by Seth King
But deeper than that, underneath all the sass, it really does hurt.
Sometimes it really does feel bad. Why was I born like this, anyway? Why couldn’t I have been Tom Brady? Sometimes I do kind of hate being me. I mean, how could I not? All everyone ever does is tell me all the things that are wrong with me. My voice is too high, my wrists are too loose, even my face has been described as “girly.” I could joke about it all day in the self-deprecating way I usually take, but the reality is that it makes me feel as worthless as the clothes on my back. If people are rejecting me because of something I cannot change about myself, what does that say about me? Why are so many things wrong with me?
The line of sweaty, irritated travelers finally starts moving off the plane, and soon I am rushing through the airport to the exits, suddenly wishing I’d brought a jacket to hide over my stupid shirt.
In my daily life I guess I’ve learned to blend in, to be two people at once. My inner monologue can be as sassy as it wants to be, but I guess I keep my clothes as “masculine” as possible. That way, I don’t attract any attention. Because attention can lead to problems, and problems can lead to danger, and all of it in general leads to humiliation. I once tried to wear tight, ripped jeans on a night out in my town, and a car slowed down so a bunch of frat boys could lean out of the window and shout “faggot! Hahahaha.”
So, as I grew up, I guess I started learning to blend in, to live two lives inside one body. I could be as gay as I wanted in the gay bars, but in public, you learn to edit yourself: you walk a little taller, you move your wrists a little less, you speak a little deeper.
And then it all changed.
This year I found someone who started changing things. I found someone who accepted me, for the first time, in a way I have never been accepted in my life, not even by my parents. I found someone who changed my whole life, and nobody knows it but me. And it has to stay that way, because over the last year I made the stupidest move any gay man could ever make: yes, that’s right, I fell in love with a straight guy who will never love me back.
And speaking of straight guys: as I wait for an Uber outside the terminal, I get a text that makes my heart skip a few beats:
Hey. I’m at the house, and…I think we should have a talk tonight. Just let me know when you’re close.
3
Evan Ruiz
The night Tom left for his annual trip, leaving me with an empty heart and an emptier apartment, I called my mom after prepping myself with a few beers. My mom is a therapist, and I try not to use her for free therapy sessions, since that’s what everyone in her life tries to do. But on this night, I couldn’t hold back. We caught up for a few minutes before I took a breath and went for it.
“Mom? I need to ask you something.”
“What?” she asked. “Are you okay?”
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I said, drawing it out. “But…this might sound weird, but how does a person know what true love is? Like, what does that feel like? How do you know it’s for sure? How do you know you found your…your person, your soulmate, whatever you want to call it?”
“Easy. When you are no longer alone inside your own mind,” she said simply, and I remember rocking back a little.
“Whoa. Explain that?”
“It’s simple. When you’re single, when you’re without someone you love, you live alone inside your head. Your day is just about getting up, putting food in your stomach, workout out your body, maybe reading a book to fill up your brain with good things. You are the main thing on your mind. When you fall in love, all of that changes. You are no longer your own biggest priority. Someone else is there with you. Always.”
“Oh, God,” I said, thinking of how I woke up every day thinking of Tom, and fell asleep with his name in my head.
“Okay, then. I may have found someone,” I said, careful to keep the pronouns gender-neutral. “But it’s…complicated.”
“Mommy’s listening,” she said with a new seriousness, and maybe something even like excitement.
“Okay. What would you do if you were in a situation where you think you might love someone, but it’s not the easiest situation ever, and you’re scared?”
“Is this person mean to you?” she asked. “Are they…are they mistreating you in any way?”
“No, no, God, it’s nothing like that, they’re amazing. I just…okay, we’re good friends, and I’m afraid that if I put it out there, I could damage things and put things past a point of no return…”
“Look. I know I don’t talk about your dad,” she said soon. “It’s…it’s tough stuff, kiddo.”
“I know it is. Well, not on your level, but…I sensed it.”
“Yes, and let me tell you, nothing about my love story with that man was easy. But let me tell you, when that man was at his best, he shined like the sun…”
After that I heard the ghosts swim into her voice, the ghosts that always appeared whenever the subject of my dad was brought up. My father essentially drank himself to death when I was nine. He was an alcoholic, and when his doctors told him he was nearing liver failure and would die if he didn’t stop, he only started drinking harder. He was dead eight months after their ultimatum.
I can’t claim to have had a Lifetime movie of a life after he died. I didn’t spin out of control; I didn’t descend into depression. I was too young to really even remember much of the period, and I don’t think the trauma really sank in enough to leave a lasting mark – well, besides the everlasting void of having to grow up without your dad, obviously. But my mom never got really over it. I think that’s why she got her therapist’s license and started practicing – she understood pain in a way nobody else I’d ever met.
“How did it start?” I asked, taking advantage of this rare window into my mother’s heart, which she usually kept under lock and key – and for reasons I understood.
“Oh, it started the first day I met him,” she said, a smile in her voice. “The first time I saw him. When I met him, I knew there were things that haunted him. His father had been emotionally abusive, and…yeah. He’d had a hard road. And I knew it. My mom warned me about getting involved with someone who was depressed, my friend Barbara even threatened to boycott the wedding…anyway. None of them understood, and the situation was never easy. But by God, the way that man loved me…he treated me like nobody had ever treated me before. The love I felt from him, I hope everyone gets to feel that way for once in their life. The love notes, the gifts, the comfort…and it wasn’t just that, either. To be loved is great, sure – but to be understood, to be seen – that’s the most profound thing of all. He was my best friend. Ah, those days with him…”
Her voice broke.
“Mom, you don’t have to go there…”
“No, Evan, I want you to hear this, God damn it. For once.”
She put down the phone. In the background I heard a tissue being blown. When she returned, she was quieter.
“The whole thing was a mess, and I don’t regret a second of it,” she began. “Loving him made no sense, and I could’ve chosen five other guys who would’ve given me an easier life – but love is never a choice. I made some missteps, but his soul was just so darned beautiful, and I…I don’t regret one second of loving that man, Evan. Not one second. If I could just go back and get one more hug, one more hour…”
I just stayed silent and let her cry into the line.
“I’m getting ahead of myself,” she said soon, sniffling. “That was my life, not yours. Anyway, back to you. If this situation isn’t like that, and if this person treats you well, I don’t see why you shouldn’t at least put some feelers out there and see what happens. Sometimes you find a love you’ll never get back. If this could be that love story, go for it, even if it’s a little messy. Hold your breath and jump. Why not?”
“Mom?” I said soon. “You know I love you forever, right?”
“Of course,” she responded. “And don’t ever think I regret any of this. He gave me the love sto
ry of a lifetime. The things we regret are the things that stay alive in us. And by the way, speaking of living without regrets: I’m talking to the biggest gift he gave me right now.”
“And what’s that?”
“You, Evan. You,” she says. “Love was what gave me you. So if you trust love, trust it all the way. That’s my advice.”
~
The conversation rattled me more than I anticipated. Something she said in particular stuck out at me like the Empire State Building – love is never a choice.
Nothing in my story with Tom ever felt anything remotely like a choice. I never chose to have the air blown out of my lungs the first time our eyes met; I never chose to become so attached to him I felt sick whenever he left. Whether I was gay or bisexual or just confused, my love for Tom wasn’t going anywhere, and things were starting to fall apart.
So that’s what I did. I listened to my mom, and I jumped. I sat down that day and wrote that stupid article, and then it exploded, and here I am.
It’s New Year’s Eve, the day of Tom’s return. I just texted him, telling him we need to talk. When he walks in from his trip, I am going to lay it all on the line, before he possibly finds out from the Internet. I have no other options.
If he says no, if he’s shocked or disgusted, if he rejects me, I will never get over it. I’ll never tell my mom this, but the pain in her eyes terrifies me. I don’t want to grow up looking at the past. And if I lose a figure in my life like Tom, I’ll never get over it.
As I sit there sinking, sometime after nine, I hear a rustling at the door. A terror spikes into my chest that I’ve never felt before.
He’s here. There is no going back now, and everything has led to this.
I take a breath and turn around.
4
Tom Carlile
The Uber from the airport to my house usually takes over thirty minutes, and it’s even worse tonight in this holiday traffic. Which gives me ample time to think…
Before you judge me, let me tell you I’m not an idiot. I know that falling for straight guys is the oldest story in the book. Every gay man I know has a story from their past when they made the mistake of falling desperately in love with a straight man who would never love them back, and it always ends in the same way: a big ole’ pot of heartbreak. All my friends were horrified when I started mentioning my crush on him. It’s the oldest mistake there is, and yet I did it. Here I am.
It started slowly. Well, I was infatuated from the first moment, but I’ve had obsessions with straight guys before, and they usually just went away. I waited for my infatuation with Evan to go away, but it never did. He wasn’t just the usual “straight guy” archetype I’d met before. They can be so closed off, so repressed – but he wasn’t. He was totally open and accepting with me, from the first moment onward.
I wanted to think he was the typical hot guy, but he wasn’t. His soul was shockingly deep – he was full of insights and wisdom and sayings, and I’ve never seen anyone love anything like he loves his little dog. And when my Mamaw died, he texted me every single day during the funeral week. Not once or twice. Every day.
He seemed genuinely concerned, in a way that felt deeper than the usual “how are you doing?” text. He was like a brother, but a brother I somehow wanted to fuck really badly, if that makes any sense at all.
We started hanging out more and more as friends, but that just made it worse. He was fucking gorgeous in a way I couldn’t ignore – his wavy black hair was movie-star lustrous, and his years of playing football meant he was beefy in the way I could never resist. Almost every night in bed, I’d jack off to the fantasies of him, and every morning I’d stare him down from across the kitchen, mourning something I could never have.
I should’ve just moved out when I had the chance. But I let the love happen. He doesn’t know that when he walks into the room, my heart stops. He is the only person I’ve ever met who accepts me for exactly what I am. He loves it when I put on a sassy, glittery top and pose in the living room, and he cheers on everything I ever hated about myself.
I’ve always felt like I was “too much” for people, too loud and too opinionated and too whatever, but to Evan I am somehow just right. I’ve never met a straight guy who is so understanding. Evan is the perfect counter-balance to me. When I need to bitch and vent and just talk to someone, he is always there. He is the first person who has ever made me feel like I am good enough.
A few months ago I realized I was heartsick over someone I could never have, so I rebelled against it. Hard. I threw myself onto the gay dating apps, but every date just made me think of Evan, and how much better the date would’ve been with him. Nobody understood me like him; nobody made me laugh like he could. I got messy and started bringing guys around, and naturally, Evan freaked. And I understood why. After all, he was open-minded, but he was still straight. And I exposed him to too much of the gay world, too soon.
Just because he was willing to watch drag queen TV shows with me didn’t mean he was comfortable with me bringing guys around. I knew my sex life was nobody’s business but mine, but still: there are rules you follow around straight guys. I broke all of them, and our friendship got weirder than ever. (If you can even call it a friendship, I guess.) He is increasingly awkward and quiet around me, and it’s all my fault. I have nobody to blame but myself.
And now, he’s doing exactly what I thought he would. He’s freaked out by being around my dates, and he’s going to notify me he’s looking for a new roommate in the new year.
That’s why I’ve been trying to pull back from him. I knew this would only end in flames. I’ve heard these stories before. If I stay, I might get drunk one night and confess and pour my heart out, and he’ll be absolutely horrified and kick me out – or worse. I’ve even heard of these situations ending in total beat-downs.
I don’t think Evan would be violent, per se, but anything is possible. At this point I’m even contemplating moving out, even if he doesn’t kick me out first. I can’t imagine my life without him, but at this point, I am out of options.
If I can’t have Evan, I don’t want anyone or anything at all.
~
When the driver drops me off at our building, it’s drizzling. When I walk in, Evan is in the kitchen, leaning against the counter, but he looks…sick, or something. I want to drop my bags and rush to him, take him in my arms and kiss him, but clearly I can’t. I don’t even want to look at him right now, and have to face what I will be losing in the new year – but I have to. Because suddenly he won’t look away from me, and he’s pale and weird and ashy and…well, totally un-Evan-like.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi?”
“Can we talk?” he asks, and I swallow. The look on his face tells me exactly what I’ve been dreading. He doesn’t want me anymore. It got too weird.
Oh, well. Maybe I got too gay around him. Maybe he just noticed how I felt. Maybe someone told him. I knew my loudmouth friends couldn’t be trusted.
Anyway, this has happened before. Last year my boss at my part-time receptionist job called me into the office with a dour look on his face.
“Look,” my boss said soon, “people are saying things, and although we have nothing against you or your lifestyle at all, this is more of a family-friendly atmosphere…”
It really happened. They fired me for being gay. The first thing I did was call a lawyer, who told me two things: she was absolutely fucking furious, and there was nothing in the world I could do about it, since the state laws held no explicit LGBT protections.
So this is the same thing. I’m getting the boot, from a guy I’m in love with. I never should’ve brought home that guy – fuck. I knew it was a mistake, but I was lonely, and he was being flirty, and, well…
“Is this about rent?” I begin, trying to bargain. “I told you, I was submitting it a day late this month, I got fired and everything has been a mess…”
He swallows. “No, no, not rent. Don’t ever worry about th
at, anyway. This is about…well, it’s about us, I guess.”
My shoulder drops. I knew it. “Great,” I kind of laugh. “Super. Just like I thought.”
“Excuse me?”
“Just say it,” I spit out, fed up with the whole day, after the incident at the airport.
“Say what?”
“That you’re uncomfortable around me because I’m so gay, and you’re kicking me out. Say it, it’s fine, I’ve been through this before. I’ll survive…if I have to…”
He sort of shakes his head, then smiles in an odd way. “Tom. Tom…”
“Yes?”
“I’m not kicking you out.”
“Okay…? What is this, then?”
He gets a face like he’s swallowing a huge, nasty pill. I’ve never seen him look ugly until now, actually, and it makes me smile a little.
Finally he clears his throat and looks me dead in the eye. “I’m…well, the thing is, I’m in love with you.”
And time stops.
As I stand there in our tiny kitchen, I stare and blink.
“What did you say?” I ask soon. “Sorry, I think I had a daydream.”
But he doesn’t react. “I…I’m in love with you, Tom.”
A tingly feeling tickles my stomach. I reach up and rub my temples. “Sorry, say that again, one more time. I just hallucinated.”
“I love you, Tom,” he says, his face twisting with pain and anguish. “I…I know this will probably freak you out and make you run away, but I don’t know how else to say it, or what else to do anymore. You invented the color of blue in the sky, and this ruined everything, I know it did, and I just…yeah. So. This all happened, and I know it’s the end, but I just had to tell you all that, because you’re kinda sorta basically on my mind forever. And yeah, by the way, I love you.”
In that moment, I want to deny it, to tell myself I’m asleep or hallucinating or that he’s just joking – but all at once, I know it’s true.