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* * *

Many of my friends suddenly have cars, and a whole new world is opened to me. There is no movie theater in Claremont--the closest one being a half-hour drive away--and the sudden ability to hit the cinema drives me and my friends to see whatever crappy movie is opening that week because we can. I suffer through such '96 crap-classics as Broken Arrow, The Juror, and Twister. It's a year when Travolta, Demi, and Arnold are all the biggest stars in the world. Even that kid from TV's Third Rock From the Sun (you know, the Topher Grace of the '90s) is a movie star. Oh, the good old days...

* * *

Valentine's Day approaches. I decide it's time to date. While there are many females in my circle of friends, none of them are "my type." I instead target a girl named Sarah, who has a widow's peak and a deep sense of faith. I know from gossip that she's waiting until marriage for sex. I decide that she's going to be my new girlfriend.

Under the urging of my friend Katie (who has a crush on me), I buy her $30 worth of daisies and send them from "a secret admirer." We date once my identity is revealed. We bowl and listen to Jars of Clay. Soon, she dumps me because I'm not interesting enough.

* * *

I buy the Waiting to Exhale soundtrack, because I love the Brandy song "Sittin' Up In My Room." I do not tell any of my friends about this--and you shouldn't either.

* * *

I, for one, begin to prefer Chicago Hope to ER. I love me some Christine Lahti. And Peter Berg gives me funny feelings... in places...

* * *

That spring, my classmate (and occasional friend) Jacob--the effeminate boy from my Drama class who fathered a child out of wedlock--confirmed rumors that plagued him all his life: he was gay. And now he was finally out. I think of all the gay jokes I made with Jacob during class--and I instantly know that Jacob thinks I am the enemy. We avoid eye contact in the halls. I become obsessed with the latest gossip about him. And yet, I refuse to say hello to him or get any info from the source. He is ostracized in our school--and I am not helping his cause.

In warmer weather, I gather with my clique outside of school. Jacob walks by in shorts--very, very short shorts, very feminine, maybe even "Daisy Dukes"--his books in one hand, held close to his chest, his other arm swinging beside him. His long-ish shiny hair flows as he struts past. I gawk at the real, live homosexual in front of me, and so does the rest of the school. Everyone begins to talk about him. And then, from some other nearby group, comes the word -

"Faggot," some kid screams.

My friends later joke that they actually heard me snap. Surely something does snap inside of me because, before I know it, I am on top of the homophobe. And I am punching him.

It feels good. I am not a fighter, but it's easier to hit him than to face my own demons that threaten to surface. I get three, maybe four, blows in before it's broken up, before I run off.

"That was so unlike you," a girl later coos. Somehow, I come out a hero--and Jacob still get harassed every day, still won't look at me--but people stop talking about him in front of me, afraid to offend that crazy pro-gay slacker guy, afraid they'll end up like the kid with the black eye.

* * *

Speaking of punching people in the face, when "One Sweet Day" is released by Mariah Carey and Boyz II Men, I want to punch them all in their smaltzy faces--even though I buy the cassette single of the song. Also in heavy rotation in my bedroom? The Tony Rich Project's "Nobody Knows." The song has lyrics like: "Why didn't I say / The things I needed to say" and "The pain is real even if nobody knows". Yeah, I have issues.

* * *

The fight doesn't help me with any of the surfacing identity issues--you know, the fact that I am obviously homosexual but have no fucking clue--but it does help me reclaim parts of my life, gets me out of the post-Homecoming funk.

So I grow my first goatee. And I join the Klu Klux Klan--as the lead villain, the Reverend David Marshal Lee, in Larry Shue's farce The Foreigner, my school's first non-senior play in years. I have an on-stage kiss with a perky freshman girl. Said goatee is not dark enough to be seen from the audience, so I have to have it darkened by make-up. Said make-up rubs off a bit on said perky girl during said on-stage kiss. It's a disaster. But I'm slimy and evil on stage. And I'm damn hot, don't you think?

* * *

During play practices, we listen to The Smasing Pumpkin's Mellon Collie & The Infinite Sadness, their epic two-disc release. Damn, those are still good albums.

* * *

I try to masturbate to MTV's Singled Out's Jenny McCarthy, but all I can think of is VJ Simon Rex. Do I think this is weird? No. No, I do not. But I do think that Jenny is fabulous.

* * *

In May, my mom and dad announce that we're moving. Back to Vermont. To the place I fled in '94. I am not happy, but I get used to the idea thanks to my parents' big bribe--we'll be getting our first computer after we get settled. I get used to the idea.

As the school year nears it's end, and everybody knows I'm leaving, I decide it's finally time to tell the one person I've been avoiding.

"I'm moving," I tell Adam in the middle of the math class we share. We sit together but barely speak.

He doesn't looks surprised, but for his part, he looks shocked that I'm actually saying the words. "I kinda heard," he whispers as the teacher is at the board. "When do you leave?"

"Right after school is done, I guess."

"We should hang out before you go," he says.

We don't.

* * *

As school ends, "Give Me One Reason" by Tracy Chapman hits the airwaves. I tape it from the radio, and listen to it as much as possible, alone, in my room, at night. "Give me one reason to stay here / And I'll turn right back around..." I sing along. I don't realize who I'm singing it to.

* * *

In the midst of packing my room, I begin reading A Separate Peace by John Knowles, required summer reading for the AP English class I'm enrolled in at my new school. I rip through the small book in no time flat, enraptured by the odd relationship between Gene and Finny and, dare I say, relating to their summer together as roommates and unlikely best friends. I read the book two more times that summer.

And I'm finally starting to get it...

* * *

I did not give Adam a proper goodbye. School ended quickly, and then he was gone to some summer youth institute during the big move. Obviously, we were avoiding each other.

I'm surprised to receive a phone call from him in August, after all the boxes are unpacked. A week later, he comes to visit for the weekend. That week, I obsessively listen to Sarah McLachlan's "Full of Grace"--off my newly acquired Rarities, B-Sides, and Other Stuff disc--for some reason I don't understand.

He's there before I know it, and we find ways to entertain ourselves. It starts awkwardly, but soon--my god--it's just like last summer. We're clicking--hanging out, watching movies, swimming, driving around town, talking (about everything but what matters). Those nights are the first time we sleep in the same bed. We don't touch, nothing happens--but I am so close to him.

It's a good weekend and, before I know it, the visit is over. He is leaving. And I feel like I'm dying inside. I know this is it. It may not be the last time I see him--but it's the last time that will matter.

In my driveway, we hug. Tight.

"Adam, I..."

"I know," he says.

Our embrace lasts for a long time, but not quite long enough. Before I know it, he's in his car and out of the driveway. As I wave and watch him disappear, a sob grows in my throat.

"I love you," I finally whisper. And the weight of sudden enlightenment threatens to crush me...