Just As I Am

by E. Lynn Harris

Thirty-three

  “I want to be happy. I just don’t think it’s possible.”

  “Why, Raymond?”

  “You know why,” I said.

  “Is it because of your confusion over your sexuality?” Dr. Paul asked.

  “I’m just afraid of dying like Kyle. Alone, without someone special loving me,” I said.

  “But from what you’ve told me Kyle had a lot of friends. Nicole, Delaney, and you.”

  “Yes, but you know what I’m saying. We were Kyle’s family. I’m talking about romantic love. As wonderful as Kyle was I don’t think he ever had the romantic type of love we dreamed of as children.”

  “So that’s very important to you?” she asked.

  “Yes. Is there something wrong with that?”

  Dr. Paul didn’t answer. She looked at her watch and laid down her yellow legal pad, which meant my hour, or fifty minutes in reality, was up. I raised myself from the flowered sofa, picked the throw pillow up from the floor, and returned it to its original place.

  “So, same time tomorrow, Doc?”

  “Yes. Are you still having a difficult time sleeping?”

  “No, but I’m still taking the medication.”

  “What about the lights?”

  “I’m still leaving them on,” I said.

  “Well, let’s talk about that tomorrow,” Dr. Paul suggested.

  I walked out of Dr. Paul’s office into the small waiting area. I avoided eye contact with a slightly overweight white lady with dirty brown hair who was sitting there. I didn’t know if you should make eye contact in a psychiatrist’s office. Perhaps she was like me and didn’t want anyone to know she was seeing a therapist.

  I quickly left the building, entered the parking deck, and walked directly to my car. Today was another gray day in Atlanta and that didn’t do anything to help my mood. After returning to Atlanta from New York, I’d drifted into a deep depression, terminal melancholy, not caring very much about anything. The only work I had done was to get a hefty settlement for Delaney from her assailant—even though he received only a slap on the hands from the courts. I hadn’t returned to work and nothing seemed to lift me from my depressed state. Not Jared, my pops, or my mother, who had driven down two weekends in a row to try and take care of me. She’d made all my favorite foods, which I’d only picked at. She had even made banana pudding filled with strawberries, something I loved. During her visits my mom didn’t press me on what I needed to discuss with her and Pops.

  A couple of days before Jared left for Washington, D.C., I decided to follow Nicole’s advice and seek professional help. I didn’t tell a single soul. I called a doctor’s referral service and explained the problems I was experiencing and the type of doctor I wanted. The service then gave me a list of possibilities and tried to match me up with a doctor.

  My first choice was a black gay male doctor but the service stated they didn’t have a doctor listed with those qualifications. Why was I not surprised? So I opted for a white, female doctor. This was because I was convinced that a white male doctor wouldn’t understand my problems, a black non-gay male doctor certainly wouldn’t, and a black female doctor would probably be judgmental. The first name on the list was a Dr. Jessica Paul. Her address indicated that she was close by.

  Dr. Jessica Paul was an attractive woman, in her early forties, with ash blond hair, ocean blue eyes, and light brown freckles usually covered by thick glasses. I felt comfortable with her from our first meeting. She had a soothing quality, but she didn’t give me any answers. She always said, “Well, what do you think?” There were times when I wanted to shout, bitch, that’s what I’m paying you ninety-five dollars an hour for. But I resisted. I saw Dr. Paul every morning at ten o’clock. I then came home, turned the television on, and gazed at it throughout the day. How I missed Kyle. How I hated my life.

  Jared seemed to think I would eventually snap out of this mood. He thought it was pretty normal considering the fact I had just watched my best friend die. But where was my grief? I still hadn’t dropped a tear since Kyle died. I just went about the business of doing what he’d asked me to do. Most times my body felt numb but somehow I managed to keep moving.

  Nicole was a big help. I’d spent New Year’s Eve with her and even spent the night in her bed with her warm and wonderful body next to mine. I felt her protecting me and it felt nice. Not a sexual nice, but a friendship warmth that I’d thought was possible only from another man. I seriously considered moving back to New York, but there would be so many memories of Kyle. It took everything I had to pack up and clean the apartment where both Kyle and I had spent so many nights. Peaches helped, but almost every thirty minutes she would come across something that caused her to break down and cry.

  I tried to keep in contact with her for weeks after Kyle’s death but it was difficult because every time she heard my voice she started wailing over the phone. Instead of making me feel better, she forced me into a deeper depression. But I couldn’t tell anyone but Dr. Paul. I had to be strong or at least put on a strong front. It was what I was expected to do. I had to be a man. I had to stay strong!

  “So do you think I can be cured?”

  “Cured from what, Raymond?”

  “You know. Being attracted to men,” I said.

  “Is that what you want?”

  “It would make life simpler,” I mumbled.

  “How?” Dr. Paul quizzed.

  “Maybe it would make me feel better about myself.”

  “How do you feel about yourself, Raymond?”

  “I know I’m a good person. But why can’t I adjust to my sexuality? Why can’t I make a decision to be with a man or a woman?”

  Dr. Paul remained silent. She glanced at a picture on her shelf. I assumed it was her husband and child.

  “Did I tell you that years ago my father recommended I see a doctor to get cured?”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing. Just went on living my life the way I had been taught. Never facing who I really was.”

  “That being?”

  “I don’t know yet. I think maybe Kyle knew.”

  No response. She just wrote on her legal pad. When she stopped writing she gazed into my eyes, waiting for me to start talking again.

  “You know I really, really love Nicole and I think she still loves me. But it wouldn’t be fair to her.”

  “How does she feel about that?”

  “She wants a man who would love her completely. She doesn’t want to have to compete with another person, especially another man. She deserves that. I mean when I’m with her I feel like I can be faithful to her. But the moment I see a good-looking man that sexually arouses me, I know I can’t totally commit to a woman or at least be faithful.”

  “What about the guy you mentioned before? Basil?”

  “Basil, he’s a total fuck-up. More confused than me. Did I tell you he’s talking about getting married? Yep, he’s going to marry this actress who doesn’t have a clue he loves dick more than she does.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “I know I have to get him out of my system. I can’t be involved with another married man. I want someone for me. Someone committed to me like I would be to them. If I fall in love with Basil it will mean nothing but trouble. Didn’t I tell you about Quinn?”

  “Quinn?”

  “The married guy I fell in love with while I was dating Nicole.”

  “What does he have to do with Basil?”

  “Married. The married thing.”

  “Oh.”

  “So that’s why I’m trying to decide what to do with Basil. Breaking up with Quinn was painful.”

  “Sounds like you’ve already made your decision.”

  “Yes, sometimes I think I have, but whenever I’m in the same room with him, it’s hard. I mean the boy has it going on sexually. He’s awfully hard to resist.”

  “So it’s sexual?”

  “Well, he has his good points. He was supportive aft
er Kyle died by letting me stay at his condo while he went skiing. As supportive as Basil could be. He can be rather self-absorbed. But I guess we all suffer from that time to time. Right? He’s into his sports and cars and laying as many women as possible. I guess it helps him keep his manhood intact.”

  “It sounds like that’s important to you too,” Dr. Paul said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, is that the reason you have problems with your attraction to men?”

  “Oh no. I have problems with men because they lie, they won’t commit to a long-term relationship, and you never know if they are sleeping around with other guys.”

  “Sounds like the same things women say,” Dr. Paul said as she looked at her watch and placed the legal pad on her nearby desk.

  “Yeah, ain’t that the shit,” I said as I lifted myself from the sofa.

  Another day. I wasn’t feeling much better. My phone rang constantly and I had so much mail the mailman brought it up to my apartment because my mailbox was stuffed. I was looking forward to seeing Dr. Paul.

  Dr. Paul’s question lingered. I had to think about it.

  “When was the first time you became aware of your sexuality? With a man or a woman?”

  “With a girl. It was in the seventh grade. The first time I slow-danced with a girl. Rose Burns. A beautiful girl. I remember how my heart would race whenever I saw her when we changed classes. Changing classes … that was a big deal in the seventh grade. I practiced slow dancing for months with myself in front of a mirror. One … two … back … one … two. My mother and father demonstrated the steps. They laughed and kissed. They were having fun dancing. It seemed as if they forgot I was standing there watching.” I paused and laughed out loud at my youthful memories.

  “The dance came and I was scared shitless. I had on a new gold Ban-Lon shirt with matching socks, new penny loafers, and half a bottle of my pops’s Old Spice aftershave. I watched the ninth-grader boys and girls slow-dance with each other with such ease. Many of them were doing more slow grinding than dancing. When I finally saw Rose alone I darted over and asked her to dance. I expected her to say no but she smiled and said yes. I even remember the song.”

  “What was the song, Raymond?”

  “ ‘Stay in My Corner’ by the Dells. We were dancing in a corner and I just wanted to hold her forever. She smelled good and she was so soft. My heart was beating so fast. She didn’t even notice when I went two … two instead of one … two.”

  “And when did you realize you were attracted to men?”

  “I never slow-dance with men. But that’s not what you asked me. The first time Kelvin pressed his sex against mine and I responded. At first I freaked but it felt so good. Like something I had never felt. My heart racing and sweat covering my forehead. He smelled good. His body hard. Like the dance with Rose, my body responded. It was so wired but so wonderful. Whitney Houston’s ‘You Give Good Love’ was playing on the radio. They were true words of what was about to happen.”

  “Did it surprise you when your body responded to Kelvin?”

  “Shocked the shit out of me.”

  “Why?”

  “It just did. So many gay men say they knew ever since they were little boys. I swear it had never crossed my mind.”

  “That can happen,” Dr. Paul said.

  “I’m glad to hear you say that, Doc. I wish you could tell that to my pops and Kyle.”

  Dr. Paul smiled.

  “I don’t know why but I went to a bar last night.”

  “A bar? What kind of bar?”

  “Oh, a black gay bar. I wanted to see if it felt different.”

  “Different?”

  “Yeah, like to see if I belonged.”

  “And did you?”

  “Don’t know. It was just the way I remembered. A packed bar full of good-looking black men. Everybody trying to reject you before you reject them. Noses so high the clouds of smoke are covering them. Men drinking away their sorrows or simply drinking to get the courage to talk to someone.”

  “Did you drink?”

  “No, I drank cranberry juice.”

  “That’s good. You shouldn’t drink with the medication I prescribed.”

  “I don’t think I’m going to drink again until I fall in love.”

  Dr. Paul brushed her hair back from her face, put her pen toward the corner of her mouth, and gave me an okay, go-on look.

  “I met a guy last night. Good-looking, but a liar.”

  “Why do you say that?”

  “After I told him I used to live in New York and went to Columbia Law School he told me he had just been accepted to law school.”

  “So what was wrong with that?” Dr. Paul asked.

  “He said he had been accepted to Princeton Law School. When I asked him if he was certain he said yes. When I informed him Princeton didn’t have a law school he walked off without a good-bye.”

  “How did that make you feel?”

  “It just goes to prove my point. Everybody’s trying to outdo each other. Even to the point of lying about it.”

  “Do you think that’s a black gay problem?”

  “Not really. I mean straight men lie too. But they lie about other things.”

  “How do you mean?”

  “Well, I think black men in general lie or embellish their standard of living to impress women and about their escapades with other women. They lie to each other about a multitude of things.”

  “That’s a broad generalization. Do you think it only applies to black men?”

  “That’s all I know. White men don’t interest me.”

  “Why is that?”

  “First, I don’t find them sexually attractive. Second, they don’t have any problems. I mean why should they? They control everything.”

  “Don’t you think that sounds racist?” Dr. Paul said as she raised her eyebrows.

  “Yes. I mean I used to have a lot of white friends when I was in high school and college, but I think white gay men have made me feel the way I do. I’ve seen good-looking white men but I’m just not attracted to them. Maybe I won’t allow myself to be attracted to them. I want to make sure I’m not contributing to a master-Mandingo mentality. I mean the first time I realized there was a difference was when I tried to go to a white gay bar. They wanted five pieces of ID from me and ten from the darker-skinned black man I entered with.”

  “Why do you think that happened?”

  “I guess they’re trying to make themselves feel better than someone else and guess who gets to be on the bottom of the totem pole? Black gay men. I really get upset when I see black gay men chasing white guys and talking white. That’s why I’m worried about my little brother at prep school.”

  “How so?”

  “You know, I’m not worried about him being gay but about him talking and acting white. Plus I’m still worried about the comment he made when he met Kyle. I know a lot of that talk comes from peer pressure.”

  “From what you’ve told me that doesn’t sound like a problem. Your little brother sounds pretty independent.”

  “Thank God for that!”

  “Let’s talk a little more about your feelings toward white men.”

  “Why? They aren’t strong feelings either way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Well, maybe I didn’t make myself clear. It’s not like I see white men and go shit, there goes another white man trying to oppress me. When I meet them one on one and view them as individuals I usually get along with them really well. It’s the group as a whole that I have a problem with.”

  “Explain.”

  “Well, if I meet somebody white who does something to bug me then I put them in the group.”

  “The group.”

  “Yes, I guess the same applies with anybody. Like the black guy at the bar. When he did something to upset me I put him in the group.”

  “Do you think that’s right?”

  “No, but everybody does it.”


  My phone rang, but I didn’t answer it. I turned up the answering machine to see who was calling. After the beep went off I heard Jared’s voice say: “Ray, Raymond Junior, if you’re there, pick up, pick up. Come on, Ray, pick up.”

  I sat on the edge of my bed staring at the red light flashing on the machine as Jared continued.

  “If you don’t answer this phone, I’m getting in my car and coming over there. Don’t forget I’ve got a key.”

  I quickly leaped from the bed and grabbed the phone before it was too late.

  “Jared, I’m here,” I said.

  “Still screening your calls?” he asked.

  “Yeah.”

  “How are you doing?”

  “Okay.”

  “You don’t sound okay. Do you feel like a visit from your best friend?”

  “Not today. I hope you understand?”

  “I do, but it doesn’t make it easy,” Jared said.

  “I know.”

  “Ray.”

  “Yes.”

  “You know I’m here if you need me, don’t you?”

  “Yeah, I know that.”

  “Ray.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I love you.”

  “I know.”

  I hung up the phone without a good-bye. I wanted to cry, but instead I took my medication and fell asleep.

  “I think Jared has a crush on Nicole.”

  “How do you feel about that?”

  “Haven’t really thought about it,” I said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Well, I know it’s over between Nicole and myself and Jared is a great guy, but I do feel a pang of jealousy. I mean sometimes I look at Jared and think he’s living the life I should be living.”

  “How?”

  “Well, he’s so perfect. Good-looking, nice, truthful, and heterosexual.”

  “So that makes him perfect?”

  “In the eyes of society and women like Nicole.”

  “How does Nicole feel about Jared?”

  “I don’t think she knows. I don’t think Jared realizes that I know. I mean he’s been real supportive of me but he asks me questions about Nicole and when he mentions her name his face lights up.”

  “Have you asked him about how he feels about her?”