Prodigal

~5~

The day after my birthday was uneventful. Dad went to work. All I did at this point was hang out with friends, since it was summer break for me. My friends and I were at a gas station buying pop when I saw the worst tabloid ever, Enquire Australia. My face was plastered across it. My stomach dropped and I dreaded reading what it said.

“Look, it’s you!” Gabbi said to me, mocking the magazine.

“Emmett Hemmings,” I said out loud, reading the magazine, “Two-million-dollar birthday bash. Why Luke let him splurge so much.”

“That’s really stupid.” Gabbi said.

“First off, I don’t have two million dollars.” I said. “I barely have twenty.” This was the truth. I made money from modeling, but Dad took most of it into a trust fund. “Secondly, the birthday bash was thrown at Dad’s house, with my friends and family. We listened to music on iPod docs and ordered pizza. Maybe a total of a hundred dollars?”

“If even.”

“I’m probably still going to buy it.” I admitted.

“Why?” Gabbi asked

“Because I just can’t not.” I said.

After buying the magazine and coming back to my house to hang out, I decided to trust Gabbi with what had been happening recently.

“My dad thinks I’m gay.” I said.

“Are you?” She asked back.

“I don’t know.” I responded. “I don’t’ think so. But I don’t think I’m straight, either. To be honest, the whole thought of sex is a little gross.”

“It sounds like you’re asexual.” She responded.

I thought about those words for a minute. At first, I was frustrated that I lived in a society that says you have to have this stuff figured out and nicely labeled by the time you’re fourteen when at fourteen my voice was still super high.

The magazine that I had picked up earlier that day made mention of that. It made mention how my two-million-dollar party was my fourteenth birthday, which was true. It also made mention how my heartthrob dad was tall and muscular while I was still below five feet and had a voice that sounded like a sped up video. It was another thing to be insecure about.

All that night, I was on my computer, researching the concept of asexuality. And I decided to diagnose myself. I had asexuality. The thought of sex was rather disgusting. I can still find people attractive and want to hold hands, maybe even kiss, but I would never want to have sex with anyone. And at that point, the answer fit and I labeled myself. I still hadn’t decided whether or not to tell Dad. Should I? Is there any reason to? Will he even understand it?

Or am I just fourteen and confused?

Notes