Shakespeare Takes: If This Changes Everything
by Jacob White

    Say it—or don't. Just a phrase. Three words at most, maybe a few more if I soften it. Something so simple shouldn't feel like leaping off a cliff.
   She is sitting right there on the porch, doing something that has become a part of her daily routine—smoking a cigarette, playing the game she always plays on her phone. Here I am standing, rehearsing a truth that could change everything about our relationship. About how she sees me.
    If I do not say it, I avoid the upheaval I fear. Tomorrow remains predictable, and I keep laughing with her and pretending to fit into the future she imagines for me. I continue letting her see the version of me that reassures her, even as it costs me my own truth. I hold onto the comfort of being seen as her “perfect son,” while quietly sacrificing my real self.
   But it’s not really normal, is it? It’s dark. Lonely. It’s me—filling into the mold of everyday life, hoping she never notices the gaps, the awkward pauses, the edits I make of myself mid-sentence. Staying means I never have to see the possible disappointment in her eyes. But it also means she never truly sees me.
    And if I do say it . . . what happens then? That is the scary part: my mind cannot settle. Maybe she will pause her game, put out her cigarette, and tell me she has always known, and it is okay. Maybe I am worried for nothing, and nothing will change except feeling a weight lifted. Or maybe her face will fall. Maybe she will pause her game and go quiet in the heavy way that means something has gone wrong, and it certainly cannot be fixed quickly. Maybe I lose something that I cannot get back– her ease, the way she looks at me without question, even her love for me.
    I keep replaying the question: what’s truly at stake? It’s not just about the courage to be honest—this is about whether her love, as I've always known it, can withstand the weight of who I really am. My fear lives in the possibility that honesty may change the shape of her love for me.
   But is it not this love that is supposed to survive truth no matter what?
    My chest is growing tighter, and my hands are vibrating constantly. The words are right there, grabbing a hold of their ivory bars, asking to be guided out by the tongue.
    If I stay silent, I keep my biggest supporter and hero.
    If I speak, I might finally keep myself.

So why does choosing myself feel like throwing away everything I have ever known?