twenty-something

* * *
My faith in my own judgment is pretty much shit. After choosing Adam and being dumped by Parker, I have a hard time deciding what color to dye my hair (I settle on blonde highlights), what to write about for the paper, even what to wear in the morning. I am pretty much frozen when it comes to making any kind of choice.

Not a good place to be in when college is looming.

I have waited for college for what seems like forever. Ever since I was a brainy little kid it was what I was told I'd do. I would play football, I would go to college, and I would be the second person in my family -- ever -- to graduate. It was my burden and I was happy to shoulder it.

I'll sit on the Quad next fall. Reading. Thinking. Having intellectual conversations with peers. Miles away from home. Finally where I belong. Just like they show you in the admissions booklets.

I have this vivid dream of meeting the man of my dreams there in my first year. Maybe at Orientation. Maybe he'd be my roommate. Who knew? But the fantasy is some stew of college movies I'd seen, bad gay novels I'd read, erotic stories I'd gotten hard over, all with a dash of A Separate Peace thrown in. He will be shorter than me, even if just by a little, perhaps dark-haired but possibly blonde, and certainly handsome. He'll be preppy and masculine. And he'll be head over heels for me.

College is going to be great. But what if I chose the wrong one? What if my dream man went to Dartmouth and I ended up at Brown? How was my destiny supposed to fulfill itself if that destiny was now in my own hands?

Do I studying Journalism? Psychology? Education? The Holocaust? Do I apply to tons of schools? Few? Do I stay close to home? Do I run far away?

...I feel like I am drowning.

After much agonizing, I finally decide on a short list:

* Boston University (Journalism) -- its prestigious COM J-school is my top choice
* Middlebury College (English)
* New York University (Writing)
* The University of Rhode Island (Journalism)
* The University of Vermont (Psychology)

I send them off. I have to let go and let god. I dread the day the acceptance letters start coming back. Imagining the day I have to decide between whichever schools I get into.

What if I choose NYU over BU and then BU dumps me and NYU hates me?

I am so messed up.

* * *
A journal entry from 1997:

Tonight, I went to a "Tea Dance" -- a dance for GLBTQ people at a local dance club. It was a huge step for me, but it wasn't my idea to go. I tagged along with Kristen and [her girlfriend] Angela. I didn't have much fun. I was really out of my element in so many ways. I don't care for loud dance music and I DON'T dance. And I really don't have much experience dealing with situations like that. There were men kissing men around me, women kissing women, bumping, grinding, etc. To be honest, I was shell-shocked. I swear, I am too straight for my own good. Not only did this "straightness" prevent me from being comfortable at this dance (I don't think I could ever truly get comfy at one without being drunk) but it also made me stick out like a sore thumb. I was the odd out man out.

I didn't have much fun. I watched others dance. I small-talked a bit. But as I said, I was uncomfortable. There were some cute guys there and stuff, and lots of lesbians kissing (I don't know why, but I think that's really neat... again with my "straightness," I guess). Kristen, Ang, and some others literally dragged me onto the dance floor and forced me to boogie down. It was not a lot of fun.

A couple guys flirted with me or asked me to dance. I just politely refused. There was this one guy, though, that I saw across the room. He was very handsome, blonde, and just generally hot in a Val Kilmer sort of way. Val Kilmer? Yummy with a spoon.

So this guy caught my eye and I saw him looking at me. I didn't think he was flirting or anything because, after all, this guy looked like fucking Val Kilmer, for god's sake!

The dance ended and I was sort of hanging around, waiting for Kristen to bring me home. I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn around. There is Val Kilmer, tapping on my shoulder! I was dumbfounded, speechless, and clueless as he introduced himself.

So his name is "Bob." He seems like a sweet guy. He said he thought was cute and gave me his number. My first number! I don't think I call him, but still pretty cool.

In an attempt to move on, I do eventually call Bob, a week or so later. We meet for a coffee date. He's not as cute as he was in the club, but that could be because he's rattling of the list of psychotropic medications he's currently taken or regaling me with tails of living above the garage of a "really sweet" Mormon family. In fact, with each word, he looks less like Val Kilmer and more like Danny DiVito. In Batman Returns.

We part ways as soon as we can. I don't say I'll call, so I never do. Even in a place as small as Rutland, I never do see Crazy Bob again.

Dating? Maybe it isn't for me.

* * *
Parker and I are friends. And by friends, I mean we don't talk and we see each other only two more times that year. It's awkward, quite awkward, but we like to pretend.

The two times we do see each other both involve Vermont Governor Howard Dean.

Encounter #1: Parker, Kristen, and I are selected -- along with dozens of other high school journalists from all across the state the state -- to attend "Forum with the Governor," a televised (on public tv, anyway) student press conference with Dean. I sit with Kristen, Parker behind us, and the three of us -- the cluster of gays -- hit him with questions about school harassment, gay-straight alliances, and same sex marriage. While Dean commends what happened in Rutland, he largely dodges the issues at hand and gives cagey answers to what we pose. I later cringe at the tape. I was fearless in an ugly sweater, way-too-big glasses, and blonde highlights. I even interrupted the governor with a follow-up question. But still -- I let him off too easy. I should've pushed harder while I had the chance. Mr. Dean was more interested in commenting on speculation on a future presidential run then gay rights in the state. It is this day that I decide I don't like the man.

At the Forum, my mom meets Parker's mother, Amanda, and decides she wants to be a PFLAG mom, too. Amanda gives my mom a "Straight But Not Narrow" button from her purse, which mom immediately puts on, beaming. The whole ride home she can't stop gushing about how nice Amanda was, and how much she wishes things worked out with Parker.

Encounter #2: Parker, Kristen, and I are selected -- along with several gay teens from all across the state -- to attend a clandestine meeting with the governor, a "low-key" (it happened at someone's house at night and feels secret) conversation with Dean. We talk about gay issues in a dark living room. He listens and empathizes. He makes claims that sound like promises to this seventeen year old. He gives hope to a roomful of gay teens. To my knowledge, we never heard from him after that day. And all his promises? Empty. It is this day that I realize this man is a politician. He is not our friend.

After Dean leaves and we have refreshments, Parker appears to be dating another boy, or is at least being overly flirtatious with him. Surprising everybody, including myself, I am fine with this, actually happy for him. How big of me. I'd be lying if I said I don't miss him, but it's over and it should be. Our whole break-up makes me realize who I really missed, who I really wanted to be with...

* * *
I am sitting on the kitchen floor, curled into a ball, the bulky cordless pressed to my ear, ringing. My family sleeps. I hide there in the shadows made by the faint over-sink light. Looking back, I feel I should be crying. But I don't. I'm not.

He answers.


"It's me," I whisper.

I cringe, waiting for the hang-up. It doesn't come. Instead I hear him breathing. I can almost hear his heart racing. Just like mine.

Finally, he sighs. Stone cold, but voice vaguely trembling, Adam speaks. "What do you want? You made your choice."

"I made the wrong one."

The tension slinks from the phone into my body. I can feel it in every muscle.

I try to imagine him -- pacing in his tiny dorm room, huddled in a corner of a common room, hiding in the bathroom. I try to imagine him with a spirit of forgiveness on that night, but as I stew in this awkward silence, it's harder to picture with each second that slowly ticks by.

"There's so much... here. You and me. Good and bad and complicated. I fucked up. I got scared by it all..."

He responds only with his breath. It's saying something, but I don't know what.

"I want to be with you," I confess.

Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. All I hear is the only thing I'm forgetting to do. I'm breathless as these long, quiet moments pass.

Finally, I hear the words. "I love you." But I say them, not him. And it doesn't feel good to say them this time. The gesture is desperate and the resonance is hollow. That goddamn breathing is the only response...

A moment later, he speaks. "The other guy..."

"It's over."

"You dumped him?"

I can't lie. If only I could have, just that once, just then, maybe my life would've gone down another path. But after years of secrets and lies with him, I owe him the whole, brutal truth.

"He broke up with me." A beat. "But I knew the instant I told you that it was -–"

"Shut up." He spits the words out at me.

For a few seconds, I do. I shut up. But my heart is screaming. Fight for this. Fight for him.

"No, Adam. I won't. I made a mistake. I am so sorry. You've got to understand that. You've got to forgive me. I made a mistake."

He considers my plea. I can hear it in his breathing. I can feel his heartbeat through the telephone line.

"You were the mistake, Pat."

After all these years, this is what it comes down to. This.

My heart goes silent. It might as well have stopped.

His anger is barely restrained. "If you say a word about this... bullshit to another person, ever, I will deny it. And nobody will believe you. I am straight. I have a girlfriend now."

I curl tighter into my ball on the kitchen floor.

"And you... you were just a mistake."

He is vengeful, unforgiving, and I can't say that I blame him. I decide right then to yield to him, to his request. I will keep his secret. He will forever be my old best friend, the straight one, the one that I loved, unrequited, for all those years. He will never be the boy that kissed me in the locker room. Never the one who finally said "I love you." Never the boy who almost was.

I now know that whatever damage our dysfunctional relationship has caused me over the years, it wasn't one-sided. Suddenly I get it. This isn't just me pining away for him. There are two people dancing here, and both of us are going to get hurt.

"I'm so sorry, Adam..."

"Me too," he whispers, his final gift to me. He is himself again, speaking outside his pain, outside his closet. His breathing has become tiny sighs, each one saying "if only..."

Knowing full well that he might be my soul mate, I say good-bye to Adam -- my friend, my love, the idea and the reality of him.

Knowing full well that he might always own my heart...

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Posted by Patrick on 06/22/05 at 7:01 PM
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