The Overwhelming Responsibility of Coming Home

Colin shovels nondescript casserole onto his plate, the spoon clanking on the ornate china. The sound seems to echo for ages in the stuffy wood-paneled kitchen.

“Sorry,” he mumbles behind a sheepish smile. There isn’t a response. Colin’s smile falls as he picks up a fork and turns towards the dining table. His eyes scan the seats for his best option. Front left? Next to his dad's half-empty bottle, no good. Far end? Maybe, but he’s always felt weird sitting at the head of the table. He decides to take a chance beside his grandmother and sets down his plate. As he eyes his meal suspiciously, his younger sister plops down on his other side.

“It’s good to have you here,” she says with a grin. “I’m usually left holding down the fort all by myself, but now I have backup! After dinner, wanna help Grandma with the TV?” She claps him on the back enthusiastically. Colin hears his grandmother giggle to herself.

“Seriously, Mary? You’re the tech wiz of the family.” Colin lets his fork fall back onto the folded napkin. “Or did you forget I went to school for art?”

“I didn’t forget.” Colin’s dad seems to appear in his seat, pausing to take a sip from his bottle. “I get a reminder every month called ‘student loan payment.’”

“Not at the table, Ron.” Colin’s mother’s tone shuts down any further comments on the matter. “So hun, what have you been up to lately? How’s work? Are you still working that gig with the sushi restaurant?”

Colin lets out a short sigh, grateful to have something else to talk about. “Things have been busy—and no, we finished shooting for the sushi place a month or so ago. Editing should be done in the next few weeks. But we’ve already got another opportunity lined up, this one is for a snowboarding company.”

Before he can continue to ramble, Colin is interrupted by a swift punch to the shoulder. “Shoot, Colin, that might be the coolest gig you’ve gotten! How’d you land that one?”

“Well, it’s not confirmed yet, but Chris knows someone working snow patrol this year and—” Colin stops talking before he’s even interrupted, recognizing the look in his father’s eyes.

“It’s ‘ski patrol,’ not snow patrol. Anyway, you still keep up with Chris, eh?” The question looms over the table like a storm cloud, full of dangerous potential.

“Well… yeah. We live… he’s my roommate.” Everyone at the table decides to take turns fidgeting. Colin finally shoves a fork-full of lukewarm casserole into his mouth. The silence slowly gives way to the sounds of silverware on plates and polite small talk.

Colin is the first to stand up from the dinner table. “Sorry Mary, you might be on your own setting up Grandma’s TV tonight. I’m not feeling too well, I think the jet lag is getting to me.”

“Ugh, fine. I’ll add it to your tab.” Mary gives him a compassionate smile. “We can settle up tomorrow. Or you can pay for me to visit you in the mountains this year—your choice.”

“You can leave your plate, I’ll take care of it for you. Get some rest, we’ll see you in the morning.” Colin’s mother is already reaching across the table, scooping up his dishes. “Goodnight, Colin.”

---

The smell is what he notices first. Colin remembers reading somewhere that while humans don’t have a spectacular sense of smell when compared to other members of the animal kingdom, they were unique in associating scents with memories. He shuts his eyes tightly, wishing that weren’t the case. He unclenches his eyes, throwing off his blanket and shattering the facade of sleep. Scooting off the bed, he scrunches his toes into the shag carpet before walking over to his old toy chest.

He was always a particular kid—one look at the toys still organized in his chest would have made that obvious to anyone. Near the front stands his favorite superhero, a masked vigilante trying to do his best for his family and community. But somehow he always seemed to fall short of his expectations. Even as a kid, the hero’s struggle with responsibility connected with him. Colin’s thumb rubs over the figure’s masked head. The mask was important—it hid his identity, protecting his family and loved-ones, but also allowed him to be everything he was meant to be. He puts the figure back in the toy chest.

Not feeling sleepy yet, Colin turns to his nightstand. On top sits a massive stereo system, hanging over every edge of the table, featuring a CD player and a port for an old music player. He was so proud of it in childhood, but nowadays it couldn’t even hook up to his phone. Underneath the nightstand are two very neat towers of CDs. His fingers slide up the plastic cases, lingering on one that catches his eye. He carefully removes it from the stack, revealing the black and white logo of an old favorite band. Memories of the concert light up like fireworks in his brain—the neon rectangle behind the drummer, the front man in a sweater in the August heat, pouring a glass of red wine for himself on stage.

Colin blinks the visions away and opens the case, revealing a Polaroid picture of that exact concert. He was beaming, his face smushed by a boy planting a kiss on his cheek. The caption reads, “Colin Stevens, you’re my hero.” He takes the photo out, closes the case and neatly replaces it into the tower of CDs.

Several minutes later, Colin is startled by his phone buzzing under his pillow. He wipes his wet eyes, carefully setting the Polaroid on his nightstand before checking his notifications. It’s a text from Chris, “Hey love, hope you’re having a great time with your family! Tell them I said hello, and call me before bed if you get the chance.”

This trip was supposed to be cathartic—finally being honest. After years of dodging holiday get-togethers and avoiding certain lines of questioning, his family has to know something—or at least suspect it. Mary knows, and Colin is grateful she was easy to tell. But somehow, telling his parents felt like falling short of their expectations, failing his responsibilities as their son to be what they wanted him to be. He shakes his head involuntarily, unable to formulate any productive thoughts.

Chris had been a family friend for years. Colin and Chris had attended the same school since the third grade. They’d done everything together—family trips to the local amusement park, sleepovers nearly every weekend, camping trips during the summer. Eventually, they became roommates in college, where their relationship turned from a friendship into something more. Colin had tried to tell his parents when they came to visit for a football game, but his father had already had a few drinks.

They were at a local bar after the game, having a late dinner the first time Colin had tried to come out. “Oh shut up. It’s classic—kid grows up, goes to college, gets all these new ideas and experiences. Next thing you know, he thinks he’s gay and is kissing his roommate.” He interrupted himself to cheer for something that happened on the TV. “Tell me something better, like you’re ditching your underwater basket weaving major for something real, like accounting, or engineering.” Colin couldn’t forget the look in his mother’s eyes—was it empathy for him, or disappointment?

Since then, Colin’s relationship with his parents had slowly faded. They kept up via phone calls, but the visits were less frequent, and he couldn’t help but feel in their conversations that they were waiting for him to take it back—that it was misjudgment. Finally, he graduated, and he and Chris moved in together. “Because it’s convenient,” he had told his parents. There were no further questions.

This summer, his grandfather had died. Colin and Chris booked flights back home—but when he had told his family they’d both be coming, they had said Chris couldn’t come, stating the trip was for “family only, just you." Colin didn’t attend his grandfather's funeral. He didn’t go a day without crying for a week.

It was Chris’s idea for Colin to come for this holiday season. To come out to his parents, apologize to his grandmother for his absence, and finally be able to claim Chris as family. But he couldn’t do it. He had fallen short of his responsibilities yet again. A single tear drips off Colin's nose onto his phone screen.

After typing and deleting several replies to Chris’s message, Colin huffs and hits the call button. Chris answers on the second ring. “Baby, hi! How’d it go?”

“It didn’t. I’m going to change my flight to tomorrow evening. I’m sorry.” Colin’s vision becomes blurry as a lump grows in his throat. “I didn’t even—”

“Hey, don’t be sorry.” Chris says gently. “I just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“I’m okay. Just, being home, seeing everyone… It feels like digging up the past.”