll take it badly. They never need to know”, Jack replied.

They had both met at the gay bar, The Lizard Lounge, two years ago and had become instant friends. Jack had never met anyone like Alan before then: someone so unashamedly himself, someone who could make a joke in even the most serious situations, someone who could attract glares from the whole street for wearing the most ridiculous fashion creations. Jack fondly remembers one instance where he wore a stained pink faux-snakeskin three-piece suit, with a jarring faux-leopard handbag to accompany. 

After 10 minutes of walking, they arrived at the square. Every third Sunday of the month was Benevolence Sunday. The usual market had now transformed into a charity extravaganza. The wooden stands stood in rows side-by-side and represented forty or so different charities operating in Manchester and the local area. 

“Well there’s our gay table”, Alan said, whilst gesturing to a rather dusky rainbow-coloured table.

“Why did we volunteer to do this again?”, Jack said.

“Because you said we don’t do anything for the community. Don’t you even be thinking of running off and leaving me in the shi*tter”.

He smiled and snorted simultaneously 

A sturdy man stood at the rather unsturdy table. The paper sign blew precariously in the wind above reading “Put a U in LGBTQIA+”.

“Well you two must be Jack and Alan. I’m Dale. Thanks so much for helping us today. I see you’re dressed for the occasion too!”, he said in a soft comforting voice.

“I guess I am dressed for it”, Jack mustered up a laugh.

“What do you want us to do then Daley? I’m an excellent cabaret singer if you want me to draw in the crowd”, Alan said.

Almost instantly, Alan sprung into full show-mode and started singing “Life is a Cabaret” whilst half-heartedly kicking his feet with jazz hands to match. Jack’s cheeks turned a shade of rose.

Dale’s smile dropped as he hurried words out of his mouth. “No no, that’s okay”, as he interrupted the impromptu performance. “If we all just man the stand, tell people about the work that we do, how they can donate and encourage them to take part in our charity raffle too”. 

“Can one of the raffle prizes be a performance by moi?”, Alan said.

“Thanks but we’re very much already sorted with our prizes”, Dale said as he gestured down to five very eclectic prizes. They consisted of: a bottle of rosé called “bottle of rosé”, a hairbrush with already a few hairs within the bristles, a colouring book but no colouring pencils, a bottle of body wash and an “I put the U in LGBTQIA+” sticker.

“Wow, okay. I think it might be a hard sell but we’ll try our best to get people to pay good money to try to win any of those”, Alan joked.

The charity is focused on supporting the most vulnerable members of the LGBTQIA+ community. A phoneline to offer professional counseling is the main support method. Dale told them about how they receive calls from so many different types of people: trans people who are scared to come out to their spouse, young people who are questioning their sexuality, people who have been kicked out by their parents after coming out. 

The last scenario felt like nails scratching down Jack’s back. This could very much be him ringing the helpline if he were to come out to his parents. Of course he didn’t know this for certain. But every direct or indirect comment about gay people that they had made, he evaluated and stored in filing cabinets in his head. The verdict was undeniable.

The morning sun was now beginning to take centre stage in the sky.

“Wow we’re almost at ten new donors already. You two are doing a fab job. Whatever you’re doing, keep it up!”, Dale said.

“We could be at twenty new donors if you let me sing Dale”, Alan said.

“More like they’d be running the other way”, Jack poked.

“I’m going to buy you both some lunch to say thanks for helping. What do you fancy?”, Dale said.

“Aw thanks. Honestly anything is fine for me”, Jack said.

“He might be a cheap date but I’m not”, Alan said. “I want the best”. 

“Right, Jack you stay here and look after the stand, and me and Miss Picky will go on the hunt for lunch options to bring back”.

They both left.

Jack couldn’t quite believe that he was here. Standing proudly in a rainbow t-shirt, helping to support the local queer community. He was quietly confident in himself. Just a few years ago he was deep in the closet, never thinking he’d be able to tell a single soul about who he really was and what he wanted from life. 

He looked down at the table and gazed on all of the raffle prizes that were up for grabs. How has anybody entered to win these prizes. He wondered if Dale could rig the raffle so he can save money and bring the same prizes every month?

Deep in his thoughts, he didn’t notice that someone was approaching the stall.

The corner of his eyes picked up on the body before him and he kicked into auto-pilot. “Hello we’re here today supporting the –”, he stopped.

“Jack?”, his father stood in-front of him. 

Jack panicked. He wondered what his dad was doing here. He never comes into Manchester. In fact he always says how he feels the city has no culture and is filled with vulgarity. 

He tried to say something. Anything. But nothing came out. His father’s height blocked out the rest of the world.

His father glanced from Jack’s bright-red face, to his glistening rainbow jumper and up to the sign above. His eyes narrowed as he stared at Jack with a fire in his face.

“You’re gay then?”

Silence consumed the air. Jack brought his arms up to his chest and tried to focus on an old woman selling flowers. Her kind smile to passers-by offered some comfort where there wasn’t any.

“Well… spit it out”, he demanded, clearly growing inpatient at his son’s silence.

“I…I…”, Jack paused, “I guess I am. Sorry Dad”. 

A burning silence fell into the air once again. Jack’s eyes were glistening in the midday sun. Frown lines appeared on his dad’s forehead and his fists started to clenched up. His mouth so tightly shut that his top lip disappeared.

“And look what we’ve got you. RAMEN!” Alan screamed as he and Dale parked the ramen bowls on the stand.

“Are you looking to donate sir?”, Dale asked.

“Definitely not”, Jack’s father replied.

“Okay…” Dale’s face now puzzled.

“ Why would I want to donate to such an unnatural silly cause?”

“EXCUSE ME”, Alan said, his mouth twisting into an oval. “How dare you say that! You can p*ss off and go and suck a d*ck. It might cheer you up a bit”. 

His dad grunted, shrugged his shoulders and took a final look at Jack’s face, now with a single tear rolling down it. 

“Go on, on your bike love”, Alan said.

Jack’s father shook his head and marched away from the stall. As he passed the lady selling flowers, he pushed her when she held out a bouquet of roses with them falling to the ground. Her smile fell with them.

“Who does that man think he is? How rude to come over just to torment us”, Dale said.

“He’s my dad…”. Jack’s lips protruding from his face with a quiver.

“That was your dad! Oh. My. God. I’m so sorry honey. That wasn’t the coming out you wanted”, Alan said. “Are you okay?”

“No…”

Alan embraced him, like a mother cuddling her newborn baby. Tears now streaming continuously down Jack’s face and his breathing becoming uncontrollable. His nose twitched with every new tide of tears.

“I knew he’d hate me”, Jack’s voice muffled against Alan’s chest.

“Shhhh. He doesn’t deserve you. Homophobe”. 

After 10 minutes, Jack had gathered up enough courage to stand on his own without the support of Alan. He picked up his bowl of ramen and spooned it rapidly into his wrecked body.

“Thank you for that. I needed it”, Jack said to Alan.

“You’re not going back to that home tonight. You can come and stay with me”, Alan instructed.

After Dale wished Jack all the best, and thanked them both for their work, the pair set off from the market earlier than hoped. 

Jack had always admired Alan’s extraverted living room. From the crushed pink velvet sofa, to the never-used candelabras on the side tables, the gothic painting of a skull hanging above the fireplace and the bear rug that looked like it would spring into action and gobble him up at any moment.

The tides felt low here, safe enough to walk through with no chance of drowning. Alan strutted over and thrust a large glass of white wine into Jack’s hand.

“You need this right now. Has your dad messaged you?”, Alan asked.

Jack took a big gulp of the vinegar-esque wine. The burn offering a sweet catharsis to his pained throat.

“No. But I knew that he wouldn’t. I’m dead to them now”. 

The bear’s eyes stared directly at Jack.

“Look, it may take them some time for them to come around. My mar didn’t speak to me for four months after I came out to her”.

“And what if they don’t come around? What do I do then?”. Jack’s eyes flicked onto Alan with a thirst for knowledge. 

The cuckoo clock in the hallway started its hourly calling, echoing throughout each corner of the living room. 

Cuckoo…cuckoo…cuckoo.

“Then you stay with your new family, honey”, Alan placing a hand on Jack’s shoulder. “Your chosen family who loves you for being exactly who you are”.

As Alan left to make up the spare room, a birdcall filled the room once more. It wasn’t the cuckoo clock. It was his message tone. Jack looked at the coffee table as his phone screen flashed into life.

His fingertips filled with droplets. His heart racing, he picked it up and read the message.