Hold, Part 6

impasse

Without a hitch, the performances went on as planned.  A couple of months of singing and dancing rehearsals with the  conventional stresses finally paid off as they should.  Variant threads of talent came together for three consecutive nights of an unfamiliar excitement.  Quite unexpectedly, things went much better than I’d expected.  The dances and the musical numbers, though far from perfect, became that adrenaline rush that left me on a high unique, but not superior to the one’s I had experienced in my life.

Following the opening night performance, I received a surprise—one that in retrospect seems more like a link in a chain of surprises. 

Recently, I’d received an unexpected message on Connexion (my preferred gay dating site):

I’m pretty sure  I saw you at a few weeks ago at church.  Just wanted to say hi and let you know you weren’t the only one there.  ;)

-- Anson

My initial reaction was a complex sense of disbelief.  First, because I had felt completely alone in that meeting; and second, because Anson happened to be the most gorgeous man to pay me attention since the breakup with Mark nearly a year ago.

I thought nothing of it, especially after the conversations started to wane and performances began to pick up.  For sentimental reasons associated with Mark, I reserved the phrase “on the same page” for very special occasions and Cole knew when I used that very phrase to describe Anson that I was smitten the week of the big show.  Refreshingly, we shared the same doubts, the same insecurities, and both remained positive about life.

Having played it low-key as I attempted to manage school along with the show, and as I sorted out how I felt about dating Chandler (who, despite his sincerity, inspired relationship doubts every time he lit a cigarette), I decided to mention the performance to Anson only in passing.  For that reason, it was nearly a shock when—having never seen him in person or heard his voice—he tracked me down in the lobby.

Cautious about the surprise he pulled on me, he hovered for a few moments.  He smiled at me from afar as a throng of elderly strangers complimented the performance and offered their granddaughters’ phone numbers.  Each time I glanced over and caught his brilliant blue eyes, the post-performance excitement teemed over a bit. 

When we finally had a chance to speak, he immediately offered a hug and a simple, “You were great.”  He took delight in my ear-to-ear smile and the giddy nervousness of my posture.

“Thanks,” was all I could muster in that moment. 

In a way, I felt the universe was messing with me in the worst of too-good-to-be-true senses.  I was completely unprepared and unsure of what to make of him.  How serious could he be?  Would he do this for just anyone?  Is he the nice guy?  He admitted he dated as much as I did, leaving me even more astounded that he had put together delightful surprise , let alone that he had paid me any attention at all.

We visited for a moment before another crowd of elderly audience members offered up their supportive words.  He smiled and offered a hug enigmatic in length and pressure.  My mind whirred about as I tried unsuccessfully to precipitously understand a man I’d barely met. 

The string of surprises continued that week—an excellent grade on a paper that week, a call from a friend I hadn’t seen in months, and an impromptu date with Chandler following the final performance.  Though it felt great to see a familiar face and subtly tie romance to art as he waited outside the dressing rooms, I couldn’t escape the feeling that we were at an impasse.  I hadn’t ruled out dating him because he smoked, but rather I had made the decision not to decide. 

Reservations like that never lead anywhere, and this was no exception for us.  We enjoyed ourselves, but my attempts to be open-minded and try something new remained pretext for things not working out with anyone in the past year.  At this crossroads it seemed like there was the possibility of the opposite with Anson.  He held the same beliefs and feelings and showed concern for his own life. 

I knew what I wanted, but I didn’t know if Anson had come to a similar conclusion since he had so many romantic options available to him.  It was a matter, at that point, of keeping that option available without making it the only option—a dating suspended animation if you will.

Life rushed on and on the eve of our first date, I received another surprise via email—an opportunity that left me wondering if my life would take a new turn and romance would be placed on the backburner for a while:

“GMB—We are pleased to announce that you have been selected to volunteer in the Ministry of Education (MINEDUC)’s Teach English Program….”

End of Series.

Food for Thought #6

This video came up on my reader via Queerty and left me with some interesting questions as somebody who didn’t realize he was gay until his mid-20s.

A few reactions:

How did I react to more flamboyant gays?

Wow, he looks and sounds like Mark (my first bf—getting home from his mission next month) only half as cute.

Do I do anything to make guys who might not have realized they’re gay more aware of the diversity among homosexuals?

Do I laugh inside about “overly macho” straight people?

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.

All American Dinner

Recently, a guy I’ve been dating teased me about being white, so I’ve been in “What White People Like” mode. We jokingly came up with tater tot casserole, so the first chance I got I made it, and that was for a very special gathering involving Emily, Jacqueline, Bronson, and Cheryl—who had some wonderful news. Those of you who know the couple should ask them….

The night was a success, and those of you who did not attend really missed out on conversation, Carol Burnette clips, and this:

Below are some photos from the preparation of the Duggar Family Recipe (halved of course to feed about six adults).

DUGGAR's TATER TOT CASSEROLE
2 lb ground turkey cooked, seasoned, drained
3 2lb bags tater tots
2 cans cream of mushroom
2 cans evaporated milk
2 cans cream of chicken
Brown meat & place in large cass. dish.
Cover with tater tots. Mix soup & milk together.
Pour over top. Bake at 350 for 1 Hour.
(One of Daddy’s Favorites!) Makes 2- 9”X13” pans

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Some random notes on the recipe:

I substituted everything I could for low fat, and it turned out a little bland. We decided that what’s lacking are vegetables and spices, so we did a little experimentation. It’s really good with peas. I’d also consider broccoli.

My ex, Mark the Missionary, was fascinated by these shows, esp. John and Kate Plus Eight, so memories of our discussions there popped up as I bought the ingredients.

Adventures in Internet Dating, Part 8

The Future in Front of Me

Drake Hatch had a bashful smile and a kick in his step as we approached each other for the first time. I’m sure my own reaction practically mimicked his expression as we drew closer. Our lives, too, mirrored each other in ways more uncanny than I could have imagined.

After a friendly hug and some typical How-was-your-day? conversation, he told a story I’d heard before (for it was my own):

“Suddenly, one day it all clicked. I met a guy—the right guy in the right time and place—and suddenly I didn’t feel broken. It made sense why girls held absolutely no appeal. Before I knew it, I found myself in a relationship and happier than ever because that question had been answered and that void had been filled.”

As in the case of me and Mark, things didn’t work out between him and that first guy after a year-long relationship.

“I’m sorry to hear things didn’t work out,” I said almost in reflex.

“It’s okay,” he said. “It would have worked out if it was supposed to.”

I was impressed that he had that kind of faith that it had a purpose.

As we walked, we seemed to click on so many levels. He had gone through the same experiences and situations at the exact same age that I had. He’d gone on a mission. He’d had the proverbial rug pulled out from under him. Yet he handled himself so well. I hoped that some day I might become like him—satisfied with life and okay with disappointments. He'd figured it out.

As that first date came to an end, we found ourselves frustrated that we didn’t get to talk about everything we wanted to ask each other. I wondered when I’d see him again.

“Why don’t we do this again tomorrow?” he suggested. “Would you be free?”

“I’d love to.”

I could not have been more or spoken more affirmatively

The next day, the conversation started right where it had left off as we told each other stories about our time on campus as we passed particularly important landmarks to our past.

He told me about how his boyfriend would come and find him in the library. He’d somehow pull Drake Hatch into an empty room or under a desk and make out with him, charged with the suspenseful thought that someone might catch them or they might get too loud.

The locale of the fantasy particularly impacted me—a center of knowledge and learning just amplified the sexuality and excitement—a sensation he picked up on instantly, pursing his lips slightly as he chuckled and flashed a flirty grin.

I showed him the amphitheater where I took Mark on our first date. I was aware that it was a make-out point on campus and wanted him to be the first as we sat there watching 30 Rock on my laptop.

Eventually, the discussion turned to a more serious aspect of our lives as we found ourselves sitting on a bench outside the library.

“What’s your family situation like?” I asked curious about what my own future might look like continuing on the path he’d left in his wake.

“You mean am I out to them?”

“Yeah. Are they okay with it?”

“They don’t know.”

“After five years, wouldn’t they know?”

“"I haven’t told them. They’d want me to see someone and go back to church and I don’t want that.”

“What about your brothers? Do they know?”

“Not really. You’re in the same boat, I’m pretty sure.”

“You’re right. I am,” I admitted. I thought for a serious moment if that’s where I wanted to be three years down the road. Trying to lighten the mood, I asked “So what is your relationship like with your brothers? Are you close?”

“We’re close. We’ve done shows together and we all went to school together.” Rather than alluding to why he wasn’t out to them, he simply elaborated more on their relationship before asking me about my family. “So, how’s your brother Darin? I wondered if he was gay, too.”

“Definitely not. Funny you ask about him, though,” I said, “You came up in conversation last night. I asked if he remembered you from camp and he said ‘He’s the gay one, right?’”

Drake Hatch was a little shocked. His face and posture tightened. What I thought was funny genuinely worried him. Returning to lighter topics—the shows he was auditioning for, missions, the supervisor we’d shared, our hometown hangouts—we finally got back the momentum that we’d lost in our difficult talk.

As the time came for us to say goodbye, for him to return to his fast-paced life in Salt Lake and me to my homework, we hugged. “Thanks for hanging out,” I said.

“I’m so glad we did,” he said with that bashful smile he’d started with. Pausing for a moment, he asked, “Would you mind if I kissed you?”

“Not at all.”

And there—alone—in front of the library his lips touched mine softly only to pull away a second later. “Goodbye,” he said as he turned to leave.

“Goodbye,” I echoed in an unabashedly enamored voice, turning the other direction. We went our separate ways in perfect symmetry.

All I could think about for the rest of the day was how wonderful those two days had been for me, and that I wasn’t the only one to figure things out so late in the game.

Unfortunately, that was the end.

From the next day on, all of my texts and messages went unanswered. Drake Hatch had simply disappeared and the future in front of me was crumbling.

End, Part 8.

AfterMARK, Part 9

Misfire

The shock of getting busted for parking didn’t wear off very easily. Sure, I’d laugh at it in conversation with Cole, but it was really my first brush with danger. What if I’d gotten fined? What if the officer had been one of those psychos?

Things with Anderson did take a toll whether as a result of the incident or because of our schedules. Conversations grew infrequent, but we remained in contact.

Meanwhile, conversations with Cowboy Mark continued at a steady pace. Often, he would text me about the beautiful autumn weather or a line of poetry and I would think, Geez, he’s the perfect guy: sensitive, manly, sincere… but not for me.

On our last date, my mind kept going back to the original Mark—the one that had remained so perfect in my mind and heart for so long. To say that I would ever feel exactly the same about any other Mark (or any other man, for that matter), would be a lie. Just as I believe every individual is unique, so is every relationship.

We found ourselves at his place. I’d come over to watch TV with him and little did I know we were in the midst of the World Series. He sat in the recliner as I laid on the couch. Between innings, I ran upstairs to grab some drinks, noting again his ability to be a manly gay man in the details of his house:

Light beer was his drink of choice. Cowboy Mark’s kitchen embraced a “rooster” motif (for reasons that might take you a moment to process). And the living room where we found ourselves watching the game was also thematically decorated with photos of wildlife and pieces of taxidermy.

Although, I tried as hard as I could to appreciate baseball, I found myself falling asleep after drinking a Diet Coke. A few hours later, I awoke to find myself in his bed. As much as I love cuddling, I was not prepared for this. I immediately tensed up and searched for excuses. It was an awakening of other sorts as well.

Getting up, I woke him and explained uneasily, “I need to get home. I have a paper to write early tomorrow.” And like that it was over—the text-messaged lines of poetry subsided and we started avoiding each other at the gym.

It turned out my dreams for an atypical, manly guy were short-sighted and that my first love was still casting a heavy shadow over my love life and perhaps always would. My first love had become the standard every other man, whether that be this other Mark or Jack or Anderson, in my life would be measured against whether I liked it or not.

End of Series

The title AfterMARK references a TV show from 1983-85 called AfterMASH, a spinoff of M*A*S*H which was a pun on the word ‘aftermath.’ The problem with many spinoffs is that they are more about the old show rather than the new characters or situations presented. This was the aftermath of Mark.

AfterMARK, Part 8

Playing with Fireworks

Weeks after our first date, Anderson and I finally found time to go on another.

Just as with Cowboy Mark, dinner and a movie seemed like a safe bet. Relatively little planning, opportunities to converse and cuddle, etc. made the date an ideal situation for two busy GMBs.

I took a courageous step and took him to a local restaurant. There was a mystique of being out in the open and on a date in public yet almost completely closeted. Was I being stupid? Impulsive? Bold? Rebellious?

No one I knew was there, but surely someone who knew me or my parents was. In a way, a novel sense of normalcy encompassed the act of going to a local restaurant in the company of couples who had frequented it for well over five decades.

In a way, we are the same, I thought. Their married, seventy-something, heterosexual dinner dates seemed just as valid as our own, and as we ordered I imagined the couple across the room doing the same thing half a century ago. His peppered mustache and hair turned jet black and her purple-tinged grey reverted to its former state—a mousy, reddish brown.

In fifty years, no one will look back on this date and turn his nose at it, I wondered as they left. Where are they were off to? Maybe home to watch the same movie or perhaps to spend the night in each other’s arms like that night I shared on the stage with Anderson?

That night, we meandered through a number of topics at dinner(although limited mostly to theatre and television), and I realized that there was an undeniable physical attraction. The sensation of his stubbled face against mine and the ever-present tone of kindness in his voice made me smile at an instant. The differences in age and intellect didn’t seem to matter as much as I thought it would.

An hour later, we found ourselves in a park watching the moon rise over the waters and the movie Penelope on my laptop. As it got cold, we retreated to my car to finish the movie.

As we watched arguably one of the most timeless kisses in cinema history (with James McEvoy—arguably one of the most handsome men of cinema history), our hearts began to pound and any conversation we had at that moment is now well-forgotten.

All I remember is his hand pressing against my cheek gently drawing me closer to his stubbled face. We both smiled briefly as we closed our eyes and I joined him in the now-reclined passenger seat.

We threw our jackets in the backseat. My arms found their way around him. He put his arms around me on the small of my back.

Starting on our sides, we turned and I found myself on top of him. I felt the warmth of his strong, slightly-calloused hands. We paused holding each other and holding ourselves back.

“We need a breather,” I said. And with that, we stopped, catching our breath and recording the moment. It was like we’d both run the hundred yard dash and collapsed on each other.

We resumed and traded places.

My hand grazed his face as we closed our eyes again and I drew his face towards mine with a slight giggle. In a few moments, we were right back to where we’d started when suddenly there was an explosion.

“GMB, you need to move.”

“What?”

“Get out from under me.”

In an instant, I moved to the right side of the seat without a second thought.

He stood there for a moment holding himself up above the seat momentarily. He sighed in the most subdued way he could.

“Could you hand me my jacket?”

I did and asked (in the most understanding way possible), “Did what I thought just happened really happen?”

Blushing a bright red as he tied his jacket around his waste, he nodded.

“But we weren’t even…”

“I kno—”

At that very moment we saw a bright light—not in the sky or above the lake, but in my rear view mirror. I quickly returned to my place in the driver’s seat and he took a few deep breaths.

Red and blue lights flashed for a moment as our hearts began to race again, then we heard a tap on my now fogged-up window.

“Sir, could I ask both of you two to step out of the vehicle. You realize you are trespassing here after dark.”

My heart was pounding just as fast as moments earlier, but for different reasons. The officer walked around the car and could read the guilt all over Anderson and the jacket tied around his waist.

I wondered what he would do. Would this become my first noted instance of discrimination for being gay?

“I’ll need to see your IDs.”

I immediately pulled out mine and saw my temple recommend peering out from behind a business card.

“Please wait in the car.”

We did (for what seemed like an eternity) in complete silence.

“Have a good night and drive safely,” he said returning our licenses, then driving off. For whatever reason, he'd let us off with a warning.

Minutes later, the night ended with a quick uneasy goodbye hug.

End, Part 8

AfterMARK

Returning from Canada, I knew that things had to change.  I couldn’t go around feeling ashamed or  sorry for myself or feeling like I’d be alone for the rest of my life.  That said, I was returning to a more judgmental place and any adjustment would be gradual. 

Even two months after it was over, my life still seemed to revolve around Mark.  My every action, it seemed, was a reaction to his absences.  Following my trip, though, I returned aware that changes needed to be made. 

I was going to meet people.  I was going to date.  I was going to make friends going through the same situation (aside from me and Cole). 

Part 1: A Friend

Returning to work, Stacia noticed that I was in better spirits.  After the breakup, she could spot the disappointment on me like Oprah can spot a good book.  Upon my return, my account of the adventure at work focused mostly upon the scenery and the research. 

Pulling me aside, she pointed out the change in my disposition.  “You’re looking refreshed. Any Canadian lovin’ I need to know about?” She was delighted by my boldness in obtaining Marcelo, the flight attendant’s, phone number and my moment in Eric’s arms.  “You have the makings of a playa’!”

I was really amused by her comment.  The only gay boys I knew at school were entirely unappealing.  They fit every stereotype I was trying to escape.  They seemed to get upset over every little issue and whine about their lot in life to an unbearable degree.  They had no idea what I was going through.

Then it hit me.  I’m being a total hypocrite.  I want a world of acceptance and love yet I can’t bring myself to give one of these guys a chance.  I was going to give someone a chance.  Someone safe that I could confide in.  Someone who could save me from the consuming loneliness that I faced on a daily basis. 

One day Jack walked into my office.  He had a nerdy vibe, a high-pitched voice, and that sarcastic, witty way about him.  A slight ping in the gaydar went off.  I think he’s gay, but not too gay.  Sure enough, after a wee bit of facebook stalking, it was clear that he was safe to approach (“interested in men” is a pretty big clue). 

When an opportune time arose, I used my beat around the bush tactics to make a connection and get to the subject.  I started:

Jack, I noticed your status update yesterday (when I was making some changes to the department profile on Facebook) and it struck me-- Geez, that's exactly how I feel right now. You see, I'm going through a pretty bad break-up and it's killing me.

Despite his gruffly sarcastic exterior, he proved himself sensitive and gracious as he sent me a considerate reply:

It's always nice to feel like you have someone who will listen, someone that can at least agree and say "Yes, I get it", even if they can't fix the problem. I'm glad that you at least felt like you could message me. I'm sorry it ended badly. You will find someone better who actually deserves you. Chin up! If you ever need someone to talk to, don't hesitate to ask.

What better response could a guy in my position ask for?  Someone was ready to listen to me and take care of me.  Not long after that, we were texting and hanging out. 

It had become just what I’d wanted when things got complicated.

End, Part 1

Note: Whoever can explain the title of this series first can ask me any question they’d like.  I’ll answer as I deem appropriate (via email or an actual post).

The Experiment, Part 6

The Next Step

Like coins, every aspect of life has two sides.

I had reached the most lonely point in my life. I was in a land completely foreign to me with people who knew nothing of my situation. The other side of loneliness became more and more apparent as my trip continued. I spent four days on the road conducting interviews, taking pictures, visiting museums, and working hard.

Each day I told myself, “You’re lucky. There are few who are able to do anything like this as an undergrad—alone.”

There it was again. That word. I was alone, but in a good way. Exercising true independence for the first time, I was getting closer to becoming the person I aspired to ultimately be.

This trip forced me to plan and revise those plans as necessary. It took me to the ocean for the first time in my life, to the greenest on an adventure down a mineshaft, and through the greenest forests I’d ever seen.

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This was definitely marked progress. I was beginning to recognize what I amounted to despite what seemed like the ultimate rejection. The obvious revelation that my value didn’t hinge on someone else was slow-in-coming and not without relapses. I had to raise myself out of this depression by being what I’d considered selfish.

All of my actions were driven by those around me—driven by what they would feel or do or say about this innocent kid who had the single shred of acceptance of his sexuality pulled out from under him. I was being driven by fear when I needed to be guided by the very potential peeking through the cracks in the foundation of my crumbling life.

Pull yourself together. You have work to do.

became:

There is no reason not to love you. You live life the best way you know how. You care about others. You are living up to the potential bestowed upon you.

Being prideful (or what some would consider confident) and selfish (self-respecting) proved the necessary solution. Paradoxically, caring for and respected myself were the only ways I would keep myself from emotionally barricading myself or physically removing myself from my own life.

As I made my way over the bridge to the final destination of my trip, the capitol of the province, something came over me. What I was telling myself was finally coming together with the world opening up before me.

I was here because I belonged here. I had done the work. I had made the effort. I had used my time, my talent, and my intellect to do research that only I could do.

I realized just like any other of the hundreds of thousands of people in that city, I had my place and I belonged even if it wasn’t exactly the place or purpose I’d envisioned just months before with Mark.

End, Part 6

What the Heck is Boxing Day? and Other Holiday Lessons I’ve Gleaned from TV

TV may rot our brains, but sure makes up for it sometimes.  Christmas is one of those times (and every Wednesday night there’s an episode of Glee showing). 

Inspired by the resident TV-holic’s column on mental floss, I came up with a list of my favorite holiday lessons:

1. Boxing Day?  What kind of a holiday is that!?

I’m sure that many of you have looked at a calendar and wondered about little ol’ Dec. 26.  Behind Christmas and  Christmas Eve, this little holiday gets overlooked (mostly because we don’t celebrate it here).  It’s the day that servants and royalty traded places for a day to learn about each other.  Winchester works in the kitchen while Klinger acts as Coronel.  Perspective is the only present anybody unwraps on this day. 

2. Being with Those You Love Is Healing in Itself

Snowed in, the gang of The Mary Tyler Moore Show agrees to participate in the filming of a holiday-themed episode of Sue Ann’s show The Happy Homemaker.  Due to a series of squabbles earlier, Murray, Ted, Lou, and Mare start out pretty testy, but by the end of the night, their hearts are warmed by the holiday spirit and each other’s company.  See the transition here:

 

3. Singing Can Get You Out of Any Awkward Situation

Perhaps not a very good lesson (or true), but hilarious.  For those of you who don’t know, this delightfully edgy show (The Catherine Tate Show) out of the UK.  It’s also the basis of the first conversation I ever had with Mark.

Perhaps, the better lesson is have some tact.

4. Every Family is Dysfunctional

I often tell people that my second mission in life is to keep 30 Rock from becoming the next Arrested Development (cancelled after three seasons after winning a countless number of awards).  Episodes like Ludachristmas are the reason for that. 

Jack’s insanely cold mother, Colleen (played by Elaine Stritch), is in from Florida for a holiday visit.   This trip coincides with that of the hyperbolically stable and supportive Lemons, Liz’s family.  As Jack starts to identify with the Lemons and prefer their company, she makes it her mission to teach him a valuable lesson.  The holiday message of this episode is bold: every family has its problems, so there’s no reason to envy or compare yourself to someone else’s family situation.

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.

The Experiment, Part 2

Part 2: The Mormon

For the first time in a long while, things were feeling oddly natural despite being terrified at the possibility of a same-sex relationship my entire life. (When I was 10, this homophobia caused me to stop watching Ellen’s sitcom when she came out). Giving Marcelo my number was a huge step.

While I’d never had the gumption or the desire to do the same with a woman after 23 years of mental and emotional conditioning, this felt like a step in the right direction. He gave me his number and we’ve kept in touch although we’ve never managed to be in the same city at the same time.

I saw him off to his gate and made my way over to mine only to find that it had been delayed a few hours. This being the first time I’d ever flown alone, I became a little apprehensive. Making some effort to be social and distract myself, I entered a couple of conversations and put myself at ease when the woman at the ticket counter made the announcement, “Flight 816 to Canada has been cancelled please form a single file line to the ticket counter so that we can resolve this issue and get you home.”

As travelers tend to do, a swarm of passengers immediately accosted the counter, leaving the more laidback behind.

“I can’t believe this,” I heard. “Now I have to let my husband know I won’t make it to our anniversary dinner.”

“Well, Steph, at least he won’t miss the Maple Leafs game now,” a man said chuckling to himself.

“Cut it out, Carson.” Another man cut in, “She hasn’t seen him in three weeks.”

“And this kid’s probably got a girlfriend waiting for him,” Carson said, pointing at me.

Aware that he’d noticed my eavesdropping, I said, “No. Nobody’s waiting for me….anymore.” I laughed awkwardly and they left it at that.

Carson and Steph (on their way back from Ecuador) along with Wallace (a quiet executive in the Cayman Islands) introduced themselves and expressed their delight that I was visiting their country to conduct research.

“Where are you from?” Steph asked.

“Utah.”

“Ah. Mormonlandia, eh?” Carson joked.

The time had come to be open about another part of my identity. “The last time I was on a plane, I was actually coming back from a mission in South America.”

They had their fair share of questions regarding polygamy, the Word of Wisdom, and mission life. They also shared admiration for their Mormon neighbors and the temples they had seen. Over the next 12 hours, I answered these questions as we enjoyed a series of adventures—finding a cab, getting a hotel (see left) at a reasonable price, chatting over dinner in Chinatown, and making the 4 am run to another airport.

And, as a gesture of their Canadian hospitality, they refused to let me pay for anything. “You’re our guest,” Steph assured me. Regardless of my race, religion, or sexual orientation, they would have treated me the same way.

As we bid our goodbyes and went in four different directions, I realized

1. That I was in love with Canada
   
   and
   
   
2. That just as I felt at ease with being gay on this trip, I was also content with my identity as a member of the Church.

The Experiment

In the aftermath of the breakup with Mark, I found myself alone not only in the general emotional senses of the word. I was on a plane—excited to be traveling, scared to be on my own, and unsure about how I was going to handle Mark’s complete disconnect.

This was my opportunity to experiment with an identity totally new to me. One that I’d come to accept over time and perhaps even embrace. I was a gay Mormon and during this trip, I was going to be “out.”

As we all know, though, being out isn’t a matter of shouting from the rooftops, “I’m a flaming homosexual!”

From the beginning, being gay came up just as any other piece of my identity—my religion, my aspirations, my middle name—would. Things would simply come up when they came up. Also, I decided that I wasn’t going to skirt around the issues because I was going to the most accepting and liberal place I’d been in my entire life: Canada.

There would be no repercussions.

No judgments.

No misassumptions.

I could be me.

Part 1: The Number

The experiment all started on the way there. Once I’d crossed the Utah border, it was time to be a little more open. The journey entailed a few layovers and normal, surface-level conversations with my seatmates, but the topic never really came up with the biological engineer or the Atlanta housewife.

One particular layover turned out to be long enough to take a nice walk around the airport and get a feel for the travel culture of which I was practically a foreigner. I people-watched a great deal of the time analyzing the clothing, the conversations, the drink orders. It was totally enthralling to make up stories and contemplate the great, mobile matrix of humanity.

After a few hours, I found myself hungry and debating whether to buy some overly-priced airport food or wait another few hours for my in-flight meal. I wandered a bit trying to find something that I wouldn’t have to exercise off later. I also realized that my people watching had turned into checking guys out. I was letting myself admire the male body.

I caved and got in line at Au Bon Pain—mostly because someone had caught my eye. He was 5’9” with finely trimmed facial hair and dark features. He was listening to his iPod, enjoying sandwich and orange juice alone. Our eyes had caught each other on at least three occasions while I stood in line and I wondered to myself, Is he catching me checking him out or is he checking me out too?

Once I’d reached the front of my line and received my order, I’d realized that for whatever reason the stars had aligned. The only seat left was across from him at a table for two.

My hands were tied. The inevitable conversation began:

“Is this seat taken?”

He immediately pulled out his headphones, introduced himself as Marcelo, and started up a conversation about his job (as a flight attendant) and his family in Puerto Rico. Within a half hour, dating had come up and I was at ease. It felt normal not only to talk about Mark and how I felt, but also to speak of him in the past tense.

“You know, you’re a good guy,” he said. “You have a good head on your shoulders. You care about people. You want what’s best for them. That’s kind of rare.”

“Here’s my number. Let me know the next time you’re in SLC.”

“Thanks. I’d really like that.”

End, Part 1

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.

The Five Tests

"Elders and Sisters," he said, "this is part of your preparation to find your eternal companion. Relish every moment of your mission and you will be blessed in every sense of the word."

We've all sat down and given good thought to what we want out of a partner. I remember hearing a talk from a general authority in my mission about finding the right spouse. He gave us instructions regarding our physical and emotional well-being and ended with three pieces of advice meant for our return:

"Upon your return, you mustn't neglect to seek out the woman that will raise your children and love you beyond the day that you die. She will have a greater impact on you than your mission ever will."

That, of course, did not help the more trunky Elders (slang for the missionaries incapacitated by homesickness).

"I present to you three tests your future wife must complete to make sure she's the one."

The missionaries (Elders and sisters alike) readied their pens to take furious notes in anticipation of the Seventy's formula for happiness.

"First, take her to her ward and visit the nursery. See how she does with the kids. Then tell the nursery leaders they can take a break. Agitate the kids a bit by telling them they get cookies after church is over then lock her in the room alone with a dozen three-year olds. If she survives..."

We hesitated a little wondering if it was appropriate to laugh.

"... and doesn't kill you, at least you know she'll be a good mother."

Then, the inappropriate laughter commenced.

Working off the energy of the crowd he continued, "The second test is much easier. Set up a quiet dinner date for the two of you... and invite your parents. Give her an hour's notice. If the meal turns out well, and doesn't kill you, you'll know she's a good cook."

At this point, a few of the Elders were probably still taking him seriously, unfortunately.

"Finally, the last test is a date on the beach. Make sandcastles, have a romantic walk, and make sure to have a good swim. When you're out in the water (and when she's least suspecting), dunk her a few times then take a good look. If that's something you're okay with looking at every morning, you've probably found the right woman.

"Of course, if she has the patience to go through all of that, you have an added bonus."

Everyone had a good laugh at the implausibility of the suggestions. Considering the fact that he the general authority was a Latino speaking in Latin America, there's a little more leeway as far as machismo and humor go. The advice is abstractly practical. Essentially, he was telling us that we should consider more than just sexual attraction as a matrimonial barometer.

Over the past year, I've worked out my own little informal system consisting of five tests:

Test #1: The First Date Test.

Generally, I don't turn down a first date. I think that one-on-one time is where you really find out about a person, and first impressions are pretty important in my book. Even the type of date is important; dinner and a movie is not ideal for me because I want to know someone through conversation. (In total, the number of guys who have taken this test is approaching 80).

Test #2: The Cole Test

Cole has my back. He wants to see me happy and I value his opinion. When I'm dating someone and enjoying it, Cole is generally the first one to find out and if Cole feels it's about to get serious, he either meets the boy or finds him on Facebook in order to conduct a "worthiness interview." (About 3 have gone through the interview process and another 5 or so have met him).

Test #3: The Girl Friends Test

Practically every GMB has his straight Mormon girl friends. If the boy I like can survive any awkwardness surrounding my friends and their weirdness, loudness, and/or difference in belief, he's probably a keeper. (3 have made it to this point).

Test #4: The Bobbie Jean Test

As one of Bobbie Jean's 3 Gay Sons, I am obligated to take gay boy in question 'to meet the parents.' She's expects a lot because, in her eyes, I deserve the best.I've only gathered the courage to introduce one boy to her. (Mark).

Test #5: The Parents Test

Of course, if my surrogate mother's opinion matters so much, my actual mother's (and father's) will as well. They have met a few of the boys I've dated, however I've never introduced them as anything more than friends. Though it's difficult to think about sometimes, I'm confident that one day I'll meet someone who, in my parents' eyes will be worth losing my eternal salvation.

I Now Pronounce Thee…, Part 5

Revealed

Imagine being outed to the girl who wrote you throughout your mission—pushed out of the closet door in but a blink of an eye. A look of terror coming across your face as she looks to see your reaction, pulling away a little asking why didn't you tell me? The pieces pull themselves together in her head—the conversations about the right girl being impossible to find; the intensely deep discussions of literature, theatre, music, and art; the uncanny and undying devotion to sock-shirt color coordination.

Jeannie was the one person aside from my own mother who regularly wrote me on my mission. We were connected on a level I'd never felt with any other girl. We could finish each other's sentences, hold arguments over any number of common interests, and point out minute, unmentionable flaws in each other. In the mission field, I contemplated more than once the idea of coming home and marrying her—the lives that we'd lead, the continued, growing friendship, the intertwining of each and every branch of our life.

These fantasies were spurred by a number of conditions. I was a continent away, reading glory stories of men coming home, getting married, and raising families. I have no idea if her intention was the same as mine, but the poetry we exchanged and the clippings of my favorite comic strip would likely indicate that that's the case.

Needless to say, once I got home from my mission, things did not work out—romantically—between us. We spent more time than ever together. We continued having our late-night discussions, and critique one another's poetry, but something never took. That seed of mutual interests, compatible senses of humor, and everything else never blossomed into a romance. It never even peeked out of the soil.

Upon returning from my mission, things immediately started where we'd left off, but it was only a matter of months before we hit a wall. I was attracted to her in every way but sexually. There was no 'spark' because I didn't even that special feeling, and as a result, we never went on a single date, though the possibility was always implied. One day, when I felt comfortable with it, we were going to go on that first magical date. That date never came, so someone else came along.

As Matt entered her life, we remained friends, but our friendship became more and more dependent on Facebook as we headed in different directions and they started to absorb every free moment in each other's lives as lovers tend to do. Eight months later, they were married in the temple. The reception was beautiful. The wedding colors were white and a very subtle green and Jeannie's bouquet of lilies brought out the often over-looked color in Jeannie's reddish-brown hair. The reception was held a stone's throw away from the bride's house in a town a stone's throw from nowhere.

I arrived at the wedding with Cole and a guest. Although I can't be certain what Jeannie knew or inferred close as we were, that guest was possibly the last piece of the puzzle she needed. I brought Mark. Deep down, I suppose I wanted to show my boyfriend that I wanted to be married someday and that I thought being with him was worth whatever risk bringing him to the wedding entailed. I simply introduced him as a friend who was going on a mission to the northeast soon. (All true). Everyone took it at face value and didn't question why I would bring a random young man to the reception of one of my best friend.

One year later, we all found ourselves at another wedding (with the exception of Mark who was on his mission).

We (and perhaps, at times, Bronson himself) thought the day would never come when he would find his special someone, but then we met Cheryl (a story which deserves a post—nay—a series of its own). They were perfect for each other. Again, it was a beautiful reception in fabulous June weather. Book-ended by two days of rain, it was the perfect temperature. In the bride's back yard, the reception had a cozy feeling. All of my dearest friends sat at the table reminiscing about past weddings and the high school days.

As the wedding came to a close and the line dissipated, one of the bridesmaids flitted over in her lime green and pink dress to join Cole, myself, Matt, Jeannie, and Emily. Liz had heard Cole's infamous laugh and a conversation about the music of Up from across the yard. (We tend to demand that attention in large groups). Every aspect of Liz's personality and appearance contrasted with that of her sister, the bride. While Cheryl, though lovely, initially came off as somewhat awkward and conservative….

Liz's first question for us immediately following our discussion of the visual and narrative significance of the movie Up was:

"So are you two going to PRIDE tomorrow?"

My and Cole's jaws dropped. We had no idea what to say. Gay was by no means tattooed on our foreheads, but why would it be the first question out of her mouth? Dumbstruck, neither I nor Cole could utter a word. The hair on the nape of my neck stuck up and I remembered Jeannie's presence and the fact that as close as we'd gotten to having a conversation about me being gay, it had never actually happened.

I swallowed my fear and opened my mouth, "Yes. Actually, I've been volunteering there the past two days."

"I've been meaning to go with some friends. You know me. I'm a bit of a 'fruit fly.'"

At that, it was immediately revealed to Cole and I had a new friend. We also had confirmation that any hopes that Jeannie and Matt might have had that we were straight were laid to rest next to that dream that what Jeannie and I had might grow into something more.

I Now Pronounce Thee…, Part 4

Awkward

"Keep your Peter in Your Pants!"

Throughout high school, those words were our own inappropriate inside joke. Unlike other parents that would say things like "Remember who you are" as their children heading out of the house, Cole's Father, prior to any date, would employ humor rather than guilt and awkward embarrassment to keep his sons from having any pre-marital sex. Well into our college years, his gruff voice always carried with it a certain sense of intimidation.

Hoping to embarrass him, the night of his wedding Cole decided to text our friend Payton this little phrase to see how embarrassed/mad/anxious he would get. We never saw his reaction. Either foreseeing our prank or out of politeness to his wife and family, the phone remained in his pocket and turned off throughout the reception. Later, of course, he would get the message and likely roll his eyes before hopping into the honeymoon bed.

That night started off as embarrassing for me as any of us could ever hope to embarrass Payton. Jacqueline had just found out (and adjusting to her new mantle of 'fruit fly') and Cole and I were making efforts to be more open about our escapades to that point in our lives. On our way to the wedding—the true highlight of the story—the subject of dating had come up and at this point in the process of coming out, I was dating a lot. Jacqueline had plenty of questions about what had happened prior to her return from her mission.

Following a discussion of Cole's engagement and our journey to "coming out to ourselves," my best friend took the opportunity to share every embarrassing detail and offer perspectives I'd never heard before on my four months of dating. I'd never say that it was a form of revenge or anything malicious, but if Cole had wanted to blackmail me at that time, these stories would be the one's he'd use in my tell-all biography.

Looking back, these were nothing more than tales of inexperience and puppy love, but they were really the most intimate moments of my life at the time. Despite being on his mission, Mark remained on my mind at all times, so any discussion of our time together brought up all sorts of emotions I wasn't prepared to deal with (just as Cole faced a rush of emotions every time he was forced to explain his failed engagement and the hardest of these stories to hear really touched on both of these experiences.

"It was your average outing with Bobbie Jean with one exception," Cole began. "It was the regular dinner and a show/opera/exhibit format, but GMB had brought Mark to meet the parents so to speak. Bobbie Jean is basically our mom. She provides the guidance that she would provide her children were she to have any and we, her gay boys, take the advice we'd never get from our parents.

"We had a very normal dinner—Chinese at the best place in town. We caught up on each others lives and everyone got to know GMB's boyfriend. It was a little awkward I suppose because my 'date' for the night was the last girl I'd attempted to date."

Jacqueline interjected with a barely-audible "Hmm?," squinting slightly in one eye. "Oh…. Long story. We would take each other out pretty often for lunch. I guess it started out as dating and ended up turning into discussions of why we could never be a couple."

"Oh," Jacqueline uttered, sympathizing with the unintentional jilting of another straight Mormon girl.

"At dinner, we spent a lot of time joking about how things didn't work out, but we quickly moved on to teasing the lovebirds." At that moment, I'm sure I blushed a little.

"It got even better at the show. Myra had gotten us free tickets to Footloose on the back row—where no one can see you cuddle...." The jab carried sufficient weight to make me blush even more.

"To be honest, though," he continued, "the real show was not what was on stage. All of us—me and Bobbie Jean, especially—were much more entertained by GMB and Mark's attempting to hold hands seated next to an old Mormon couple. They'd probably been married fifty years on their weekly date when out of the blue the homos show up to make them uncomfortable."

Noticing that I was getting a little red in the face, Cole decided to test the limits a little bit. Jacqueline chuckled despite her sympathy for the couple just going to the show to see a little community theater, and Cole's description of our hand-holding: "They were like two turtles. Both of them were so anxious over being seen or what people would think or what each other might do, they would make all of the signals to hold each others' hands and then pull away. This went on for maybe a half hour as Bobbie Jean and I chuckled to ourselves a few seats down.

"Finally, they did it. The couple showed a little initial discomfort, but they got over it. The satisfaction on Mark and GMB's faces was priceless, though. Who knew that releasing those hormones would lead to such happiness on the faces of two gay boys?"

Just when I thought it was over and I couldn't be more horrified, Cole brought up the backseat—the very one we were sitting in on our way to Payson's wedding. It was perhaps the cutest moment that Mark and I had ever had. It just happened to take place in Cole's backseat and Cole just happened to be there.

"We decided to take my car to save gas and carpool. So, the plan was for GMB to take Mark to the door, kiss him goodnight, and kiss him goodbye. But…"

I chuckled in anticipation.

"…as we got to Mark's house just past midnight we realized that his neighbors were outside working on a car with the kind of floodlights they'd use in an NFL stadium. An angry groan came from the back seat 'Stupid Brother Sorenson. Who works on a car at this hour?!' Needless to say, their little plan was ruined. No good night smooch. No romantic goodbyes. Nothing….

"Until Mark made a request: 'Cole, can your backseat be my doorstep tonight?' I gave in and let them go at it for a while. All sorts of terrible sounds were coming from back there. I didn't even have time to turn on the radio or cover my ears!"

I thought that was the worst of it. The most embarrassed I could possibly be and the most uncomfortable that Jacqueline could feel about her RM boy friend making out a pre-missionary. It got worse, though. I blushed more than I'd ever blushed and as anxious as that time I hit the emergency button in my grandmother's hospital room when I was seven.

"I couldn't believe it! GMB was inaugurating MY backseat. Even when I was engaged, I didn't get to make out back there. I am a good friend! I am a DAMN GOOD friend for donating my back seat! To this day, he's gotten more action in my car than I have! You owe me, GMB. You owe me big."

The conversation ended in awkward laughter. I wasn't sure whether to feel worse over Jacqueline's discomfort (as she squinted and squeaked a little bit as she laughed) or my own (as I laughed off the awkwardness and Cole reassured me he'd worked through those feelings). It was difficult to realize that my escapades had caused angst for my best friend, but we worked things out in a couple of minutes as we made our way into the most awkward wedding reception of our life. The emotions were a bit off. Awkward neediness and anger filled the air. Unfortunately, unlike our situation in the car, this tension didn't disappear with laughter.

“We Need to Talk”, Part 4

Coming out to Emily made life seem whole for a while. There was one group of people I could go to at any time who I could talk to this part of my life about. I didn't need to worry what they thought or who they would tell. We had a special bond. One that still holds strong to this day even if we don't see each other as regularly as we used to.

That sense of trust and freedom was challenged as we awaited the return of Jacqueline. She was part of the original gang from high school. The last of us to go on a mission and the last to come back. This was on everyone's mind—Matilde, Cole, Emily and I were constantly thinking about Jacqueline's reaction to the news that both I and Cole had to share with her if she was going to be as integral a part of our lives as before. "How are we going to bring it up?" "How long should we wait?" Etc.

Inevitably, each of these conversations ended with "She's not going to take this well." If Jacqueline were to hold to a stereotype in LDS culture, it would be the faithful, spiritually sensitive girl. Of course, Jacqueline has always been capable of making jokes, having fun, and forgiving faults; however, our concern was amplified by the fact that all of these spiritual sensitivities would be heightened by serving a mission. There was also one other huge concern hanging over our heads.

Unfortunately for Cole, he had a lot more at stake in this episode of "As the Closet Door Opens" thanks to history. It all started in high school. As a result of mutual interests and common senses of humor along with a great deal of time spent together, Jacqueline had developed a crush on Cole. Let's face it—this is not uncommon. If a boy dresses well, has good taste in music and theatre, etc., the girls are going to appreciate that. It's only natural—even if he is gay. In high school, Cole didn't try to make things work. Following his mission (and before Jacqueline's), however, the cultural pressure to make things finally trumped. They went on a few dates and things ended awkwardly. They still considered each other friends, but a sense of letdown pervaded because a relationship that never could have worked in fact did not.

Once Jacqueline returned, a certain distance remained between them. I ended up spending a lot of time with her and realized that she had come back way more normal than any of us had anticipated. I'd returned from my mission in the aftermath of things not working out with Cole and ended up spending a lot of time with her—going bowling with Brenda, watching movies, playing board games with her parents. It was pretty much the same thing when she got back. I realized that I need to key her in a little more on the goings on in my life before she developed feelings for me beyond friendship.

I told her everything about Mark—that I had fallen in love, that I felt special for once in my life and that we'd broken up before he went on his mission and left me not wanting to pursue a relationship for some time. I did leave out one detail, though. I left out the fact that he was a he by referring to him only as "the missionary" and avoiding all gender-based pronouns. It was all I was prepared for at the time. It did keep her from thinking we were anything more than friends.

Everything was clarified a few months after coming home from her mission. One night, I got a text "Jacqueline knows about me now. I thought you should know we had a talk. ~Cole"

Not surprisingly, the very next morning, I got a call at work. Knowing that she was probably in a mild form of shock, I answered. "Hey. What do you have planned for lunch today? You want to get something at the food court? We need to talk."

A couple of hours later, I met her on campus at the food court between my classes. She looked flustered to say the least. Her eyes were a little red either from crying or a lack of sleep and the conversation started out unusually awkward. She was searching out the right words to talk about something I obviously knew about, but was spiritually and emotionally sensitive for her.

"I think I know what you want to talk about. Cole texted me last night."

The shock became more apparent. Even though I'd broken the ice for her, she still had no idea what to say. Her expression just seemed to scream "Why?!"

As the scary conversation started, she voiced her concerns. "I just don't think that he's happy. He went through that bad engagement and I'm not sure he ever healed from that."

Everything seemed to have a little deeper meaning that went unstated. "I'm not sure he ever will heal now that he thinks he's gay" seemed to be what she meant in the moment.

"I worried so much about him while I was gone," she said as her empathy turned to self-incrimination. There is no way to know for sure, but she seemed like she wished in that moment that there was something she could have done to make things work when they had gone out. The truth of the matter is neither of them could have. No one was to blame for things not turning out the way any of us had hoped or wanted or been taught they would in Sunday school.

I reassured that Cole was doing much better than before. "He's been through a lot in life and he's healing for the first time in a long while. I've seen him at his worse and he is doing so much better."

This reassurance comforted her to a small degree. "I'm so glad we talked," Jacqueline said with teary eyes. "It's hard to think of Cole as gay." Then, immediately, a question popped out of her mouth that I wasn't expecting. You aren't gay too, are you?!"

It was so loud that the world seemed to stop for a moment while everyone on the food court started to listen to our conversation it seemed. Considering the shock she'd been through last night, the only thing I could come up with at the time was a whispered, reactionary "That's not important." And, after an initial shocked pause, I delivered an assertive yet reserved "Yes. Yes I am, Jacqueline."

The look on her face wasn't nearly as shocked as I had expected. There was clearly a sense of "What man in my life isn't gay?!" pseudo-resentment on her face, but she remained the same friend.

"I'm so happy you told me."

"Jacqueline, you must have noticed a difference from when you left. Right?"

"Yes."

I told her about Grey and figuring things out months ago and said directly and clearly, "I'm happier than I've ever been. Everything is going right. I understand myself and I found the confidence I'd always lacked in life. I can look people in the eye because I am happy about who I am, what I do, and what I've accomplished in my life."

"It's true and I'm happy for you," she said as genuinely as ever. We hugged and said goodbye, but clearly our little talk didn't leave her with much comfort.

Like our instincts had told us, not every coming out experience could go well. Jacqueline had a mini-breakdown. A bad week at work, tests, and some family drama that all hit at once along with our little coming out talks. It took a little help from our other girl friends, but she worked through things in her own time.

It's hard to see someone so affected by a little life detail that we really have no control over. If we're attracted to the same sex and tell someone, their life really shouldn't come crashing down. It's a matter of honesty, trust, and love. In the end, I do feel being honest brought us all a bit closer despite the initial and subsequent drama of coming out.

End, Part 4.