From August to September

Chris Bartlett stood in the chicken coup. Hens clucked as he paced the enclosure, thoughts and feelings going before and following him as he did. Matty is gay, he thought as the heaviness in his stomach weighed him down.

He loved him... oh so much. Matty was his only son. They were as close, if not closer, than what he was to his own father. The old farmer... what would he say, Chris thought as a hen picked at a bare foot and made him jump.

He was in his pyjama pants and no shirt, the coolness of an early morning breeze catching him unaware as he walked into the old red barn to check in on the milking cow there. She was fine. In fact everything and everyone was fine.

Chris walked back into the chicken coup and glanced at the one pear tree that stood tall there. He knew the manure helped that tree grow and the fruit she bore from mid-August to mid-September was sweet and juicy. He marvelled at how something so beautiful could grow from a pile of shit, and laughed when he caught his thoughts on this.

Chris knew to harvest the pears when they were fully matured but before they had ripened as it was then their flesh got all gritty. Sunshine taught him that. She spoke in metaphors though, explaining that all feelings left their mark on the human body, and that the negative ones had to plucked early otherwise they would leave you bitter or angry or sad. His mother loved that pear tree and all that she thought it represented... a fucken pear killed her in the end, he thought as he leaned against the fence and smoked.

Matty's gay, the thought returned. Chris tried to recall ever noticing this with him and he couldn't. The boy was tall and strong and popular with the girls like he was at that age, loved playing all sports and was very physical. He didn't seem feminine like his sisters. Is that how gay men look? Chris asked himself as he flipped names and faces through his mind. He did not personally know any gay men. He did not know how to be around them, and for the first time in a long time, Chris felt fear.

He looked skywards. The scent of his father's tobacco rushed towards him on the breeze that kissed him good morning.

"Pops," Chris said quietly as he looked to the ground and saw how dirty his feet had gotten.

Chris leapt onto the fence he was leaning against, sitting comfortably on a post as he dusted his feet. The act of doing this made him smile. How many times had his own father done this for him.

Chris balanced himself on the post, leaning forward in his seated position as a memory played in his mind. He was... what 14? He was sitting on a post in the paddock, tears running down his face after his older brothers had teased him. What did they say? What were they teasing me about? Chris thought hard then the words came back to him with all the feelings that were evoked at that time... they were calling him gay.

His father, John Bartlett, had leaned on the fence where his middle son Christopher sat. He did not know what to say, so told him about the Bartlett pear.

"Do you know a man named Carter had brought the Bartlett pear into America?" John asked Christopher without looking at him.

When there was silence, he continued. "They were planted out in Roxbury and then my great-great uncle or someone got ownership of that estate. He didn't know what type of tree it was so the story goes that when it bore fruit, he called them Bartlett pears."

Christopher looked at his father confused by his meaning. John was not a storyteller so when he spoke to his sons, there was more reason than rhyme to him.

"I guess what I'm saying boy is that no matter what journey that tree took, no matter what it was before it came to us, it still became a Bartlett. It still found it's way home."

Christopher smiled. "I'm not gay dad," he said lightly.

"It wouldn't matter if you were," John said with a slight smile as he nudged Christopher with his left shoulder.

His middle son lost his balance and fell off the post but landed on his feet.

"You're a Bartlett through and through and you'll always have a home here," John said as he pointed to his heart.

Christopher smiled then climbed back over to the other side of the fence so he could start towards the house. "I'm still not gay."

John Bartlett smiled at the cheekiness of his son and knew he was, and always would, be okay.

Chris outed his cigarette and smiled. He looked towards the house and saw Matty standing on the patio. Matty waved and Chris waved back. Matty smiled and Chris laughed lightly to himself.

"Yeah Pops," Chris said as he walked towards his son. "He is and always be okay."

Chris stood before his son and smiled.

"So dad... did I tell you I was gay?" Matty said with a hint of hesitancy.

Chris nodded. "You're still a Bartlett," he said with a smile.

"I know," Matty said as he nudged his father's shoulder with his own. "But I am possibly the first gay Bartlett."

Chris Bartlett smiled at the courage of his son as he watched him step over the threshold of the front door and into the house. He turned and scanned the farm... the old barn with its new red paint, the milking cow that was walking slowly outside into the morning sun mooing as if to wake the farm from her slumber, the hens in their chicken coup clucking and pecking the ground, and the tall strong pear tree bearing fruit ready for the picking.

What a journey, Chris thought as his mind settled. He stood still for a moment and rubbed his chest. He felt his heart space swell as love caught his fear so it would not grow into gritty anger or regret.

Chris Bartlett nodded. He turned and stepped over the threshold into his childhood home knowing that, just like his father before him and his son after him, he was, and always would, be okay.

Thank you for taking time out of your day to read my final piece of Vocal's Summer Fiction Series which started with "Sunshine and the moon's shadow: the old barn".

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