Boy Erased. Garrard Conley

them everything: about why I broke up with Chloe, about how I was just like Brandon. I wanted to tell them, but I didn’t have the right words. I wanted to let them know that something was wrong, that I had been trying to ignore a part of me but that I wasn’t going to ignore it any longer. I was going to fix it.

      In the center of the bathtub sat my PlayStation, its two controllers curled up beside it like sleeping cats. My parents stood in the doorway, wearing what-is-this-all-about looks on their faces. My father ran a hand through his thick black hair. My mother crossed her arms over her chest and sighed.

      I slid back the clear plastic shower curtain and turned the knob for the shower. My parents and I watched the water rush over the console and swirl into an oval before disappearing with a hollow gurgle down the drain. I imagined the water trickling through the motherboard, following tributaries formed by the microchips. I kept the water running for a few extra seconds than needed until I heard my parents shift uncomfortably behind me. I slid the curtain back in place.

      “I’m done with games,” I said.

      Whatever I would face after this moment, I would face it directly.