Sonriso, Part 9

The robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief. 
~William Shakespeare, Othello

It was over—over in the most ambivalent of ways.  I still smiled at the thought of him but knew he’d be nothing more than an ideal in my life—just the right combination of intellectual, emotional, and sexual rise was (and perhaps still is) inspired by the mere flashes of his picture on Facebook or the occasional flashback to a memory together. 

In conversation, he’d often come up as an ideal guy.  He’d managed to resolve his issues with Mormonism and being gay as I was attempting to do the same in my life.  However, that remained a secondary or tertiary variable in my attraction.  Not long after my decision to give up pursuing a relationship with him, a chat window popped up on Connexion.  The picture had a Cheshire quality—a large smile and a rounded face:

“It seems we went to the same school.  You write pretty well.  Do I detect an influence of Nellie in your words?”

“Nellie Carter?” I responded.

“Yep.”

“How did you guess?  I took a column writing class from her.”

“I just have an eye for words.  Anyways, I’m Rick.”

“A pleasure.”

“Likewise.”

“I see we’re both friends with Evan Davis.”

“He’s perhaps the cutest of my friends on here.”

“He’s definitely a sight to behold.”

“That’s a good way to put it.  His type doesn’t come around often.  I’m having a hard time getting over my crush on him.”

“Interesting.  It looks like I’ll be meeting him at the club tonight.”

“Yeah? I’m meeting up with him for some coffee beforehand with a few friends.”

“So I guess that means we’ll be meeting up, too….”

After a tennis game of flirty retorts, we said our goodbyes and I noted the fortunate coincidence that I’d be meeting another cute and intelligent boy that night.

I made my way to Salt Lake with my clubbing buddies Ezra (who’d just moved into the Wood House) and Alberto.  We met Evan on his doorstep—the one I’d hesitated on that night of the first date.  The place and that moment took me back even though it was not the two of us.  I didn’t want to leave and the unhealthy desire to somehow claim him clouded my head.  He was distant because he was healing and I had no reason to impose my feelings as I had been in a similar enough position to understand, albeit in glimpses.

On the way to the coffeehouse, he conveniently mentioned that Rick would be joining us.  A smile came to my face as a result  of the coincidental conversation which had occurred earlier that day. 

Waiting for Ezra and Alberto to do each others’ hair, Evan and I sat across the table from one another.  Almost defensively, I turned the conversation to the connection we shared which would not send me into some sort of emotional hailstorm:

“How’s your brother doing? Erik and I talk once in a while after the mission but him finding out about my dating life and… preferences… would make that somewhat more difficult.”

“That’s the truth. Try being his brother for eighteen years and having that discussion.”

“He seems to be doing well.  I mean, he's the definition of Peter Priesthood.  Isn’t he in like eight different church choirs?

“Ha!  Yeah.  he practically lives in the church building,” he said rolling his eyes.”

“I think that’s actually part of the reason we became good friends so quickly.”

He smirked knowingly. “Yeah.  That’s part of it.”

We paused, expecting an explanation or question to fill the air.

“That’s all I can say,” he said with the same smirk as he sipped at his chai. 

“Hey guys,” Alberto said, interrupting.  “How does my hair look.” He’d just come from the bathroom with a Macy’s bag filled to the brim with hair products.

“With Alberto, hair is never perfect. He just abandons it when we all get tired of him asking about it,” Ezra said.  “I’ve been listening to him bitch about a single cowlick for the last twenty minutes.”

With that, the direct conversation with Evan ended as the discussion turned to common friends and how long it had been since we’d all been dancing.  My mind vacillated between topics—my inescapable attraction to Evan, his cryptic mention of my missionary friend and his brother, and the distraction that Rick would hopefully provide that night.

Rick’s arrival came with some knowing smiles on my part and his.  “This is Rick,” Evan announced to the guys sitting around the table.

“Hey everyone,” he said—a bastion of confidence.  All aglow, he plunged into conversation with a half-dozen people as the waitress—a friend of his—brought over his regular quad-shot mocha.  After some meandering around the table for a few minutes, he finally took a seat across the table next to Evan.

The conversation continued as I found an unexpected anxiety creep up on me and press against my chest.  Rick took his arm and placed it around Evan, caressing his back on occasion.  It was hard to swallow, but the reality was that the cute intellectual wasn’t after me after all.  Painfully, my sense of alienation doubled over itself with every signal of affection that I could not bestow upon Evan—an arm around him, a chivalrous opening of the door, hours spent together on the dance floor.

The sinking feeling of jealousy left me powerless.  Rick taking Evan’s hand at the end of the night to hold it left me with a deep sent of resentment for my over-sensitivity.  It has always been me weakness, I thought to myself.

Rick knew my feelings for Evan and I wonder at times whether, as he smiled and glanced in my direction, his pleasure was somehow augmented by my overpowering anxiety.  My frustration of not being able to read a simple assemblage of teeth and muscles also left me questioning for weeks whether my romantic quest would ever amount to anything more than a series of heartbreaks.  If I could not rely on my sensitivity or instincts, what could I rely on?

In the end, I was reassured by a simple, genuine smile.

“That guy does not know how to take a hint,” Evan recounted at a party.  “I’d pull my hand away, but he didn’t pay any attention.  I took FOUR trips to the bathroom that night for some alone time.  He was kind of upset after I turned him down for a date a couple days later.”

The reassurance that my respect was more than hyper-sensitivity put the confident smile on my face that I needed as the desire to enter a relationship would finally be satisfied.

End of series.

Sonriso, Part 8

“The shortest distance between two people is a smile.”
~Author unknown

The Wood House had turned from an exotic oddity into a Friday ritual. In a way, it was an escape from the conflicts that had little-by-little crept into my life without running off to Salt Lake or chatting extensively online. There, despite differences in religious views and practices, interests, and even nationalities I felt somehow more human, able to be more open about my strengths and my faults and discuss pieces of my life even my closest friends didn’t want to hear about. I was with Lila sitting on our couch in the corner watching everyone else get drunk as we privately shared our observations with each other. It was our part of that Friday night ritual.

It was a week after that memorable night with Evan, and I’d replayed it in my head several times with looming hopes for the future accompanied by equal and opposite feelings that I would soon learn the definition of “too good to be true.” Lila, one of my closest confidants in discussing my boy stories, leaned towards the latter.

“… All I’m saying is don’t get ahead of yourself. It was one date. You know as well as anyone how one date can be amazing the next just plain ‘Blah.’”

“Well, the fact of the matter is you never know when Mr. Right will come along,” I said. All clichés we’d experienced in some way or another from the time we’d learned what romance was.

“I do hope it works out, and I’m happy to see you happy, but putting stock in your boys no matter how much you or I adore them hasn’t turned out so well.”

“It just seems too good to be true minus the long distance thing.”

“And the whole relationship thing. Alberto mentioned it.”

“Yeah. My instincts say he needs some time.”

“What are you saying about me?” Alberto interrupted.

“Oh nothing. We were talking about Evan,” Lila explained.

“Oh yeah?” His lip curled at the opportunity to pass along international student gossip. “Well, you know that Nikita is really good friends with him and his ex. She said that they had a really big fight not very much before he went out with you.”

“Yes?”

“That is definitely over, but he’s gone through two major disappointments in the past few months.”

It made sense to me, but I still wanted to feel my way through the murk of the situation.

Later that night, Evan stopped by the party with a couple of friends.

“Becca and Jane, this is GMB. He and Erik served in your mission, Jane.”

“Seriously!?” Her beautiful complexion went from glowing to radiant. You have to tell me all about it.”

Surprised at being posed a question about my mission in such an openly gay atmosphere brought an ironic smile to my face.

“I’ll tell you all about it. Be prepared to walk a lot because that place is hilly. You’re lucky enough to not have to worry about the food…”

I went on aware that the gay and Mormon parts of my identity happily and readily converged on that moment. She was happy that I’d served a mission and equally happy about the feelings she perceived in me for Evan. They went off for her a harmless birthday adventure at the local bar. There alcohol was involved, but Becca explained later that she wanted to at least say that she’d been before heading out to be a missionary.

Evan and I met up later that week following a meeting I had in Salt Lake. There was some unsurity to the moment as Alberto’s caution over the situation had left me more neurotic than usual.

“Let’s meet at Nostalgia,” he said.

As the night unfolded, the location’s name became somewhat ironic.

“Two chocolate chais,” he called, ordering as a regular at the counter.

We sat down content for a chat leaving work and school responsibilities for a few free moments.

A half hour later, we found ourselves discussing the times we were happiest in life—when we were in love and sharing life with someone else on a moment-to-moment basis. I found myself discussing Mark and he found himself discussing his exes, but that emotional bridge between us, connecting over our past loves, came up short. Though I was finally able to move on, and bridge my heart to someone else’s in a relationship, I knew that Evan and I could not connect as anything more than friends.

We continued our chat at a little Greek place, and as I awkwardly looked at him as I paid for dinner, I knew that he needed the time and space I’d been so lucky to have the past eight months.

The night ended with another awkward kiss on that awkward doorstep as we both wished to connect the way that we were once able to with other people.

End, Part 8.

Sonriso, Part 7

“Smile-- it's the second best thing you can do with your lips.”
~Author Unknown

It was a dream.

Every facet of the date seemed to go just right.

The couple started out at a tiny ice cream shop. Ice cream was one thing about which they were both highly opinionated, having spent a great deal of time in South America between the two. Ice cream took them back to memories of sorveterias, of Brazil, of Argentina, of missions, of disappointments, of fears, of joys, and of the idea that someday they could return and share that with someone—not ruling out the possibility of each other being in that supposed future.

They continued their chat not perceiving anything around them. A tiny sphere of intimacy and normalcy as the world whizzed by questioning their decision to walk around eating ice cream on a blustery January day. Walking around engaged with the whimsy of nostalgia was enough to keep them from noticing their reddening noses and the subtle shrinking of their smiles to conserve heat.

As was customary, they quickly moved on to the second part of the date at the planetarium. Science wasn’t really their main focus in life, but the complexities of the universe still demanded more curiosity than anything with the exception of human emotion.

Both in their mid-twenties, the experience returned them to the lessons of a decade ago in middle school science as the relearned concepts of density, the nature of light, and the age of the universe. At each exhibit, a sense of competition emerged as they quizzed each other on basic knowledge, covering up information and asking pointed questions:

“What is the primary reason the earth has seasons?”
“Explain the aurora borealis.”
“Glass, rubber, and plastic have what in common?”
“A nebula consists of what?”

The nerdy flirtation was balanced out by a great deal of nostalgia for middle school and for friends neither of them had really thought about for some time. Seeing the kids around them only approximated them to those awkward days and memories of unsurity and ostracization as well as coming of age. They were comfortable in their skins now and able to let go in public, taking silly pictures of each other landing on the moon and forecasting the weather.

Following a walk through a feathery snow, they contemplated what to do next. A mile later, waist-deep in conversation of dreams for the future, inspiration hit and left a smile across both of their faces. As the temple in downtown Salt Lake came into view, it seemed the obvious finale to a good night.

It was like sunset on earth. Brilliant points of pink, white, and orange painted across the sky and the trees and the pools of water as the breeze tugged at their surface. The sister missionaries skirted around the perimeter getting ready to go home weary after a day of proselyting. As they walked in silence taking in their surroundings, they found themselves arm in arm blushing a little.

Quietly, they made their way to the doorstep where it all began. The usual—but sincere—“I had a great night,” bashful smiles, and glances into each other eyes, and finally a kiss—not perfect, slightly awkward, and deliberate enough to remain unforgettable—two smiles becoming one for just one moment.

***

In a way, the date was every cliché in the book. Everything I’d imagined and wanted to have before I realized I was gay. I wanted a cute day date. I wanted ice cream and adventures. I wanted to walk hand in hand on temple grounds. It was better than that clichéd dream I'd desired for so long. Fearlessly, Evan was able to make those unspoken dreams—impossibly idealized and conditioned upon me—come true or at least made possible somehow. He was able to fix that piece of me that said “You’ll never have what you really want.”

End, Part 7.

Sonriso, Part 6

“Life is short but a smile takes barely a second.”
—Cuban Proverb

I hate to admit it, but it was one of those nights in which sleep was practically impossible. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the coming day. The next day began with one of those mornings in which one wakes up with the energy of a Christmas morning. I arose—full of energy—early that morning to the sound of the furnace in the next room pushing out gusts of hot air. It was ten minutes before my alarm was set to go off, but too electric to hop back in bed for those unredeemable moments of rest.

I spent that time going through my things, making sure that everything I’d set out the night before. My black three-piece suit, peach-embroidered maroon tie, a t-shirt and jeans, matching socks, my research poster, and jacket were all waiting exactly where I’d left them. Throwing on the suit, I geared up for a day of lobbying. A true nerd, I was excited at the invite to share my research with Utah’s legislators (despite my opinion of many of them), but the excitement of the day was complemented by a romantic excitement, giving it a sense of fullness from its first hours.

For the drive down, I grabbed a couple of my “happy albums” to set the mood for the day and jammed out on the way down to Ludo and Kate Nash. I wish every day could be like this one, I thought to myself. It was difficult to question whether my attitude was healthy or not. Infatuation—even for a very cute and intelligent guy with direction in his life—is one of those emotions that became borderline unacceptable after other heartbreaks. That said, it felt good to let myself enjoy the day even if disappointment was a distinct and even realistic possibility, so I stopped analyzing my emotions and just let myself feel. As the day unfolded, this feeling did not waver, but perhaps intensified.

I parked at the Capitol Building just as the sun peered over the edge of the Salt Lake Valley, which slowly filled with sunlight like a cup slightly submerged under water in the sink. It was as if the light were being pulled in by laws of pressure and volume until the valley filled to capacity carried by the blustery January winds. Inside, I joined a number of other researchers (some nervous and some as contagious with excitement as myself). We enjoyed a breakfast together followed by several hours of engaged discussion with each other, our mentors, and the legislators. Some of the more notable moments were a few “Thank you for doing research in the Humanities” comments, catching a few noticeable shudders as Chris Buttars passed, and an unexpected conversation on lesbian poetry with one of my mentors, Dr. Cangelosi (a welcome sign that she understood and cared about my personal life without actually discussing it).

***

That afternoon, in the hour before I was supposed to show up on Evan’s doorstep (in as “traditional” a fashion as one could imagine for a first gay date) I tried going through the date in my head as I had many times throughout the day and every day since we’d set it up, despite the fact that we were going into it super casual. Then, on his doorstep, I stood with that lingering feeling—a cocktail of anxiety, twitterpation, and self-induced intimidation. It took somewhere between a minute and five in the mild cold of watching my breath and my indecisive hand attempting to ring the doorbell to finally realize the start of the whole ordeal.

A stern man answered the door. He opened the door just far enough for me to see his furrowed brow and brick-hard demeanor.

“Is Evan here?” I asked hesitantly.

“Yes. Take a seat.”

I did just as I was told, unsure what the consequences might be otherwise, but just as I took a seat across the living room from the man who seemed instantly angry with me, Evan peeked his trademark smile around the corner and said, “Why don’t you come in here while I finish getting ready?”

As I entered, he pulled the door shut and said, “Sorry my roommate’s kind of creepy. It definitely makes things awkward. Not just when there are guys over. I’ll move out when I get a chance.”

“It’s all good,” I said as I examined the contents of his room. In the midst of casual conversation, I felt comfortable from the perch of his bedside. Everything about the room seemed to suggest a boy next door—a few dirty articles of clothing on the floor, a half-made bed, a laptop opened up to Facebook, the superhero movie DVDs and Harry Potter novels on the shelf next to pictures of him hanging out with his friends.

He stood in front of the closet opening drawers picking out a hat.

It struck me that an outside observer would immediately glance at the two of us in that scene and perceive it as not a date, but rather two guys hanging out, and I supposed some people would think that a bad thing. I just wanted to stay in that moment taking in how good it felt just to be around someone I admired and perhaps idealized. He was smart and handsome, but so casual. So casual that sexual fantasy was welcome and congruent in my mind. But a certain fear underlay my elation like an instinctual acrophobia creeping up in the passenger of a glass elevator.

My sympathetic nervous system drew itself taut as the thought of an emotional fall crept into view:

Perhaps the reason there’s such a high homosexual relationship turnover is really tied to the fact that it’s so easy to be friends?, I thought. Connecting on that platonic level somehow gets us into trouble. We want to connect on other deep levels (sexually and emotionally), so we rush things and end up getting hurt. Don’t be too excited about Evan.

End, Part 6

Sonriso, Part 5

A smile is a curve that sets everything straight.

—Phyllis Diller

As far as milestones on the path of gay life, one that sticks out in this twenty-something’s life is the day that people were able to deduce that I was gay based on my Facebook profile. When you think about it on a deep level, facebook profiles are very interesting cultural documents that speak quite a bit to who that person is and who he or she would like to be.

Although my profile clearly stated “Christian—Latter Day Saint,” and I belonged to groups for my ward, my Family Home Evening group, and my mission, the “gay” part of my Gay Mormon Boy mantle was beginning to peer through. And people reading through the lines—my politically liberal views, my photo albums devoted to outfits coordinating my socks to my shirts and/or ties, and finally my GLBT Facebook friends from across Utah. The plan was to remain enigmatic on Facebook and let people find me on Connexion (a GLBT social network), but with a somewhat random friend request, I knew that I was slowly unmasking myself, a fact that deep down was somehow comforting.

The request was all at once surprising, nostalgic, and alluring. It was Evan, Elder Davis’ brother, and his unforgettable smile remained as brilliantly white as ever. I was taken back to that moment back on the grass on the quad over two years ago. It was like reliving the entire experience with another set of eyes, or rather the same eyes unfiltered—the immaculate smile, the perfectly sculpted musculature, the cool ease to bear it all and remain stylish in just a pair of shorts and sunglasses. I knew why I had noticed particular features and I knew that the reason he’d stuck in my mind could not be completely attributed to my politically liberal mentality or my desire to study and understand the human condition. There was an element of physical attraction there which had been left for me to unearth much later.

I responded excitedly—coyly. The interaction unfolded casually over a course of a week or two:

“You're Erik’s brother, right?”

“Ya I am. Did you go on your mission with him or something?”

“Yeah. It's a small world full of twists and turns. We lived together for four months. He came up to visit a couple of years ago and introduced us on the quad if I remember correctly. That's why I asked. (My apologies... my memory is kind of freakish like that). A lot has changed since then.”

“Whoa yeah that was a long time ago... good memory. The good old days up there, I miss it. So what has changed?”

“Well, it hasn’t changed a ton, honestly. As for me, I’m probably as successful and happy as I’ve ever been. I’m doing research, I’ve figured out my future. I’m giving presentations to the state legislature and at a conference in Minneapolis plus I graduate in May…. Oh yeah, and I’ve been dating boys for about nine months now.”

“Its nice to have graduation in sight. I was so happy to have my degree and be done (even though I kind of miss it, more so the social aspect). I saw you were friends with a lot of the people I know up there so I was wondering...

“I'm glad you are happy and doing good things with your life. Trust me I know exactly how you feel. I could finally figure out my life and move on when I came out and just started living my life the way I wanted to….So meet any keepers?”

And from there, the conversation turned to our histories—to Mark on his mission and to Evan’s recent breakup with his own Mark. There was something definitely intriguing about the way we’d gotten to that point, demonstrating just how unpredictable life could be. I hesitate using the word “serendipity” even now, but that was the underlying explanation for our interactions in my mind. It was more than repressed sexual attraction. Somehow, his story validated my own and brought it close to home. It wasn’t the first time, but the fact that another important piece of my life was tied to this experience indirectly brought the situation into perspective.

Towards the end of those weeks, a simple “Let me know the next time you’re in Salt Lake so we can make some time to hang out” brightened up a dreary, busy week at work. Fighting the impulse to immediately text back, I suggested an hour later that Friday would work after a presentation down there. As the week progressed, the stars aligned for what turned out to be an incredibly significant day for me.

End, Part 5.

Sonriso, Part 4

A Flashback

Keep smiling - it makes people wonder what you've been up to.

—Unknown

I’d been anticipating this day for a week now. I was going to see an old friend in a very different context—so different it was weird to consider calling him by his first name. To me, Erik was always (and perhaps always will be) Elder Davis. We were missionaries together in Brazil. We were never paired up as missionary companions, but arriving at roughly the same time, we quickly developed a bond.

My earliest memories of him come from my first missionary conference in which we gathered (as missionaries regularly do) for training sessions and a nice dinner. He welcomed me, provided some advice (having 3 more months of experience), and wasn’t afraid to talk about pre-missionary life back in the states. We later ended up living together as missionaries and developed an even closer relationship.

Our reunion revolved quite a bit around the gossip we shared and inside jokes we had. He would call me a communist (in part because of my political views and in part because of a communist musical I’d started writing with my friend Serenity in high school) and I would tease him about looking like a twelve year-old.

Not much had changed when he made that trip up to visit me and his brother. I was more liberal than ever (going so far as to attend a College Democrat meeting or two) and he could pass for fifteen now—maybe. The day was perfect. The closest you could get to a brilliant Brazilian day. As I approached him from across the quad, the intermittent cool from the bright green grass and the radiant heat from the chalky pavement brought me back—fleetingly—to the urban and rural tropics I’d known in Brazil. My past had met my present briefly in this one moment. Little did I know that a tiny piece of my future would enter into that moment as well.

“GMB! It’s been like six months and a continent!” he called to me from across a band of sunbathers.

“Davis! What have you been up to? Still getting asked out by girls in middle school?” I teased.

“Quit that. I’m just starting back up at the U again.”

“Aren’t you loving school?”

“Blah,” he responded complacently. “Sometimes I’d just like to go back to Brazil.”

“Are you kidding me? All you did was complain about the heat. It’s always something, isn’t it?”

“Hey,” he said in his most nasal voice. “Let me introduce you to my brother,” he said motioning towards the sunbathers. “Evan,” he called.

With that his brother got up to introduce himself.

Immediately, my eyes were drawn to the brightest smile I’d encountered in my life. “Nice to meet you. I’m GMB,” I said.

“I’m Evan,” he said, still smiling as he extended a hand and secured the sunglasses mounted in his short faux hawk with the other. Even then, in the days when I thought I was straight did I note that he was attractive. As my eyes drifted from his face downward, I noted the perfectly toned abs, the stylish board shorts, and that his perfectly-tanned complexion continued from his smile down to his toes.

“He’s gay,” Erik told me a few moments later (once we were alone). I hadn’t really known about his gay brother. I’m sure he mentioned him in passing not as his gay brother but simply as “Evan.” It kind of surprised me because I’d wondered about Erik’s sexuality, but left those questions in the air.

Apparently, it was a big issue for their family.

“My mom wasn’t too happy about the trip up here,” he explained. “She didn’t think it would be a good idea to stay the night at Evan’s since he lives with his boyfriend, Mark.” I didn’t pry into the situation, but it was in the back of my head.

I had met gay men before. There was Ianto and a couple of guys I taught on my mission, but somehow this seemed more immediate and close because a good friend’s perfect Mormon family was impacted. I found our political divergences particularly interesting at this point. I didn’t claim to understand the movement for GLBT rights or the people it represented, but the notion that love could be conditional based on something so personal didn’t really settle right.

As I showed Erik around campus—my office, my favorite spot in the library, the campus café—our conversation seemed to be halted by our differences and Evan’s homosexuality. We remained in the neutral territory of discussing school and reminiscing about the mission. Still, it was as happy a reunion as one could hope for or expect. Intrigued by this earliest glimpse into the true lives of gay Mormon boys, question came to mind that would not be answered for another two years when Evan and I met again.

End, Part 4