Fragment #2 - Wisteria Lane

I’ve been living at my cousin’s for almost a week. I feel at home now. I’ve decided to move in to my grandmother’s. Then we can speak about the few days I spent in Dresden Road, about the people I loved, about how things are in Dijon. Not so nice, granny, you know… I left Alex again, but he has promised he would visit me at granny’s. I kind of understand he has things to do. He has to work for his Year 12, and plenty of girls to see. I spoke a bit with him. He still is a great lover. Women…
I can still feel his skin against mine, his arms around my body, as when he left .
And his lips against your lips…
I close my eyes, frowning. I shouldn’t think about that. I shouldn’t think about the letter he left for me just before leaving. We are cousins, anyway. That can’t be possible.
I remember when I saw granny’s house again, on Monday. All this green surrounding the area. The houses looking the same. I remember I thought I was entering Wisteria Lane. A neighbourhood full of murders, fooling, and love. Will I find my lover someone around this place? Every house of this street is exactly the same, in the middle of a sea of green grass, perfectly mowed. I stopped for a second in front of the white door. I kind of tried to look trough it. What are you hiding, secrets about my father, about my family? Will I know more about my origins after having lived here for a while?
I want to discover the secret, the thing hidden in the labyrinth. See if my grandparents are still as I last saw them, on a Sunday, nine years ago. The door is just opening in front of me.
I’m drinking tea with granny now. I’m speaking with her about me being gay, and the fact that my father doesn’t accept, his shouting all through the house about me being a "faggot", because a friend of his had seen me kissing my boyfriend in the street. My grandmother tells me not to curse him, because he had always been a bit different. Well, but his difference should have let him understand mine. I’m not a freak anyway. What is she saying about my father being different? Is there something she should conceal? Something I shouldn’t know about my family. She says that she is glad my grandfather’s not here, because he wouldn’t understand. He still has some fresh French blood running through his veins. He can’t understand that some people can be different, and that it doesn’t matter. We speak about English people being different, more tolerant. I already knew that. I’ve been in Soho two days ago, with Alex, and no-one was staring at gay couples as people would do in France. Here, everything is so possible. No one would care. In a way, is a country where a lot of things can be accepted as they don’t hurt over people.
Gay people only love each other, don’t they?
I finish my tea, smile at my grandmother. It seems as if she just wants to know more about me, my boyfriend, my life.
“Sorry Granny, I’m just so tired. I’ll tell you some more later, if you don’t care. I’m going to bed.”
I give a kiss to my granny, go upstairs, and lock myself in my room. I lay down in bed. The plaster ceiling is staring at me; I can see on it a starlit sky.