The Golden Apple.......

In his nostalgic moments, as his life passed by, Marty often looked back on some of his life-changing moments. One golden memory was when Marty first told anyone he was gay. Directed by their mother, who had said, "You're reading too many books, go for a walk," Marty and his older sister had walked for a sunny afternoon of fresh air.

Taking their library books under their arms, Marty and Louisa had sauntered into a neighboring orchard. There were no fences, the fruit trees overladen with ripened apples had all been earmarked for a housing development. A golden haze seemed to hang in the air, insects buzzed, birdsong was sweet.

Under one apple tree, Louisa plucked some golden apples, sun sweet, and the two teenagers munched, while chatting and reading. Louisa was already wearing her friendship ring, they were both expected to marry well. Marty did not like her boyfriend, he had heard him talking too much trash.

"You'll get a girlfriend soon," Louisa commented, as she was discussing her impending engagement party. Marty groaned, but had to share. "Don't tell Mum and Dad, but I think I love a boy." Louisa ate the rest of her apple, and threw away the core. "It's only a stage, you'll grow up like the rest of us."

Marty shut up. She probably never would understand. "I can't say it," he thought. Big sisters are scary, so he kept silent about how their local parish priest had introduced him to meeting a man's biological needs. Marty had tried to put that behind him, but girls had no appeal for him. The priest had covered his tracks so well, liked them young, and vanished to another parish long ago. Marty supposed he had someone else by now.

At 4 pm exactly, Louisa glanced at her watch, and said, "Time for home." The golden afternoon had been pleasant enough, she had not really judged him. Marty was an excellent student, his father encouraged the manly sports. Marty preferred English, Music and Drama. He kept up his mastery of several musical instruments, and won scholarships and prizes, enough to fund his tertiary studies.

The old orchard was turned into large bonfires, the housing estate bloomed, gardens were planted. The golden apples of his youth were part of nostalgia, part of growing up, always feeling on the fringes of youth. Marty associated true love only with male forms. He did have some brief encounters with men in his college years, only flings. He was expected to pursue his career as a music and drama teacher, so he applied for a very posh job at an exclusive Catholic college.

Marty's parents were ageing now, so he stayed at home, doing what he could to support them. In his vocation, he stayed in the closet, deciding it was not worth his job to declare he loved men. As part of his job, he had to attend Mass regularly, a role model, well-groomed in more ways than one. Sometimes he prayed, so he could find his true path, but his God seemed silent. The plaster saints smiled, Jesus on His crucifix gave Marty a blessing. He acted as normal, whatever that meant, feeling some distress, always in silence.

Marty had stopped asking internally what the Catholic Church could do for him, while he was teaching at a Marist College. He tried to do what he could in that environment, never quite pleasing his father, who wanted him to marry a nice girl and provide him with grandsons, bouncing baby boys.

Marty was never quite game to tell his father that was never going to happen. Louisa by now was the mother of two young girls, she had divorced her 'nice ' husband. She now owned two mortgages, a car loan, a garden, the kids, and resumed her job. That had been marrying 'well'.

Marty's father had passed away after experiencing prostate cancer. Marty trotted off and got his checked, all clear. His frail mother sat at home on Saturday nights, while Marty presented the school musicals. Great success, drawing forth very talented musicians and vocalists from the schoolboys and their allied schoolgirls.

After the accolades, Marty drove off, his secret life in his briefcase, always hidden from his mother's snooping. He went to a gay bar he had located. somewhere in the city. There he could dance his cares away, always seeking more than sushi. By now, Marty had accepted that he was never going to be the Bishop's pet, unless of course, the old Bish was camp too. It was all swept under the carpet of a different place and time.

Then his mother passed over too. Marty and Louisa renovated the old family home. The sash windows were replaced by sliding glass, the dated textured carpet was ripped up, polished heritage floor boards gleamed. The bleeding heart of Jesus and gold flocked wallpaper disappeared, along with all the votive statues of the Blessed Virgin. "Don't know any Virgins!" Marty said to Louisa.

"When are you going to take a stand?' his big sister asked him, always there for him, no matter what. The middle-aged siblings split their inheritance, and stayed in touch. Marty had, indeed, seemed to have met someone. He went to his lover's pad, and told him what Louisa had said. Could he spend his golden years, finally happy?

Well, yes. He wrote a letter of resignation, then brought some cookbooks. He was going to explore his inner wife, creating was cool. He had moved all his gear into Benjy's home, they were finally a true couple. On his planned last day of teaching, Marty did himself proud. He was supposed to be teaching Silly Billy Shakesbeer to his oldest students, rugged big footballers, one and all. Very devout, eager for their identity.

Dressed as Ophelia, with the wig and the frock, Marty stormed into the class. "Don't listen to us oldies.! Bullshit is only spam we have fed you all these years. You've heard it all before. You can be whatever you want to be! Don't let them get to you!"

One of the boys complained about hearing swear words from 'that old poof'. The principal entered, "You're fired!" "NO! I quit!" Marty yelled back, being very dramatic. "Enough of this oppression. I pray for your acceptance. Take your job and shove it!"

With that, Ophelia, disguising Marty, had taken a stand. He drove off to his future. True love beckoned, no more conflict with his day job, freedom and equity. That golden apple of love, and being himself was now Marty, until the end of time. I guess we can all blame the Marists. He does........