“I’ll miss you, too.”

I’ve been learning a lot of new words lately including a few pertaining to fate. Yesterday, this came up in my reader and I felt a little twinge in my heart thinking it might be a portend of sorts:

Chedner and I had discussed the difficulties of making things work as well as the further difficulties of successfully making things work for a year only to inevitably say goodbye, so these words weighed on my heart.

The omens kept piling up as I ran into a certain someone I’ve written about extensively and as it became evident that the feelings I had for him were immediately rekindled, and despite his circumstances (of which I’ll only say I completely expected him to turn and run at the sight of me after this long break), he still seems to be interested in me.

One can’t help but feel that some form of kismet was involved in the events of those twenty-four hours from discussion to anticipation and finally to endings and possible beginnings (esp. when you know all of the details).

Though the beauty of the last six months will be shared in due time on this blog, I will share the most important detail of all:

“I’ll miss you, too,” I said swallowing at the weight upon my chest between our final two kisses.

Hold

Voice Lessons

It was an exhilaration for which I wasn’t entirely prepared, but when I’d convinced myself it was time, I put one foot forward, opened my mouth and let it all out:

Somebody, crowd me with love,
Somebody, force me to care,
Somebody, make me come through,
I'll always be there,
As frightened as you,
To help us survive
Being alive,
Being alive,
Being ali—

“Very good. Next?” a voice called before I could test how long I could hold that last note.

You did it, I told myself. Auditions and sharing my voice had terrified me for as long as I could remember. The seating deliberations for band hacked away at my nerves from middle school on as well as the fear of saying something so outlandish or obvious in class that I’d draw everyone’s attention and ridicule.

Recently, however, I was finding strength. My sexuality that I didn’t think existed was slowly demystifying itself. I was finding greater success than ever at work and in school as a result of vocal encouragement from professors and peers. My identity was taking shape and the idea of being someone “special” (cliché as it might sound) and talented seemed like something that was finally possible, though not necessarily a reality.

I needed to test these discoveries and try something completely new. I also needed a break from dating following the breakup with Andre. (A breakup so bad, I often half-joked with Cole, he had to move a few states away—half-joked because it was completely true. Utah just didn’t agree with him). For that reason, I went out on the proverbial limb and decided to audition for a Broadway review. Months earlier, my parents had given me the very original gift of voice lessons.

It was one of the best surprise gifts I could have received. In an instant, I took my parents up on their offer and started up lessons with a family friend, and over the course of a couple of months, this Mormon housewife inadvertently provided me with the form of therapy I needed.

“Let’s do that again,” she said one day in a lesson. “It doesn’t take much for you to sing the words and get them on pitch, but going to the next level is what sounds the simplest. Paying attention to the words is actually the hardest part. It’s the greatest act of empathy to put yourself in the shoes of another person, and the characters singing these songs really are thinking and feeling people.”

I stared, listening with an expression of awe.

“You know literature better than me, so you can get to the soul of these words better than me or a lot of my students, so the only thing we’ll have to work on is pushing those feelings you share with the characters out onto your canvas.”

“And I’m sure, Beverly, I’ll learn a lot about feeling along the way,” I added.

“I think you’re ready for some Sondheim. Wait a sec while I find my Company book” she said as I flashed a delighted grin. My thoughts trailed off to characters and the idea of feeling: Characters should be easy—I wish I understood what was going on in real-life guys’ minds. Are we all broken in different ways?

A couple of weeks later, we found ourselves in the same studio. She at the piano I standing next to her waiting for the room to cool into silence following a long, sustained high G#. Those seconds of silence and the feeling of empty, burning lungs ready for a gasp of air seemed to say, You did it.

“GMB, I’m so proud of you. You’ve been practicing,” she said as her auburn hair whipped around to reveal her trademark horn-rimmed glasses.

“I did slack a bit this week,” I admitted, not explaining that the breakup with Andre pulled me away for a few days.

“Either way, your understanding of the character really came through in every way imaginable. It was as if you were him for a few brief moments. You seem to understand the ambiguities here—a desire and a terror of being in love, the sadness of not wanting to feel and the joy of feeling even if it’s not what we want to feel.”

It was as if she understood what was going on with me without mentioning a word about my dating life or the overall process of coming out to myself. That said, she would often turn to the story of a gay friend of hers from her days at BYU and say how happy she was for him despite their lives going in two distinct directions. I tend to think that, even in those earliest lessons, she was trying to show me the type of unconditional love we’re all taught about at some point in our lives.

“I want you to keep working on this piece. I think it’ll be good for you, and you can use it for an audition piece for the show,” she coaxed.

I knew that there was an undercurrent in her words “it’ll be good for you.” She wanted me to ponder those words like she pondered scripture. I heeded her words, preparing myself for that fateful audition and some time pondering those words as I put my dating life on hold, taking a boy-fast of sorts.

End, Part 1.

The Life and Times of Boyfriend #2, Part 6

Static

We stand,
We stare
From either side
Of
The bridgeless gap.

Morning came after a restless, contemplative night.  My mind raced with thoughts ranging from self-pity to revenge.  I just wanted to fix the mistake I’d apparently made.  In my mind, I should never have rushed into a relationship, opened myself up to him, allowed myself to get so attached to anyone.

Before I could do anything I’d end up regretting, Cole and Lila had talked me down.  As soon as I made my way home from the party and realized my eyelids wouldn’t draw themselves closed as I stared at my ceiling, I texted the two people I could go to with this problem. 

Cole was supportive as usual, unsure of what could have provoked such a break down. 

Though he wouldn’t go so far as to say, “end it,” he alluded to that conclusion: “It’s possible this is something too difficult to get through” and reassured “You haven’t done anything to regret, so stop worrying.”

Lila was more direct: “Andre’s been an ass and you know it.  Do you really think this type of drama is worth it?”

Through my window, I saw the stars flicker out and dusk warming the air over the mountains as I spent a few moments sitting up in bed contemplating a few scattered notes I’d made in the margins of a handout for class.  My attempt to distract myself with schoolwork only resulted in an outline of possibilities I faced in the imminent conversation.  Rhetorically, I was prepared, but filled with dread in every other sense.

I felt robbed.  The time, the emotion, and the care that I’d spent not just with Andre, but with every guy before him dried up into insignificance and numbness.  Standing at the bus stop, I plunged into a state of static—enveloped by the noisy wind pushing past in steady, rhythemless flow and drawing a curtain of powdery white.  It was one of the coldest days I’d ever experienced, but I didn’t notice.

I don’t want to have to do this, I thought sitting alone in back row of the bus.  Can’t it just be over with.  I stared at my phone, the directory pulled to Andre—a tiny smiling picture reminding me of the past few weeks—only to close it a moment later.  In the next half hour—at the food court, in the library, etc.—I must have done this a half dozen times.  Finally, I pulled myself aside, sitting on the floor of an empty darkened classroom alone and took myself through step by step finally forcing myself to press “SEND.”

“Hello?”  I heard on the other end. “Hello?”

Finally, I choked out a response, “Good morning, Andre.”

“Hey,” he said. “I hope you’re okay after last night.”  His voice quivered with sincerity.  It was clear he wasn’t searching for a way to explain himself but rather wondering where the conversation would be driven.

“I’m glad you’re safe. I was worried.”

“Just so you know, I’m at work.  I’ll give you all the time you need, though,” he told me. “I’m really sorry you had to worry like that.”

“I thought you might die,” I said.

“I know, I know,” his voice cracked.  “I’m an idiot.  That’s why I don’t drink around you.  I just don’t know what’s wrong with me,” he said as his voice cracked again. “You laughed and wouldn’t explain why.  It was like you’re laughing at me.  I know you weren’t but that’s what it was like.  I just remember worrying over and over again in my head, Does he really care?  Could he really love me?”

“I’m just not a very vocal person.  It takes a lot of thinking for the words to come out just the right way,” I explained.   

“I told you I had a rough time with my dad, right?  He really messed me up,” he said, sniffing through the tears I could not see.  “Every time I get close my mind goes back to hearing his voice from the neighbors backyard as he shouted at my mother or getting thrown against a door or him throwing my sketchbook in the trash and telling me I’d never amount to anything as an artist.”

Everything made so much more sense from his insecurities over my slightest expression to his status as a college dropout.

I responded in instinct: “You know I’m here if you need to talk.”  At once, a boundary was set and I said everything I needed to break through the static numbness coursing through my mind.  He knew I cared, but talking would be the limit; I knew that I was free from the burden of worry.

We paused for a few moments as I felt my composure return and his vanish.

“I think it’s best I never put you through this again,” he said coughing and sniffling intermittently.

“Yeah,” I said as I sighed in relief for not having to bring up the inevitable dissolution.

The conversation ended on a positive note and reassuring platitudes of friendship, but several doubts. 

I sat alone in the dark, silent room observing the light streaming through the blinds and forming the shape of stairs against the wall. That’s what a kid would see, I thought, and a smile came to my face as the world became a set of details again rather than an aggravating, amalgamous blur.

I made my way to class a few minutes late when my phone buzzed. I stopped in my tracks.

“Andre?” I answered.

“I take it back.  Please take me back.  I don’t want to break up.  You’re the best thing to come along since I came to Utah,” he blurted through his tears.

I took a deep breath and turned back to the conclusion he’d made earlier: “I need stability.  We both do and this won’t be good for us.  I think—”

“Fine. I’ve got to get back to work if you don’t want to work this out,” he barked.

With that, I patted myself on the back and turned off my phone for the rest of the day.  Slipping into class, I briefly made eye contact with Savannah passing a glimpse of my satisfaction and confidence. 

“Apparently, someone had a good weekend,” she whispered as I shuffled past the row and into my usual spot. 

“Well,  it’s over,” I whispered with a half grin.  With that I realized I’d made my way unscathed through the emotional minefield.  In the aftermath, Cole, Lila, and Savannah provided the kind words I appreciated if I didn’t need.  Months earlier, I might have blamed myself for the sudden turn, for Andre’s cold shoulder to my offers of help, and for his sudden relocation back to Nebraska weeks later, but now I knew that my rationality and distance were some of the greatest assets.

End of Series.

Sonriso, Part 3

Exit Strategies

We wear the mask that grins and lies,
It hides our cheeks and shades our eyes,—
This debt we pay to human guile;
With torn and bleeding hearts we smile,
And mouth with myriad subtleties.

—from “We Wear the Mask,” Paul Laurence Dunbar

The next morning, I sent Derek a text: “We need to talk.”

In terms of dating and relationships, about 80% of the time that is a very bad sign. And for that reason it took him a while to respond.

That night, he sent a very generic message either oblivious or evasive of the situation: “Hey, GMB. What’s up?”

“Not much. Just homework tonight. Do you have a sec to talk on the phone?” I responded.

After another half hour, my phone rang and the pressure suddenly mounted. Cliché as it might sound, I panicked at the last minute wondering if I should even pick up. I answered at the last possible moment before it could go to voicemail.

“Hey, Derek,” I said in as neutral a tone as possible. “How was your day?”

“Super busy. School, then rehearsals, then work, then some family drama when I got home.”

“You do seem to have a lot of that don’t you?” I jested.

“Can’t deny that. At least there’s the weekend, right? It’s too bad things didn’t work out for you to go too,” he said, lying through his teeth.

“About that…. I really did want to go,” I said gritting my own teeth slightly. Teeming with dissatisfaction but holding back, I paused. “I talked to Zane on Connexion last night and he explained the situation.”

“What situation?”

“If you didn’t want me to go to Sundance, you should have told me.”

“I do. It’s just complicated, okay?”

“Yeah. This is getting pretty complicated,” I said. “This isn’t going somewhere I like, so I don’t think another date is a good idea.”

***

To be completely honest, that’s not what happened. Not at all. I didn’t send any text or attempt any serious talk. That’s how the story would have ended had it happened a year later.

Instead, I let it go. I had no intention of pursuing an actual relationship with Derek, but I still planned to wait it out. Zane’s forecast was that he’d lose interest soon and move on when he knew he wasn’t going to get any more action turned out to be fairly accurate.

One date was all it took.

I didn’t want to be there and I’m sure my body language indicated such. It all started with an uneasy hug in the snow as we met at the movie theater. Since he drove a bit that day, I suggested he pick the movie, and without fail he picked the one movie I wasn’t interested in: Underworld 3, “It’s okay,” he reassured me. “It’s a prequel, so you don’t need to see the other movies to know what’s going on.”

I sat there amused. While he was so enthralled he didn’t attempt to make a move, I amused myself with analyzing how ridiculous I found the movie and the situation. How did I end up stuck here. At least it’s a free movie, right? That’s all I’d pay to see it.

Our quick, final date ended with a quick hug goodbye. Should I say anything? It was as if I was holding my breath debating whether to come up for air or keep waiting it out conserving what little I still had in my lungs. We passed each other hollow smiles as he got in his car to make the drive back.

Twenty minutes later, I received a call.

“I had a good time, GMB.”

I listened waiting for the inevitable “but.”

“You know it’s been fun and all, but we’re at different places in our lives. I left the Church a long time ago. I’m comfortable with sex. You’re going off to grad school fairly soon.”

“True,” I said. Oh my gosh. It’s really happening, passively embracing this fate.

“Well, I feel like I haven’t been getting a lot out of our time together. I mean, I keep making all of the effort and don’t feel like it’s paying off.”

“Okay.”

“It’s best we move on then. After all, you’re looking for a relationship and at this point I don’t think I am anymore. I only have so much time to have fun.”

“I agree.”

With a few painless words, it was all over and I saw through the counterfeit smile. Not Derek’s, but my own. I was weak for putting up with being nothing more than an object, nothing more than a conquest, nothing more than a pretty face.

End, Part 3.

The Experiment, Part 9

The Destination

The next day, I had a lot on my mind.

There was, of course, the kiss. What did it mean? Was it a good thing or a bad thing? A sign of moving on or weakness?

Then, there was the whole question of Eric. He’d asked if he could take me to my last dinner in Canada. It was clear that he wanted to be a friend, but what did that mean?

And finally, what did returning home mean? I’d had the trip of a lifetime and experimented with my very identity. This was a direction I intended to keep going in life. Despite the residual heartache of breaking up with Mark, I knew I was in a better place in life. As the trip came to an end, I knew I had to bring part of that satisfaction back to my everyday life in Utah.

It was a misty, gloomy day. A day that the morning fog rolled in and dropped anchor. I spent my time walking around the city alone. It provided me more time to explore while visiting the last museums on my itinerary. These were my last glimpses of history and culture before I made my way home. My mind weighed very little on the matters of my thesis and research, constantly jumping back to what life would be like in less than twenty-four hours. How could I take part of this life back with me? Being satisfied? Being open and happy?

I met up with Eric after the museums had closed and he’d finished his shift at work. We’d both had a good day, but a lot was on our minds. Making our way from the dorm towards the waterfront we stopped at the Economy Shoe Shop Restaurant.

“So what’s on your mind, GMB? What time are you leaving tomorrow?

“4 am,” I said in disgust.

“You’re probably better off staying up all night then. I wouldn’t be able to sleep if I knew I was going to see my family and friends so soon.”

“That’s my plan, but for other reasons. I’m paranoid of missing the flight and sleeping through my alarm.”

“If you don’t mind, I’ll keep you company. We can just chat all night.”

A few hours later, we were in my dorm room sitting on the floor next to each other. We pulled out my laptop and shared pictures of our exes. He opened up about his breakdown after Alan’s infidelity and I revealed that I was afraid I’d never feel the same again.

“You won’t,” Eric said. “Your first is always your first. You’ll meet somebody different, but feel just as good. Someday.”

It was one of those moments in which irony trailed behind the words as he spoke them and they reached our ears. It was time for both of us to move on.

We spent the next hours holding each other until the airport shuttle called. We ended the night with a single, tender kiss.

It was a goodbye. It was a thank you. It was joy.

It was an answer I pondered on the taxi and on the plane back into Salt Lake:

This is who you are and you have nothing to be ashamed of.

End of series.

The Experiment, Part 5

The Breakdown

The next morning, I made my way to the Avis store to pick up a rental car. The time had come for a trip across the province to visit some museums and do some interviews as well as an informal survey of the landscape—to know a people, you must understand the place out of which they grow.

I hopped in the car and set off for a six-hour drive alone. The traffic wasn’t anything to complain about. The weather was perfect. The scenery was as spectacularly green as I’d expected.

Not long into the journey, any confidence I’d had about being on my own, of being smart or valued, of being over Mark had vanished.

I was alone.

Everything reminded me of him and how I was not good enough. I flashed back to our first date in the amphitheater watching 30 Rock, to my first kiss in Ensign Downs Park overlooking the Salt Lake Valley, and finally to his sudden disappearance from my life. It was in every sense a flood of emotions. It poured over me with suffocating force.

Every song on the radio just seemed to pull me closer to a watery grave of depression. My cheer-me-up sing-along music even seemed to pull me down. One song in particular stung very deep: Mika’s Erase. Our discussions about Mika being the new Freddy Mercury resurfaced as I listened:

…

I shouldn’t have said the things I said
Lookin’ for love we left for dead
In a grave without a stone.

As soon as you hear my voice
Don’t hesitate
Put your finger on the button

Erase my love, I bet you can’t erase my touch
You’re tryin’ to replace a feelin’ without a name
With somebody else’s face in your head.

…

The words pulled me down because for the first time I was open to the lyrics and meanings, to the bitterness and sweetness, to the tragedy and irony of life. For the first time in life I felt like I was able to understand the range of human emotions and write about how they are expressed (or repressed).

That said, feeling like I could never be loved—that every good man would reject me in that way—made recovery difficult. I turned off the radio and drove.

An hour later, I pulled over bracing the biggest hailstorm I’d ever seen. Marble-sized stones pounded against the window. The sheet of water streaming down the windshield kept me from seeing beyond the front bumper. I had no choice but to sit and think, so there I sat for forty-five minutes as the lyrics passed through my head again and again:

…

When the pain won’t go away
You might as well
Put your finger on the trigger

Erase my love, I bet you can’t erase my touch
You’re tryin’ to replace a feelin’ without a name
With somebody else’s face in your head.

…

The hailstorm ended, but the sun was nowhere in sight.

I wiped away the tears, looked in the mirror and said to myself, “GMB. pull yourself together. You have work to do.”

End, Part 5

This story is on hiatus until after Christmas. I don’t want to be a downer on the holiday cheer. Plus, I’ve just had something very similar come to pass with another boy. Indeed, timing is a funny thing when it comes to my writing.

Inevitable Goodbyes

You’ve probably noticed that, lately, I’ve taken an emotional hiatus from the more personal aspects of the blog. I feel that the appropriate time to be more substantive and reflective has returned.

In Vanished: A Stereotypical Gay Breakup Story, I described the difficulty of my first breakup . I felt like my world had ended because I knew that no one like him would come along again. Mark decided to leave me with a little more closure after a few weeks while I was on a research trip.

After I confronted him about disappearing, he offered the following explanation shortly before going on his mission (as always, names have been changed):

Thank you so much, I understand what you are saying completely and I know that (and am sorry that) I hurt you. I did take the cowards way out, I needed a change in my life, I needed to feel good about going on my mission, I needed to be completely ready. You have to remember I am young, I am afraid, I am immature, the only way I knew how to deal with this was to disappear. The Lord has blessed my life these past few weeks as I have prepared and I am so ready and excited to go, I couldn't have done that with a relationship on my mind. I don't know what the future holds for me, at this point my most realistic options are wait until I get home before I make any decisions... and remain celibate until I know what I want, as to avoid hurting anyone.
Again GMB I am sorry, truly sincerely sorry, and I hope that you can understand that, and my situation.
Goodbye.
--Elder Marcus Rasmussen

It was the goodbye I needed in order to move on and convince myself that what happened was not my fault. I replied:

I don't know if you need to hear any of this, but I got the impression from your last message that you should hear from me that I'm not angry.
I understand that you're figuring out how to deal with life and that your situation is a unique and difficult one. I seriously doubt that were I in your situation at that point in my life, I would have handled it as well as you did.
Again, you taught me the principle of self-worth and it's kept me from doing some pretty stupid things and letting people take advantage of me (esp. in the past few weeks). I know who I am and I really am grateful for that. Thanks.
I don't expect a reply to this; I just wanted to let you know (in this one last message) that I understand and that I'm fine. What I said in my last message was said out of honesty and concern and not out of bitterness.
Finally, have a wonderful two years. You'll love the people, you'll give it 100% and you'll do a lot of good in the lives of many people as a result of your decision to share the gospel. It'll be much harder than anything you've ever done, but, in the end, I'm certain that you'll be able to say to yourself, "That was the best decision I ever made."
I wish you the best, Elder Rasmussen.

I expect he went through every possibility in his head of how things could have worked out—as I did.

I see him crying a bit—as I did.

I imagine him being angry as the situation—as I was.

I think he even went to bed every night trying to get it all out of his head for weeks or months—as I did.

Vanished: A Stereotypical Gay Breakup Story

After our last date seeing Wall-E, Mark didn't respond to calls or texts or get on Facebook for a few days. He disappeared.

It was rough on me. The only thing someone can do in that kind of a situation is blame himself. And that's what I did. I thought of everything I possibly could have said, everything I could have done, and everything I could have neglected to say or do to make him upset.

Finally, he showed up online one day. He said that the power had been out and the internet had stopped working for a few days. Always giving people the benefit of the doubt, I took him for his word and asked how things had been. The conversation soon led to a topic that neither of us were prepared to discuss.

He let me know that it was about time for him to go to the temple and didn't feel comfortable dating me so close to that event in his life because our last night of cuddling was the first time in his life he'd considered not going on a mission. With an aire of understanding, I wished him the best and let him know how much I learned during our time together and how much I would miss him. He left me comfortable with myself.

Being the first breakup I'd ever gone through, it was pretty devastating. We had our episodes like everyone else—the unfriending on Facebook (apparently, I was too much of a temptation), and the panicked "Don't out me" conversation when he found out I'd be working with his best girl friend from high school the next semester.

Despite the drama of this breakup, I didn't immediately learn the lesson that disappearing is a cowardly form of breakup. It took me being on the other side of the breakup to learn that there's a better way.