The Last Time I Went Back to Texas

When you’re a world-renowned singer and songwriter, you don’t get a lot of days off. That’s why, when you’re a world-renowned singer and songwriter, you take what breaks you can get. 

It was on one of those rare days that I afforded myself a stroll through my sleepy hometown in Smithville, Texas. It was nearing the middle of July, and I sweated profusely in my blonde wig, obnoxious sun hat, and Versace sunglasses. Still, I didn’t dare shift it even an inch, knowing better than to make such a rookie mistake. 

I remembered walking these worn streets as a child, swearing, vowing to get out of here, yearning for much more. Now that I had made good on those promises, it appeared that I was homesick, observing the suburbs and reminiscing on younger days as though I were one hundred years old. 

I turned the corner and walked the familiar sidewalk, so alive with its colorful chalk drawings, with the scuffs and chips in the same places that I remembered. Memories filled me up suddenly and with full force, the good and the bad. I tried my best to keep my head clear as I neared a familiar place…

My childhood home. 

It, too, like the sidewalk, stayed the same, oblivious to all of the drastic changes in my life. 

I walked up the pathway to the porch and took a deep breath. When I left this place, I thought I would never come back, but I always found myself coming back once every year to see what had changed in my sleepy town. 

Shutting my eyes, I forced my hand forward and pushed the doorbell before I could change my mind. 

I heard laughter behind the door, then hurried footsteps. The door swung open, and I saw my mother’s face alight with laughter. 

Then, I watched it drain away at the sight of me. 

She moved to shut the door, but my sister had already seen who it was. 

“Lana!” she gushed, rushing forward, pushing my mother out of the way and giving me a big hug. I laughed and embraced her just as enthusiastically. It had been so long since I’d seen her in person, heard her ridiculous puns, and smelled her imported French perfume. It was ironic; I had a net worth of nearly fifty million dollars, but she still spent more than I spent in a week in a single day. 

My mother’s voice pierced through the happiness of the moment in a monotonous tone. “Alexander, what are you doing here?”

I flinched, hearing my birth name. “I came to see you both. I brought you guys presents.” I reached for my backpack to find the expensive purse I had gotten for her in Milan while on my world tour. 

“We don’t need anything from you,” my father said, somehow appearing at the door. I didn’t hear him coming. 

My sister kicked his leg and shoved them both aside. “Come on in, Lana.”

I caught her eye and smiled gratefully, stepping into the ranch. My father’s lips parted angrily, but I pretended not to see him. I walked to the living room and sank into the couch. 

Isabelle followed after me, sitting right next to me. I unzipped my backpack and pulled out the handbag I had gotten for my mother. “This is for mom,” I said, remembering how she loved handbags. “You always had a thing for purses.” I looked down to my backpack to get the gift I had purchased for my father, but not without catching the longing on my mother’s face when she saw the Gucci Limited Edition handbag. I dragged the heavy bottle of aged Italian wine out of my bag and extended it towards my dad. “It’s red,” I said, hoping for a softening in his expression. It didn’t come. I set the bottle aside on the couch. Lastly, I pulled out a collection of costly designer perfumes addressed to Izzy and handed them to her, eliciting instant squealing and an onslaught of hugs and tears. 

“You’ve given your gifts. Now leave,” my father imposed. 

“Shut up, Lucas,” my sister said, calling my father by his first name, her expression changing drastically when she looked at him. My sister calling my father by his first name was something I had never seen happen before, but I was nevertheless thankful that it did. 

I tried to ignore his distrustful glances, and focus my attention on a different part of the room. “I like the new decor, mom,” I complimented, taking note of the flowery additions that I could already guess were compliments of my mother. “Did you make them yourself?”

“Now that I know that you like it, I’ll burn them,” she told me. 

I offered her a half-smile before I looked away. The smiling was my effort to avoid further tension; I wanted at least a few moments of peace while I was here. And though I had more than my fair share of hate comments during my stardom, hearing them from a place so close to me hurt. I tried my best to ignore it. I kept telling myself that they’d come to terms with my coming out soon; they were just in shock. 

I tried not to think about the fact that it had been three years since this had occurred. 

Isabelle jumped in to help. “Oh my gosh, you must be so hungry. We’ve got lasagna if you like,”

“Don’t-” my mother said, nervous about sharing her precious lasagna with someone she considered to be an outsider. 

“Oh, nonsense,” Izzy said, grabbing my arm and pulling me to the kitchen. My parents followed closely behind as though worried I might steal something. As if I would need to. I was filthy rich.

My sister made small talk while she heated up some lasagna in the microwave. Just stuff like how was the world tour and is it true Justin Beiber follows you on Instagram now and Did you really see Tokyo? I answered her eager questions half-heartedly, not because I was annoyed at her, but because I couldn’t help feeling like I was somehow dirtying the house simply by standing there. The questions stopped when Izzy handed me the lasagna, and I eagerly dug in. It had been a while since I had tasted my mother’s home cooked bolognese. I ignored the sharp intake of breath from my mother. 

“I saw the Coachella flyer,” Izzy gushed. “You’re playing Coachella! I’m so proud of you!” 

I smiled, touched by the only bit of familial support I had ever gotten. “It’s no big deal.”

“Yes, it is,” Izzy said. “Lana, we should celebrate!”

“Okay,” I said. “Mom, Dad, you wanna come celebrate with us?” I tried. 

My father scoffed. “What’s there to celebrate? If you think I’ll act like I’m fine with the fact that my son is dressing up like a girl and dancing and singing on stage? I’d rather mourn than celebrate. And call him by his name. His name is Alexander.”

“Whatever,” Izzy said, jumping in to save me from having to answer. “Who needs them, anyway?”

I wished I could seem to care as little as Isabelle did, but I couldn’t. My parents’ apathy hurt more than I liked to admit. All of the things that my parents had said to me over the years, everything I had heard and seen and experienced, all of it flew through my mind all at once, and my carefully practiced composure broke. 

“My name is Lana,” I said, standing up, sliding the plate onto the kitchen island, and looking directly at my father. My name is not Alexander.”

“Don’t you talk back to me!” he snarled, face pink with fury. 

“Oh yeah?” I challenged, all of the pain from past years suddenly culminating and releasing all at once. “Watch me.” I let out a frustrated groan. “And do you know how long I took to choose your gifts? Do you know how much I spent on them? Here’s a hint: that wine cost more than your rent. Yet, you still look at me as though I’m dirtying your house.”

My father opened his mouth as if to speak, but I interrupted him, turning to my mother.

“And you, mom. You’re not any better. Why couldn’t you have supported me like Izzy did? I didn’t expect much better from Dad, but can’t you just love me and care for me the way you used to? Dammit. You looked at that purse with more love than you have for me.”

A spark of hurt flashed across my mother’s face, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she looked pathetically to the floor. It disgusted me that she had nothing to say after all the pain she had made me go through. 

“If you want to mourn me now, that’s fine. Go ahead. I’ve been mourning you since the day I came out.”

Right as I said those last words, all of the rage pent up in my chest fell away and I was left with raw, sober sorrow. I walked over to the living room and picked up my backpack, slinging it over one shoulder. Over the ringing in my ears, I could dimly hear Izzy shouting at our parents. I opened the door and walked out. 

The first thing that caught my eye amongst the dull colors of the suburbs was the luster of Elijah’s bruised Honda in front of the house. My lip trembled in pure ecstasy; I was so glad that he was here, right when I needed him most. I opened the front passenger door carefully, as though to make sure that I wasn’t hallucinating, and sat inside.

“How did you-” I started. 

“Know to wait outside your door? I just did,” Elijah said, shaking his dark bangs out of his eyes. “Every year you walk willingly back into this mess, and every year you come back crying. I couldn’t bear to see you cry again.”

Elijah was a terrible driver who never drove unless absolutely necessary. That, and the fact that he voluntarily got behind the wheel of his car and drove miles and miles just to be here for me, endangering himself, warmed my heart faster than the Texas sun. I dropped my backpack onto the ground, took his face with both my hands, and started kissing him right then and there. 

When we finally disconnected, Eli looked me worriedly in the eye. “Not to ruin the mood, but you looked so sad when you were walking away. Are you alright?”

I shook my head. I couldn’t lie to him, not when he looked at me with those omniscient dark green eyes. “I’m not. But I will be,” I offered a weak smile.

“I’ll make them pay for what they did-” Eli moved to get out of the car, but I pulled him back. 

“No.” I shook my head. “This is my fight. And nothing you can do will change their mind,” I said, holding his delicate hands to my lips and kissing them gently. 

“I’ll respect your decision.” Elijah said, looking down at me through his long, bronze eyelashes. “Do you wanna get out of here?”

I flashed him a grin. “Let’s. And I’ll drive.”

Elijah was visibly relieved. “Thank you.”

I took the driver’s seat, turning on the engine, and Eli turned the radio dial so loud that I couldn’t hear my own thoughts. A woman holding a bag of groceries scowled at us up ahead, but I paid no heed as we sped away from my childhood home. I was done looking for people to accept me the way I was. I was happy with myself, and that was all that mattered. 

As we sped away from my old home, leaving the streets of my childhood far behind, I noticed that some of the storefronts had changed, updated, while the schools and most of the homes had remained the same. 

Some things change. 

My life had drastically changed over the past few years. I had truly found myself, found my true identity, and found my part in the world on the stage. 

I had found Elijah, my best friend, my lover. I had found the man of my dreams, the man who treated me like the queen I was. I had helped him battle his fears, and he had helped me battle mine. 

And some things never do.

In some ways, my life was still the same. I was still the same me, the same hopeful girl who scribbled lyrics into her notebook and danced in the backyard. My parents still didn’t accept me. 

We had done this for years. I would come to their home bearing presents and they would turn me away. I was getting tired of this. So what if my parents didn’t accept me? Izzy accepted me. Eli accepted me.

My parents not loving me the way that I am wasn’t an issue on my part, it was an issue on theirs. 

I accepted myself. 

And that’s truly all that matters. 

And so many things keep changing. 

I found that at the end of each year, I feel as though I have already experienced all that this world could give me. And I still did, before I got the phone call from Coachella. 

A sly smile crept onto my face. 

I realized that much more changes were waiting for me. 

And I was ready to face them head on. 

That was the last time I went back to Texas.