Being a product of the eighties, I unfortunately believed the prejudice that all gay people had AIDS. I immediately thought I was going to get AIDS because of what I had done. I used to spend hours in front of the mirror examining every new pimple or mark on my body. I thought every new mark was a lesion and a sign of impending doom. I was sure I had AIDS and was going to die soon. I looked up symptoms online and convinced myself that I possessed every single one. Every cough, sneeze, headache, or feeling of fatigue I believed to be a sign of my illness. I used to watch all the other kids my age with jealous eyes because they had their whole lives ahead of them and I was dying from a fatal disease for being gay. I thought my family's curse had finally reached me. I didn't tell anyone this because I was too ashamed to admit that I'd had a sexual encounter with a man. I lived with this stress and secret for months, until I educated myself a little more and learned it was scientifically impossible for AIDS to be transmitted through the sexual act I had participated in. My first experience as a gay man had not been an encouraging one. I thought all gay people were just creepy old perverts lurking in the shadows of neighborhood parks. I believed there was no love in this world for me and I would never find someone normal.
At age eighteen I was a confused and isolated gay youth with a fresh tattoo on my back. I was sure I would spend my life alone. I thought I could never find happiness being gay. On one particularly lonely afternoon I made a desperate prayer. I needed a miracle and I needed it fast. I needed someone to end my sorrow. I closed my eyes and spoke to my grandparents who had passed on. I asked them to please send me my angel. I asked them to please send me love. I finished my plea and headed out to visit the college campus I would be attending the following fall. While examining a sculpture of an eighteen-foot metal bear on campus, I met a cute freshman from Pennsylvania who was studying dance. He was a tall, gorgeous boy who smelled like Dial soap and Versace cologne. He was a little too preppy for my punk-rock attitude but I let that one pass. We had matching blue eyes and got along right away. He showed me around the campus and gave me the lowdown on the various social classes at the school. We were discussing modern dance when two photo majors approached us and asked to take our picture. We enthusiastically sat side by side on a bench and posed together for the budding artists. While the photograph was being taken I knew it would become a great piece of journalistic history in the story of my life. This picture would depict the day I met the love of my life. I had only known him for five minutes but I had a strong feeling. During our conversation the subject of tattoos came up. He informed me that he had just gotten a tattoo recently. I asked him if I could see it and he obliged. I slowly pulled down the neck of his shirt. There it was staring right back at me. He had a tattoo of a black dragon between his shoulder blades. My angel had been sent to me.
I Smell the Gas of My Father's Fishing Boat
by Adam K. Boehmer
Setting up nothing but points for yourself,
you work in the syncopation of things,
wandering from the house to the streets,
the bars, watching the men trickle in,
the strong wave of cologne covering
up the scent of in-heat.
You stop in medians
and sit under trees, wonder how all these lights
would be seen by babies.
Red doesn't mean Stop yet;
white outlines of teeth do not mean Dentist.
Your feet keep you walking. This isn't DC,
your shoes aren't big enough yet.
This isn't that other place you'll be soon.
The midwest perhaps, with its dog-spot skies
and cornfield vanishing points?
God cranks the handle on an old filmstrip,
pretends to know the ending. Some clumsy
saint has put the strip in upside-down and
the finale flashes too soon:
You, tied to the tracks and screaming,
HELP spelled out ornate and slithery.
Then, in reverse,
to some stranger with a rope behind his back
shaking your hand so much like your father
you'll sleep with him just this once.
Fourth of July
by Lauren Rile Smith
I.
I walked home along the parkway, watched the lights of fireflies and passing halogen headlights. Purposefully mistaking them for fireworks: letting myself be startled.
Catharsis: I bought cigarettes today for the first time in months. I've never smoked inside before. I'm renting movies she wouldn't watch with me and eating voluptuous cherries, with abstraction and little pleasure, staining my fingers. Characters kiss on the screen.
II.
I remember walking down to the park with her last August, latenight, seeing Venus. The streetlights painting everything six shades of subdued orange; the man who stopped his truck to stare at the sky, and waved to us, and told us what we were looking at.
III.
I want someone to lie next to me on the bed, touch my chest above my heart, tell me things about myself I don't know: my posture when I'm self-conscious; the expression I make when I'm lying; how my hair looks from the back; the high girlish pitch of my voice on the phone.
IV.
Little curls of ash all over my floor dissolve into fine powder and are ground into the carpet as soon as I touch.
The neighbor next door lets off a string of cherry firecrackers. All the dogs in the neighborhood are howling.
MY DIARY: DOCUMENTED. DONE.
by L. Canale
“Dad found out”
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
Today has been shit. Pure shit. My dad found out I'm gay. Isn't it funny how, like, last week I was thinking about coming out to him and then BAM! he finds out. Oh God. This fucking sucks. The tension here is so much right now. We're all trying to act like every-thing's all right. It is, I hope, but deep down I really don't think it is.
So how'd he find out? Eeeeehhhh. Fuck. I was talking to my Hero (the girl I'm in love with, Carol) today, like I normally do. I'm not saying much because my throat hurts so bad because I'm still sick. So I'm just listening and eating ice cream and drinking water so that the pain doesn't completely annoy me. She asks a question, I answer it, she says something, I laugh, tell her I love her, and it's fine. A few minutes later I hear my dad moving in his room and I look and his door is crazy open but I don't really think too much about it because I ALWAYS say stuff about being gay while talking to my sister Tina and he's always close enough to hear but never does. So I'm like, eh, whatever. Then he goes downstairs and gets on the other line in the kitchen and tells me that he needs the phone and that freaks me out because how rude is that to interrupt a convo like that? So I get off the phone and go downstairs to fill my water bottle and my mom's waiting at the bottom of the staircase and whispers, “Your father heard you say some stuff, he's in shock, he was asking me and your sister questions. She left because she's worried.” And I was like, holy FUCKING hell. Oh hell no, this can't be happening, it can't be fucking happening. So I start crying and he walks in and says all this stuff about how it's a mortal sin to be gay, how I'm just confused, how I don't know anything. How I'm too young to understand, how I've never dated before. How this and how that, and we go back and forth for an hour. Me telling him that I do know, how I know me better than anyone else knows me. How I don't want him to make me feel wrong because I'm not wrong, dammit. I've been through that shit, feeling wrong and whatever, and I don't want to go through it again. He uses all these examples. Like how his heroes are all men, but he's not gay. And I'm like “Well that's you” and he's like “No, you don't know” and I ask him if he was ever attracted to them and he says no and I have to explain what being gay is about and it's uncomfortable and shitty and scary. Then he says that it isn't allowed under his house, that he's going to change me because he doesn't want to lose me, and I'm like “Damn, Dad, if you keep saying stuff like that you ARE going
to lose me. I can't control this. I'm not going to change. I know what I am.”
Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. HE FOUND OUT. I didn't tell him, he found out. I at least kinda knew I was in the process of coming out while I was telling my mom a few years ago. This came out of nowhere and bit me in the ass. Completely out of nowhere. Oh God. So … anyway, after a couple hours he cooled down a bit and told me that I could think I was whatever, but he won't allow me to act on it. Oh okay, sure. Kiss my ass. I'm so mad at him. Why was he listening to my conversation? Why'd he have to bring the Bible and religion into it, it's shit like that that turns me off of it. I mean, I'm Christian. I go to church and I pray all the time; I have religion, but when people throw bullshit in my face like “God loves you less because you date girls” I wonder, do I really want to be a part of this? That's why I'm mad at him. He wants me to go to a Catholic church and talk to a priest and I'm thinking it's none of his fucking business what the hell I am. He doesn't give a shit about me, and I care less about him. A priest. I told my dad it wasn't going to do anything, but I'll go to his church and I'll talk to his priest. It's not going to change me.
I want to leave this place. I fucking hate it here now. I'm gonna go crazy. My dad's such a good guy sometimes, when you get past all the bullshit. He told me all this stuff about what he went through as a teenager and he was real brave for telling me. I could tell it made him unbelievably uncomfortable, but I'm glad he did, not just because that's how he made me feel today, unbelievably uncomfortable, but because it made him real. He's been through some fucked up shit and now I understand why he thinks the way he does. He's been through a lot so I can't really hate him. I don't hate him, even though I want to.
After, I guess it hit him that maybe, just maybe, I might know what I'm talking about. All he kept saying was that he wanted to be back in my life. That he wasn't going to let THEM take me away, and I was like “Them …”—that fucking hurt. So I told him to stop saying “them.” I am them. He's so scared for me, he doesn't want me to be different, but I don't get it, why some parents and phobics say they don't want us to be different when it's them, their fear, that's making us different. We'd be just fine and dandy if everyone would just let us be. I'm so numb right now, I've cried so much, this sucked. Today sucked. Well, not the first hour of my day. Haha, I woke up real late and then Carol called. My sister Tina talked with her for a little bit because I was in the bathroom. It was cool, T says she likes her. I was like “You know? Me, too.” Haha. I'm glad I got to talk to her. I don't think we can talk when he's home anymore, though. I'm scared he'd say something if she calls and he picks up. He's been picking up the phone all day, which he normally doesn't do. Usually he lets the machine get it. I think he was hoping it'd be her. I'm like what the hell? What are you going to say? I'm still gonna talk to her. Bloody hell. Fear's a bitch. I hate it.
You know it's funny, though, one of my friends just came out to her mom and her mom didn't really take it too well and I've just been like “Well, give it time, blahblahblah. She'll come around.” And with all my heart I meant it, but damn, it's hard to believe when you're going crazy and want it so bad, everything to be okay, I mean. I'm doubting he'll ever really come around.
I don't even have the reward of being brave to look back on. I didn't come out to him, he found out. I'm gonna go.
“Oh, it's killing me”
Thursday, January 16, 2003
I woke up early today because I have to watch my brother. The poor kid, his voice sounds like he sucked on a balloon. Hahaha. He sounds a little bit better, though. It was so cute a couple of nights ago, he was playing Nintendo and I was in the living room watching TV and he walks in dragging his big-ass blanket and he's holding a Brylane home catalog. It's chock full of boring house shit, no toys or anything, just towels and stuff like that. So anyway, he sits right next to me and starts looking at the catalog. It was so cute. Plus, I'm the only person he lets sit that close to him.
So yeah, things suck, but I got to talk to Cort last night. She's my best friend. That was nice. I e-mailed her yesterday telling her that Tina's “surprise” party is Friday at 3:20 and then at the end I was like “Oh, and guess what? My dad found out, love you—Lo.” Yup, she said her heart stopped beating when she read it. I was like, “Yeah, my heart's been doing that a lot today, too,” to say the least. Oh well, right? I'm so happy I got to talk to her, though, I was going crazy! I'm still going crazy, actually, even more so today because everything from yesterday is sinking in and I heard my parents talking this morning. My dad's gonna try to change me. He doesn't want me to talk to anyone, 'specially Carol. And he doesn't want me to have feelings for anyone. He just wants me to be, I dunno, a nun or something. He can kiss my ass, he can kiss it twice. I'll talk to his fucking priest, dammit, but I'm not changing and I'm not becoming a nun and I am going to find a girl one day and I'm gonna have a family with that girl and he's either going to be happy for me and be a part of our lives or he's not. I'm not afraid of him. I'm scared as shit right now, but not of him. I have a sick feeling this is going to tear my perfect family apart. I heard him talking about how he's not going to lose this fight, how if he doesn't win, we're going to lose him. How he's not going to make it through the year because he can't take it, it's too much for him to handle. There was already too much going on in his life and this just made it too much for him. We're going to kill each other. I'm going to end up killing him because I'm not going to change, and he's killing me because I'm not going to change. He's trying to change my mom, too. He speaks very well. If you're naive, he'll convince you that he's right because there's a lot of confidence in his voice. I know he's not really confident, though. Tina knows he's not. I hope my mom knows he's not, but she's all about keeping quiet. I'm going to have to tell her that this isn't a time to keep quiet because if I have to fight this shit alone … dude, I can't. I won't be able to do it. I won't, it's that simple, I won't be able to do it. Last week I thought I was down and there was no way it could get worse, I was asking for help because I was at war with MYSELF. Fuck that. I'd do anything to go back to that. Now it's not Me vs. Me. It's me vs. forty-five years of my dad's beliefs. I need help, I'm going crazy. I can't believe this happened. My God, it's nothing like how I planned. I'm so scared. I have no idea of what's going to happen, stuff just comes out of NOWHERE now. Stuff comes out of nowhere and I'm supposed to handle it. Either way I fucking lose. I don't change, I ruin my family. I change, I ruin myself. My dad's killing me, he doesn't know it, but he is.
“F-That”
Friday, January 17, 2003
OH MAN. My dad is full of SO MUCH SHIT. It's funny as hell, my God. Well, I'm feeling better, yay, I'm still not feeling good. It's okay, that will come soon enough. Feeling good, I mean. It's fucking cold here. My dad sucks. I love him, but I LOATHE HIM. And the only reason why I love him is because I have to. Okay, so here's what's so funny:
He keeps saying he wants to be a part of my life—haha.
He wants me to read a book written by the Pope—hahaha.
He wants my mom to talk me into being “normal”—haha-haha.
He wants the family to say the rosary every night—hahaha-haha.
He doesn't want me going on the computer, because it “introduced” me to “their” world—hahahahahaha.
And last but not least, brace yourself, it's golden:
He doesn't want me talking to my Hero—HAAAAAAAAA HAHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAHHAHAHAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAHAHHAAAAA HAHAHAAA HAHAAHHHAAA.
Oh fuck, my rib, it's cramping. The pain. Oh boy … like hell I'm not talking to Carol! HHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HAHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA HA. So yeah, he can kiss my ass. He can kiss hers, too, he can kiss everyone's ass because if he keeps pulling shit like that, I'm out. Don't know where the hell I'll go, but I will leave his sorry ass. I'm sorry, the man's gotta learn. No person controls my life except ME. It's that simple. NO. ONE. CONTROLS. MY. LIFE. EXCEPT. ME. I told Carol that calling after five or six would be kinda … you know … and
if my dad ever picked up I told her to just hang up because I don't want him to freak her out. I don't want this to hurt anything with us. If anything really bad comes from this, like really, anything, whether it be with my mom or brother or sister or my Hero … I will never forgive him. And he'll lose one of the only good things he's got in his miserable life.
Right now, honestly, I don't want him in my life. I don't want him dead or anything, 'cause one day, when I'm out and about living on my own, when I'm gone, maybe I'll want to … whatever, be his daughter, play the daughter role, but right now I'm tired of him. It's not just because of yesterday and today, it's everything leading up to yesterday. It's my childhood and everything he did to ruin it. I BLAME HIM. I love all people because of my mom, she's taught me that people are beautiful, but I'm scared of those same people because of him.
Well, its almost eleven here. It takes me two hours to fall asleep, and I have to wake up early tomorrow.
“Day 3”
Saturday, January 18, 2003
My dad left the book Catechism of the Catholic Church on my computer desk for me to read. Yup, I threw it across the room 'cause it was in the way. It's a heavy book. It's on the dining room table now because I felt bad. In it was this note: “Lourdes—please as a favor to me, please read. Love Dad” and there's, like, a little stick figure guy next to it. Ha, I'm like what the hell, but I have to admit it was cute. I don't know why I care, I don't know why I actually flipped through that damn book. I'm not Catholic, I'll never be Catholic. I'm Christian. Is it so hard? He thinks that I'm gay, or thinks I think I'm gay, because I have no religion. Mhmm … riiight. That's it. I heard my parents arguing again this morning. My dad was calling my mom crazy for not seeing eye to eye with him. No shit, asshole, she gets it, you don't. Anyway, so basically he thinks I'm this sad, depressed, lonely, lazy little girl who had it rough in high school and is afraid of her future. Funny how that's a stereotype for shy people. The truth is, he knows nothing about me. Up until just a short while ago I was a normal, happy, corny, life-loving dork who actually enjoyed most of high school because I participated in shit and was successful with it. I had friends and everyone pretty much liked me and I pretty much liked them back. But the biggest thing he's got wrong, man, is I'm not a little girl anymore. I know so much more than he thinks. It's painful to hear him say stuff like that. I haven't been a kid since Cort's mom died in … oh my God … to-day's the anniversary of when her mom had her brain aneurysm … oh my God I forgot. Too much shit's been running through my head. Wow, well, basically, my kidhood ended six years ago today. That's when the roller coaster started. I can't believe I forgot. Damn, she was a great woman, she really was. Always laughing and joking around and buying us stuff. We'd have fun if she was still around. I think she'd like me. OH MY GOD! and there's snow on the ground! She LOVED snow! She absolutely loved it. She'd just sit out on her porch, sometimes with Cort, but usually alone or with her neighbor and watch it. She loved it so much. God, wow.
The Full Spectrum Page 5