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.

The Life and Times of Boyfriend #2, Part 5

Is This Love?

Then give way.  Cord
Unbraided.  Limbs
Cracked. Gods
Felled.

“So you’re telling you finally had to put a pillow between you two?” Lila asked as I recounted the weekend with Andre.

“Yeah.  I don’t know what happened, but it was me who couldn’t control himself.  I would wake up and find myself… well,” I paused, “… rubbing against him.”

She burst out laughing.  “You can’t be serious.  You had it figured out.”

“Well, I thought I did, and I don’t suppose it’s a bad thing that I did think that.” It was apparent I was still processing the whole situation.  Sexuality was in some ways as scary as always, and in others practically benign. 

“You horny, horny boy” she continued to tease me throughout the night as we lay there on the couch, oddly making the idea of sex more appealing.  I was horrified, astonished, and fascinated by this new element of identity I had yet to grasp.  It was something as integral as any other part of me, yet somehow removed.  Still, it’s naturalness was as difficult to acknowledge as the possibility of being happy for myself had been.

My natural reaction was to be guarded and not yield to any change without seriously considering its effects upon the rest of my life.  As the confusion of another raucous party at The Wood House sauntered on around us, I processed what all of this might mean for attending and participating in church. 

Lila’s teasing and questions such as “How did it make you feel?” and “Do you think you would have enjoyed going farther than that?” only prodded me further in that direction.  Any miniscule preconception that there was a possibility that being gay was some sort of fabrication I’d constructed for myself (so as to focus on the professional aspect of my life and never grow up into marriage and family life with a woman) vanished in that moment.

The topic psychologically and emotionally exhausted in that moment, we allowed ourselves to enjoy the party a bit more.  We turned our observations towards the crowd at the party.  It was the usual crowd of gays and alternative-types seen in the house on a weekly basis. 

“Karl’s wearing his ‘pedo’ hat again.”
“Carli went to school with my little brother.”
“Amos and Scott broke up again this week.”

It was the usual barrage of witty observations no one would be offended by.  As the lone sober people at these parties, we’d formed an insular relationship in our own little corner. 

“Who’s he?” I confided to Lila, casually motioning to a boy in hotrod red skinny jeans in the corner.

“I’m not sure.  He’s new here,” she said. 

I continued observing him and thinking how unafraid and happy he was with his body to strut around in clothes that demanded so much attention.  Noticing the attention coming from us, he made his way to the couch and plopped down in between us. 

“Hey, have we met?” he asked Lila and I. 

“I don’t think so,” I said slightly out of breath.  My phone buzzed and I felt a tinge of guilt over ogling the “Twink of the Hour.” 

“Excuse me while I take this.  It’s Andre,” I explained to them as I grabbed my jacket and made my way to the deck for some privacy, 

“Andre!  How was work?”

“Work was fine.  I just called to check up on my boy,” he said. 

“Oh good.  I’m at a party with Lila.  We’re sitting on the couch talking the night away. Any plans for tonight?”

“I’m with some friends now, too,” he said as it became apparent he’d had a few to drink.

“You have fun with you’re friends and don’t let the night get too crazy.”

“Alright.  You, too.”

Without much thought, I returned to my spot at the couch with Lila, who had quickly made a new friend in skinny jeans-clad Jerrick.  “We missed you,” she said as we immediately returned to our observations.

Moments later, my phone buzzed again.  “Hey, Andre,” I answered. 

“I forgot to tell you I love you,” he said.

I was floored.  It was something I wasn’t used to hearing from family or friends, so I melted a bit. 

“Andre, that’s so sweet.  It makes me really happy to hear that,” I said struggling for words.  I didn’t feel like I could reciprocate in that moment in that way.  If and when I said the three little words and admitted to feeling that way towards another man, it wouldn’t be over the phone with boozy gays in the background.

Even before he could respond, I sensed something was wrong.  “Oh,” he said.  “You have fun with Lila and your friends then.  I’m going home for the night.”

“Okay.  Be safe,” I said unsure if he’d heard me before hanging up.

“There’s some drama going down,” Jerrick pointed out. 

“Yeah, I’d rather not think about it,” I said.  “He’ll be better in the morning.”

“Are you alright? I asked answering the phone five minutes later.  Before I could make my way to the freezing patio again, he asked me to pass the phone to Lila.  “Why?”

“Just trust me, I need to talk to her.”

I handed off the phone to her as we shared a puzzled look.  She listened, intermittently offering him a yeah and covering the mouthpiece to offer occasional observations from the standpoint of a psychology student:  “He wants to hear you love him.” “He’s drunk.” “You’ve got a codependent one here.”

After a ten-minute talk down session, she returned my phone and I left for the patio. 

“Have a good talk with Lila?” I asked.

“It was fine,” he guardedly responded.

“What are you up to now?”  I asked.

“Driving home.  I need to be alone,” he said grimly.

“Just wait around a bit longer.  Are you sure you’re okay to drive?”

“I’m sure,” he said. 

I paused for a moment not sure of what I could do.  How far is he from home?  Should I call the police? I don’t even know where he’s driving.  My heart and mind raced as they flooded with questions.

“GMB, do you love me?” he asked.

I paused.  I didn’t want to be disingenuous.  I knew I didn’t feel anything eternal or abiding at that point, but I had no idea what to say to him. 

“Love is a really important word for me, Andre.  It has a lot of meanings—”  He isn’t looking for a lecture, I told myself. Tell him what he needs to hear to be safe, dammit! 

I sunk down in tears from the stress, sitting in the snow bank on the patio and said, “I care for you a lot.  I love you and just want you safe,” I said compromising myself only slightly.  The tears and the frustration let up slightly as a breeze pounded past.

“Are you almost home?” I asked showing the care and the type of love I’d spoken of. 

“Ten minutes,” he said.

I sat there hovelled up in a corner, barricading myself from the wind and offering words of comfort and recounting happy memories until I knew he was home safe. 

“You get some rest and we’ll talk in the morning,” I said.

“Okay.  I’m really sorry, GMB.  I should never have put you through that.”

“We’ll talk about it in the morning,” I reiterated as I stood up to pull myself together and join the party. 

I was so upset I could go home and fall asleep on a tear-drenched pillow, so angry I half-wished he’d gotten in an accident and learned his lesson, and so numb I wanted to forget all of my feelings in that moment and give them all to Jerrick in that moment to get even with Andre for what he’d put me through.

End, Part 5.

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.

Le Gars de Chocolat Chaud, Part 3

The Waiting Game

So whatever was going on with Toni wasn’t what I’d prepared to deal with at that point. Another crush hadn’t panned out. Dating wasn’t really a possibility (although he probably initially had that same desire), and I had somehow consigned myself to moral support as he got over Ash.

It was a torturous position, really, because I had essentially volunteered to listen to him pine over another man. Over the course of several weeks, he opened up more and more about the breakup and life in general. He invited me to lunch with friends and introduced me to two new and distinct sets of friends: the Multicultural Student Union and the local gay crowd.

Picking him up from his place for the first time (to go on a Jamba Juice run), I realized something I should have pieced together earlier. Toni lived with not one but two of the guys I’d been out with in town. He belonged to that elite fraternity of gay boys living in The Wood House. He didn’t talk much about his roommates, but it sounded like they were gay.

As I pulled up and walked to the door I wondered what would happen if I ran into Kevin or Jack, guys I’d dated and lived there. Toni and I weren’t dating, but that’s what I wanted. How would all of that affect the situation? Toni opened the door and invited me in for a moment. Sure enough Kevin and one of the other roommates were there in the kitchen having a discussion about school.

“…I’ll be glad when it’s all over. I can’t wait to just get out there and do something even if it’s not web design,” Kevin said. He then passed a flirty look.

“You are graduating, Kevin. You should feel like that,” the other roommate said. Turning to me he introduced himself. “I’m Alberto. What is your name?”

“GMB. Nice to meet you.”

“Kevin, have you found someone to take your room yet?” Toni chimed in.

He shook his head. “Not yet.”

“He should move in,” Alberto suggested, indicating me.

“I don’t know about that.”

The conversation pretty much stifled there. “Are you ready to go to Jamba?” I asked.

“Definitely. You guys wanna come?”

“I’ve got work to do,” Kevin said perhaps a bit upset that I didn’t ask him myself.

“I’ll come,” said Alberto, running off to grab his wallet.

Deep down, I still hoped that somehow things would work, but I was nothing more than one of the guys. The trip to Jamba only proved that was the case as the conversation in the car quickly turned to his dating problems. The hopes that he might get over Ash continued, however.

The following Saturday, he invited me to a party at The Wood House. These parties took place with regularity and involved much of the gay crowd. In a way, it was like arriving. The atmosphere wasn’t so much exciting as interesting. I suppose I approached it much as Jane Goodall would her noble gorillas. I observed social behaviors: hugging upon entry and exit, somewhat scandalous dancing in the breakfast nook, compliments on clothing and hair, tennis games of innuendo-laden exchanges.

I stuck with the people I knew. Certainly, my caution came off to some as arrogance, but I remained polite and cool-headed as I figured things out. Toni, as host, made the rounds and remained distant throughout the night, so I stuck with his friend Lila. We remained the lone sober guests at the party.

Although our conversation began as we made fun of the immature behavior going on around us including our own Gilmore Girls-esque jabs, we ended up talking about something more serious by the end of the night.

“I have a confession to make,” I said.

She smiled, nodded, and turned her ear towards me. “Go on… Anna Freud’s here and listening.”

“I’m kind of hung up on Toni. He’s just so nice. He brought me hot chocolate. Who does that?! And now, all I can think about is going over there and dancing with him, but I know it won’t mean anything to him.”

“You’re right. It won’t. I’m Toni’s best friend and I know for a fact it won’t mean a thing. He’s not over Ash and he doesn’t really want to be.”

“How so?”

“He doesn’t accept the fact that it’s over because he thinks that it’ll start up again. He’s been texting Ash all night, if you didn’t notice and just now I bet he’s going into his room to call him.”

“How do you know this?”

“You forget,” she said smugly and honestly as Toni passed us on the way to his room with his phone up to his ear. “I’m in psychology. I don’t know everything, but I know my best friend better than most people know their own family.”

I marveled at what she said. If I came close to knowing that much about a person it would certainly be Cole, but even then I wondered. Moments later, angry shouts pounded against the door.

Lila then turned to me with a sternly comforting look: Let go. I knew that it had come to a point where the only sane thing to do was let go. I would be there for him, but not as some sort of knight in shining armor.

End, Part 3.

Note that in the previous post “My First Fruit Fly” falls within this post, and should this blog ever be transformed into a book-length memoir will be incorporated into this series.

My First Fruit Fly

Finals approached.

It was time to de-stress and complain to each other about the load we’d taken on for the semester. Slightly infatuated with my friend Toni, I enthusiastically accepted an invitation to met him for lunch one day. I rushed from my office to meet up with him at the food court.

As we sat down, he introduced me to two of his closest friends.

“This is Lena. She’s finishing up her degree in business. And this is my best friend, Lila. She’s studying psychology, so be careful what you say because she might analyze you to dea—”

“Hey!” She interrupted as I shook her hand. She glared at him a little in that just-between-friends manner, which he ignored in the same manner. We all laughed a little and moved on. The conversation turned from complaining about finals and class work to complaints about boys.

I realized at that moment I was discussing my dating life in a public place and not afraid at all.

Everyone discussed their respective drama as Lena jokingly concluded, “All of the good ones are gay. They know how to dress and they’re sensitive. Why do they do this to us?”

To which Lila replied, “Without them, though, we wouldn’t have the other fabulous things in life—shoes, music, Gilmore Girls, Shakespeare, …”

It was pretty obvious at that point that we were going to be great friends. In less than a month, we were hanging out on a weekly basis, sitting on the couch together at parties mocking the drunk people, and exchanging witty comebacks about each other’s dating foibles (just like Rory and Lorelai).