Sailing: Oliver's Favorite Memory
It was just me and the stars and a sixer floating in a cooler of mostly melted ice cubes. The lights were dimmed below decks, my family sleeping peacefully, and I lay across the bench, staring up at the dark purple sky at the pinpricks of light that dotted the heavens, being rocked by the ocean as it moved the boat. I could live forever on the water like this, floating, breathing in the scent of the salty ocean water.
It was our last night on vacation. The next day we would guide the boat back to dock, pack our bags, and embark on a 20-something hour flight back to the US, where Zoey would be heading off to college, the first time that she'd live under a roof that didn't belong to Ashley and I. It felt like the last night of childhood, like Peter Pan should be arriving to risk us all away to Neverland, where we could all be preserved exactly as we were that night forever.
The door that led below creaked open and I glanced over and saw Oliver emerge from below, his dark blonde hair reflecting the moonlight. He glanced around and spotted me, pulled the door closed behind him, and walked swiftly to my side. He sank onto the bench beside my head and laid back, like I was doing, our heads so close together that the top of our hairs touched.
Oliver and I had been on uneven grounds lately. Ashley said I was too hard on him because he reminded me too much of myself. Which probably is true. He really took after me when it came to stubborness, and, like me, Oliver was one of those kids that had to learn everything the hardway. He was sixteen, which didn't help any. Every boy is hard-headed at sixteen, I think. Even Brian and Baylee, who'd had a relatively easy time of the father-son relationship, had hit a rocky patch around sixteen. Everyone says boys are easier to raise, but I think that's bullshit. I've got both and the three girls have definitely been a walk in the park compared to Oliver.
"When we go home," his voice breaks the silence of the night, "Are you still gonna be pissed off at me?"
I licked my lips, took a deep breath, and sat up, spinning to face him. "It depends, Oliver," I said. "How many times have you doped up, dude?"
The night before, we'd been staying at a hotel in Sydney. Ashley and I had gone out for dinner in the hotel lobby. Halfway through dinner, I realized my wallet had been left upstairs, and I went up to the room to get it and found Oliver sneaking to the vending machine down the hallway, high as a kite. I'd ushered him back to his room, deposited him into the shower, and turned the water on. Kevin had done this once to me and I remembered it quite vividly. While the water was running, raining over his face, sobering him up from his high, I yelled at him, told him I'd be back to deal with him later, and left him there soaking wet in the bottom of the shower stall. I didn't tell Ashley, and when I went back upstairs to check on him, he had the room light off and he was asleep.
I hadn't had an opportunity to talk to him since. I don't know why, but I didn't want Ashley to know what was going on. I somehow felt like this was a man's problem, something me and Oliver had to work on together.
Oliver stared up at me from the bench, "I told you, dad, this was the first time I even thought about it."
I took a deep breath and looked around at the water and the silouhettes of the city off in the distance. I rubbed the back of my neck. I thought back to the night I got arrested in Florida, when the cops were slamming my face against the table top, slapping heavy metal cuffs around my wrist, and hauling me out to the car, mocking me for crying. I thought about Kevin's voice when he chewed me out in the car on the way home afterwards. I thought about the night Kevin shoved me in the shower on the bus and hollored at me like I'd done to Oliver the night before. I thought about how none of that shit had worked.
I looked at Oliver, met his eyes real solid-like. My gaze was serious enough that he rolled over and sat up, too, turning to face me. I had his attention now, he knew whatever I was about to say was gonna be important.
"I did a lot worse than pot when I was your age," I confessed. "I've done it all, man," I added, shaking my head. I swallowed. "When I was sixteen I swore it was gonna be different for me than all those stupid after school specials make it out to be, like I was gonna conquer drugs and be the master of my own head and just get the good feelin's off them, you know?" I smiled, "And shit they were good feelings. I was going through a helluva lot back then, a lot of pressure for a kid that age. It was nice to just forget sometimes and light up and -- I called it sailing back then."
Oliver looked down at his lap, "I'm not a pop star like you were or nothin' but it's still hard," he said. "I mean sometimes I feel like everyone expects me to be you, and I'm not you. I still get stopped by your fans, you know, I mean they're all old but they recognize me since I look so much like you, and they're always so disappointed I didn't get your voice. It's like I'm expected to be you and I can't be you. I don't even want to be you."
"I don't expect you to be me," I said, "And I don't want you to be me. I suck."
Oliver laughed, "You don't suck, dad."
"I sucked when I was a kid," I answered. "When I was using. I thought back then I wasn't hurtin' anyone but myself but that was a lie. I was hurting everyone I came in contact with. I was hurting your mother and, really in the long run, I was hurting you kids. I hurt my friends, I hurt my fans. I broke my family." I shook my head, "I mean ultimately, the person I hurt the most was myself. I stole something from myself, something I can't ever get back."
Oliver's face was serious. "I didn't really like the feeling."
"Good," I said simply.
"It was kinda disappointing," he said, "I mean everyone talk about weed like it's awesome and then I try it finally and it's gross..."
"Everything bad is gross, just get that in your head now, it'll save us a lot of time," I said.
Oliver laughed. Then, after a moment, the laugh melted away, and he sighed and looked down at his hands.
I leaned down to look into his eyes. "Oliver," I said, "You're my son, and I love you no matter what, man. It's just that... well, you're growing up so quick and it scares me sometimes. I just wanna make everything easy for you, make everything perfect, and I can't. I'm no superhero."
Oliver looked up again, "I know you're not. And I wish we talked more, I wish we got on better. I just... it's so damn hard Dad, it's hard to talk to you because I don't wanna let you down and disappoint you. I feel like I'm trapped between being myself and being your son."
The words cut deep into my heart. I shook my head, "You're my son, no matter who you are. You can't disappoint me. You can't. It's impossible. "
"Dad, I'm gay."
Oliver's words echoed into the night. He looked paniced the moment they'd come out of his mouth, like he wanted to suck them back in and un-utter them. He looked at me with an expression of vulnerable horror.
It was like being hit with a sheet of ice water. I mean I'm not homophobic by any means, but I'd been waiting since Ashley and I found out she was having a boy to one day teach my son how to work the ladies. I'd been waiting all of Oliver's life for the time when all my experience would finally prove useful... and now here we were, in the middle of the ocean, just as the time was coming up for me to realize this dream of cultivating the next Carter Ladies' Man, and Oliver was saying he was more of a man's man.
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking, the horrified look on his face increasing the longer I was silent.
"Don't you dare apologize to me," I said quietly.
Oliver looked confused.
"Oliver... I don't care. I don't care if you're gay. You're still my son, and I love you."
His face started to relax. "R-really?" he stammered.
"Really."
The lines in his forehead erased and he let out a low breath that I don't think he'd even realized he'd been holding. Like pressure releasing from deep in him. It was like weight had been taken off his shoulders, and I could visibly see the difference in him. "I've known for like two years," he said, "And I've been holding back and not telling you for so long because I was so scared you'd hate me."
"There ain't nothin' in the world that you could do that would make me hate you," I said.
Oliver stared up at me, his eyes threatening tears, "Thanks, Dad."
I reached out and pulled him closer to me, squeezing him right into my chest. He turned inward and pressed his face into my neck. I rubbed his back. He felt different. Larger. More like a man than the child I'd raised. He'd declared his independence tonight, declared his identity. He was an adult, the mission of raising him was complete. I mean sure I had another two years of governing him, but Oliver, in that moment, under the Australian moonlight, had become the first of our four children to find himself.
I released him and turned to the cooler, took out a bottle of beer from the mostly melted ice, tapped the excess water off it on the edge, and held it up to him.
"Dad?" he looked at me like I was mental.
"You're a man now," I said, "That deserves a drink."
Oliver took the bottle.
I reached in and withdrew my own, then popped the bottle cap off on the edge of the bench. Oliver watched and tried to do it, but couldn't quite. I reached over, "Like this," I said, and I guided his wrist through the motion. The cap popped off and clinked on the floor of the boat by his feet. He looked up at me, proud of himself. "Remind me sometime and I'll show you how to pop it off on a belt buckle," I said, "Impress the ladies." I paused. "Or the fellas."
Oliver laughed, a smile crossing his face.
I held up my beer, "Never let anyone, especially me, dictate who you are. Never be afraid to tell the truth, to speak up, to defend what you believe in. Always tell the people you love how much they mean to you when you feel it. Don't wait. Don't hesitate. Just say the words. Find love, be in love, give love. Defend those who can't defend themselves, be strong, be brave, be awesome. Be you."
Oliver clinked his beer against mine, and we both drank.
When we finished, he made a face, "Aw man beer is gross, too."
I laughed.
We sat out there until the sun came up talking, until the girls woke up and one by one came above decks.
