Living with secrets is difficult and is more difficult if you’re in high school. If your secrets and desires go against social norms everything becomes tougher… especially if you are looking for acceptance.

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Mark Jackson was sitting alone in a darkened ICU room at Queen of the Valley Hospital in West Covina. His only child, Eric, was unconscious and was hooked up to a wide variety of monitors and medical equipment. His head was wrapped in bandages. A clear plastic bag of electrolyte infused water, mixed with medicine and nutrients, hung from a metal pole and dripped life sustaining liquids into Eric’s veins. The hum of electronics in the room emitted a dull hum. One monitor beeped out and displayed Eric’s heart beat and other vitals. 13 year old Eric had been hit by a car while riding his bike. In an attempt to flea his house Eric hadn’t bothered with wearing his bike helmet.

A passerby on the hospital ward would have assumed that Mark was softly praying while rubbing his child’s hand in an attempt to comfort him. That assumption would have been partially wrong.

Two hours earlier

Mr. Mark Jackson had arrived home three hours earlier than normal. Rather than park in the garage Mark opted to park in the driveway and come in from the front door. The noise and vibration from the garage door opening would have alerted Eric that someone was home.

Approaching his front door Mark immediately smelled fumes from nail polish as they wafted out through the screen door. ‘The little fairy is at it again’ thought Mark. Pausing at the screen door Mark took time to survey the situation inside prior to entering.

Eric was wearing ear buds while listening and lip synching to some girly band as he painted his left hands fingernails a pretty Burgundy Red. He was finishing a second coat of color prior to beginning on his right hand. A tube of lipstick, a hand mirror and a pair of tweezers were waiting nearby on the table. Eric was wearing his mother’s 2 inch wedge sandals as he tapped his toes to the loud music. He had no warning that his dad would walk in on him.

Quietly opening the door Mark got within three feet of Eric before he spoke. In a loud voice Mark boomed, “I told you there would be no more of this fruit loop behavior in my house!” Startled, Eric almost tipped over in his chair as he tried to grasp what was happening. It immediately became clear that his father had busted him again. Eric’s heart was racing. He began to cry.

Mark reached over and snatched the closed bottle of nail polish from the table. Reading the polish label Mark angrily said, “Damn it, Eric you know how I feel about you femming yourself up. I won’t tolerate it! I know this isn’t your mother’s polish… for god’s sake my only boy is buying his own cosmetics?! And you’re plucking your eyebrows again! What is the world coming to?” Mark shoved the bottle of nail polish into his pants pocket.

Eric replied: “You don’t understand! I need to paint my nails. I want to look pretty. All the girls thin their eyebrows! Is that so wrong? You’ve known that I’m not like other boys ever since I painted my nails and wore mom’s shoes when I was 7 years old. I knew I was different by the time I was 5! I don’t hurt anyone so leave me alone!” Kicking off his mother’s shoes Eric grabbed his sandals and went for his bike in the garage.

Facing the door where Eric had just exited Mark shouted, “Get your cry baby sissy ass back in the house and take the whipping I promised you the next time I caught you fagging out… remove that nail polish before the neighbors find out we have a freaking fairy living here!”

Still crying Eric rolled his bike out of the garage. Between sobs he turned towards his father and, with gritted teeth, tersely said, “I won’t let you beat me anymore! Why won’t you let me be me?” Eric straddled his bike and quickly peddled down the sloped driveway. At the bottom of the drive Eric made a hard left turn and headed west towards a local park. Ten seconds later Eric’s day got worse.

Mark heard the loud squeal of braking car tires and an ominous dull thud of a car running into something. Mark was on the scene within moments. His son’s bike lay in a twisted heap among broken head light glass. Eric lay nearby. A trickle of blood from Eric’s mouth formed a small pool in the street next to his face.

The next series of events became a blur to Mark. There were distant sirens. There were spectators, police and paramedics. Distant sounding voices told Mark that ‘everything will be ok… nothing broken…an ambulance is coming’.

As if coming out of a dense fog Mark found himself sitting in his son’s darkened hospital room, holding Eric’s right hand, oblivious as to how he had gotten there or how long he had been sitting in Eric’s room.

A passerby on the hospital ward would have assumed that Mark was softly praying while rubbing his child’s hand in an attempt to comfort him. In reality Mark was simply painting the unfinished bare nails on Eric’s right hand while mumbling promises and regrets to his unconscious son.

“Eric, I’m sorry that I have been so rough with you… I should have been more understanding, more sensitive to your needs… we could have tried some family counseling… please get well and we’ll find a solution.” And finally, “I’m sorry that I called you names. Please don’t die.”

Mark was holding Eric’s limp hand and was blowing on the wet nail polish when Mark felt one of Eric’s fingers twitch! Looking towards Eric’s face Mark saw an almost imperceptible nod. Mark blew again on his son’s polished finger nails; there was a stronger twitch! Eric let out a low groan and his eye lids fluttered a bit.

In an ingenious moment of desperation Mark opened the bottle of nail polish and held it under Eric’s nostrils as if it were smelling salts. Eric’s chest rose as he subconsciously inhaled deeply. A faint smile graced Eric’s face and his eyes peeped open ever so slightly. Inhaling again Eric’s eyes fully opened. “Where am I? What happened” Eric groggily asked.

Still holding his son’s right hand Mark softly said, “You were on your bike and a car ran into you. You got a pretty nasty bump on the head. You’re in a hospital. You’re going to be ok.” Mark gave Eric’s hand another gentle squeeze.

Eric looked at the hand that Mark was still holding. Seeing that his right hand nails were now painted Eric smiled weakly at his father. Eric raised his freshly painted fingers and said, “How?” Mark smiled back at his son and said, “I finished the job that I interrupted… I didn’t think you’d mind. It does make your hands look pretty.”

Leaning closer Mark blew on Eric’s nails one more time and then kissed Eric on his forehead. “Get some rest Erica; we’ll be home soon and we’ll sort this out. Everything will be okay.”

PS. Acceptance should not be an accident.

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