So I haven’t been here in what seems like forever. I wish I could tell you it’s because I’ve been SOOO busy doing SUUUCH exciting things, but then you’d be expecting me to write about it and well, it’s simply not true.
Truth is, I’ve been busy writing, which, I guess is sort of exciting. It’s exciting to me. It’s also frustrating and nerve-wracking and irritating and a whole hell of a lot of fun. It just. Takes. So. Long! I have a cheerleader who is desperate to read my book. She’s read the first two chapters and the “mom” chapters I posted not too long ago. She likes what she’s read and she’s chomping at the bit to read more. Sorry! You’ll just have to wait.
Anyway, I’ve been busy committing all my writing time to the book and I’m really happy with what’s coming out, even it is taking an eternity and a half to create but I’ve noticed that there’s a certain amount of fear that goes with it. (It would be well to note that fear often has no basis in rational thinking, however…)
I’m fearful that this book is not as good as I think it is (despite significant evidence to the contrary.)
I’m fearful that just because a handful of people have read a small fraction of what I’ve written and liked it, a lot, that it will not be good in the eyes of a publishing company.
I’m fearful that because of the nature of its content, what I’m writing will never be accepted by mainstream publishing and even if it ever does get published, it won’t be by a mainstream house and may not be promoted or marketed enough to sell many copies.
I’m fearful that this is the only thing I’ll ever be able to write. It took me 32 years to come up with an idea which actually formed into a complete story. What if it takes another 32 years to come up with the next one?
While I’m enjoying the process and would be happy for any amount of success that might come from it, I have to admit that all of that is tempered with a fear that I might get exactly what I want; a fantastic book, well received by major publishing houses, huge promotion and significant compensation and an opportunity to do more…
I’ve grudgingly resigned myself to the idea that my family may never really know me; never know the full truth about me. I don’t love this idea, but I’ve lived with it for a long time and it’s…familiar. But, what if I get published. What if this book I’m writing, a book all about a young man who comes to terms with his sexuality despite his conservative upbringing and judgmental mother, a book full of emotional turmoil and sexual revelation… and sex, get’s published and promoted and makes even a medium splash in the literary world? My mother is a voracious reader. I’m not sure if a book like mine could accidentally find its way into her hands, but the prospect is disconcerting, at least.
I wrote a scene just the other day between our lead character, Calvin and a would-be lover/pseudo mentor, Trip, in which Trip explains his less than blissful relationship with his own family. Without getting too bogged down in details or giving away too much of my, as yet unpublished passion, Cal has been taken to an Atlanta emergency room after a relatively minor injury. Trip accompanied Calvin and is waiting in a room with him. Pay attention to the last line:
Another thought occurred to me that I was ashamed not to have realized earlier. “Oh my God, Trip!” I slapped my hand down on his arm which had been resting comfortably on the edge of my bed. “I’ve done it again. You missed your brother’s reception. What was I thinking making you bring me here.”
“Those drugs they gave you must be really good,” he laughed. “You’ll recall I didn’t give you a choice in the matter.” He patted my hand still resting on his other arm. “Don’t worry about the reception. I was there for most of it. I won’t have been missed, I’m sure.”
There was something sad in his tone and I wondered what his relationship with his family might really be like. “I’m sure that’s not true,” I suggested. “You’re brothers after all.”
Trip just looked at me for several long seconds and then he leaned forward in the chair, and whispered to me, conspiratorially. “I’ll tell you a secret Cal. What you saw last night? The way Tommy acted when you and I were leavin’? That was just the tip of the iceberg. My family has really struggled since I came out. Most of the time I think they’re happier when I’m not around.” That revelation struck me hard. What must it have been like for him to accept being gay, acknowledge it, and tell his family, knowing that his father was a Baptist Preacher and his family would not accept him? I couldn’t imagine what his life must be like and I didn’t understand how he could come off as being so self assured when he had this burden weighing him down when he thought no one was paying attention.
And he wanted me to be in the same boat? How could he expect anyone to follow in his footsteps and demolish whatever sense of a life they had? I was about to ask him just that when the nurse walked in.
…
We ate in silence for a while, crunching on our fruits and vegetables. In spite of my hunger, I couldn’t bear to eat the white bread bun so I pulled the turkey off the sandwich and ate it plain. Finally, I gingerly turned my head to look at Trip directly and I said, “I’m sorry, Trip. I’m really sorry.”
He was confused, “’Bout what?”
“It sounds terrible,” I answered, clearing nothing up. “I can’t imagine facing my parents and knowing that they don’t approve of me.” Even as I said it I realized, I already knew how that felt. I was all too familiar with the look of disdain my mother was so adept at displaying at the merest mention of pretty much any new idea I’d ever had. I knew that if I were to tell her I was gay that would be the end for us. The look she would give me, her reaction to that news would be impossible to get past. “It must be just awful to be faced with that every day.”
Trip’s expression darkened. “It’s not easy,” he said, his voice was thick with grief. “My parents had such high hopes for me when I was growin’ up,” he continued. “They wanted me to be a pastor like my father and like his father and his father before him. Our family has been leading The First Baptist Church of Savannah for three generations. Daddy is pretty well respected in the community.” He paused and as his eyes glistened he gulped hard, holding his feelings in. “Well anyway, he was. And then about eight months ago I was caught on film coming out of a club called The Cockpit. There was a local news crew doing a remote spot outside the club. I didn’t even notice them at the time and I have no idea what the story was about let alone that I was on film but before I knew it, someone had seen me on the news and it got back to the Convention – The Southern Baptist Convention – and they talked to my dad about it.
“And then a couple months ago Janelle got pregnant and she and Tommy had to have this shotgun wedding. Which is a sham, as far as I’m concerned and I just know they’re not going to last and I can’t help but think that’ll be even worse for my father’s reputation. But you know… At least they’re doin’ the honorable thing in the face of their shame. There’s nothin’ I can do to make this right in their eyes. And now, daddy’s reputation is damaged and the Convention is talkin’ about replacing him at the church. It’s all a big ugly mess and not the way I would have wanted it to be, at all.
“I dreaded comin’ out to my parents and I put it off way too long… I sure as hell didn’t want them to find out from someone else. Let alone the whole community.” Tears crept down his face now and he lowered his head, staring at the blanket that covered me. “Talkin’ to my parents about being gay was the hardest thing I’ve ever done, but I owed it to them to be the one to tell them, and I didn’t do it.”
It seems like a long shot at best but I would hate for this book to be the way my family finds out that I’m gay and yet having that conversation is something I’m unable to imagine. But the flip side of that is, what happens if this book actually gets published? What if it actually is a moderate (or bigger) hit and I make a nice chunk of change from it? What if I need to go on some sort of book tour because of it? What if this turns out to be a really big deal… And I can’t share it with my family, because to share it with them I’d have to tell them the hardest thing I could imagine ever having to tell them? And what if I have to go through the rest of my life watching what I say, careful never to give any inclination about any of the experiences that I’ve had as a result of writing this book, just as I have to be careful now, never to mention anything that might reveal the identity that is Riggledo (blog, twitter, e-mail, etc.)
I realize I’m putting the cart before the horse, as I’m prone to do, and I’m not allowing these fears to stop me writing the book, but I can’t help fearing all these things.
I’ve been trying to think about how to write this. I actually started a post earlier and got to about 1000 words before realizing it really wasn’t working the way I wanted it to.
I had an experience this week-end I feel the need to write about, and yet I’m not sure of the best way to do it….
I was faced with an opportunity, of sorts, this weekend. An opportunity to confront ignorance and, I would even argue, homophobia, head on and I didn’t back down.
I went to a barbecue at Michelle’s sister, Monique’s house. Based on my decision-making avoidance strategy, or D-MAS, of wearing whatever’s next in line (as long as it coordinates), I ended up wearing this t-shirt:
This picture is not me. I'm much more booby-licious than this.
Among other people, one person in attendance was someone who has been a friend of Monique’s for years, but whom I have only met a handful of times. His name is Damien, which for anyone who cares, is in some circles thought to be a name for the Devil. Just thought I’d share that.
Anyway, through the course of the afternoon and evening Damien made a number of comments that were very insensitive and ignorant and instead of sitting by silently and letting it pass, I spoke up.
Michelle told a story about the guy she had been “training” for the last two weeks while in Tulsa. The purpose of the story was to illustrate how “lame” this guy’s personality is. She was asked to go there for two weeks to act as a Subject Matter Expert, or in Project Management parlance, a SME (pronounced smee). On one particular occasion, the gentlemen she was working with (who is really kind of a dud as far as the job goes, but that’s none of my concern) had need of input from Michelle and another “SME” and upon completing the conversation, said, “We just had a smeeting!”
Now understand, I think that’s hysterical! Michelle on the other hand thinks it’s a terrible joke. Michelle’s friend Suzanne who was also at the barbecue and sitting next to me during this conversation and I both burst out laughing. Damien on the other hand, rolled his eyes and said, “That’s gay!”. I turned and looked directly at him, and while never removing the smile from my face and without taking on an angry tone, I told him, “Excuse me, but, that is not OK.” It took Damien a second to register what I meant. I continued, “What makes it ‘gay’?”
He acknowledged what I had said, and apologized. While I’m not convinced of the depth of his sincerity, I accepted his apology.
At another point the subject of Gay Pride came up. Suzanne asked Damien if he’d ever been to pride. His vehement response was “Fuck no!” I pointed out that his reaction was disproportionate to the question. If Suzanne had asked me that question, I would have said, “No. I never have been” and that really that would have been a sufficient answer from Damien. He went on to say that his ex-wife had wanted him to come to Pride (her company was a sponsor and she had to work) and he said the only way he would ever go was if she bought a pair of handcuffs and he could handcuff himself to her for the duration of the event so that all the gay guys would know he was straight and taken.
Later, he brought up the subject of same-sex marriage and prejudice against homosexuals. Damien is half black and half Puerto Rican. I only know this because he told us so. I had no idea before he said so. He doesn’t look black in the least and I’m not the least bit surprised that he hasn’t experienced much discrimination in his lifetime (something he also told us.) He told those of us involved in the conversation, “I don’t think there’s any difference between being discriminated against because you’re gay or because you’re black.”
I spoke up. “Woah! Hold on just a minute now. I don’t, for one second dispute the fact that prejudice still exists in this country and I’m sure that just about every black person alive has experienced some extent of discrimination. But you can’t tell me that it’s the same thing. First of all, in this nation today, we have institutionalized discrimination against homosexuals who want to get married, or visit their partners in the hospital and more than 1000 other ways. And while it’s true that there are still bigots in this world who will treat black people badly just because they’re black, I don’t think too many of those people are going to be any nicer to a homosexual. Meanwhile there are laws on the books outlawing discrimination against black people. There are specific laws on the books that make it legal for a mixed race couples to marry while there are also laws that prevent two people of the same gender who love each other from marrying.
“Plus! You’re born black, and from the day you’re born there’s no question to anyone who sees you that you are black. On the other hand, most gay people don’t realize they’re gay until well into their teen years if not longer. You can’t always tell a person is gay just by looking at them. So while it sucks that black people still get discriminated against, you’re not exactly unprepared for it.
“Now imagine for just a minute, that you’re the most average man in the world. White skin, blond hair, blue eyes, couldn’t be more average. For the first 30 years of your life you experience absolutely no prejudice or discrimination whatsoever and then you wake up one day and you finally realize you’re gay and for the first time in your life you have to face the reality that people will hate you. Your own mother will hate you. That you can be fired from your job in many places because you prefer men over women. That the nation as a whole says you are not worthy, that you don’t deserve to live and have the same happiness that they have.
“Imagine that for one minute. There is no way you can tell me there’s no difference in the kind of prejudice that gay people and black people experience.”
Damien started to argue the point, but can I just tell you… Everyone else in the conversation actually, literally cheered.
~~~~~
Let it be said that as a whole, the barbecue was a lot of fun. I enjoyed myself quite a bit and I didn’t allow Damien’s ignorance or commentary to negatively impact me or ruin my experience.
Let it also be said that it seemed incredibly clear to me that Damien is struggling with some issues. I think it likely that he himself is in fact gay and he’s struggling with accepting it. And after he left and I expressed as much to Monique and Michelle, Monique said, “Oh yeah! I’ve thought that for years.” So on that front, I hope he figures things out for himself. I hope he does it soon and I hope he doesn’t ever have to encounter the kind of ignorance that he was spouting on Sunday.
Sometimes? Sometimes things don’t happen at all, or, at least, not the way they are planned.
Actually, it’s usually that last one, but that’s not what I’m thinking about.
Sometimes, I plan to write about something, but I want to wait until the thing happens, or until the thing is over and the whole story exists to be told. And then because I want to wait to talk about the thing, THE THING is all I can think about. Any and all other THINGs are absent from my mind when I’m trying to think of something to write about and then I go days and days without writing anything…
And then THE THING happens, and I’m too busy to write about it and it never gets written about anyway.
Sometimes, the thing that I’m thinking about – and by “thinking”, I think it safe to say, I mean “obsessing” – is something that, maybe, I shouldn’t write about at all.
~~~~~
I am, apparently, an inherently negative person. I know, that’s shocking! Apparently, it comes with, or is the cause of, or is in some way or other partnered with clinical depression to be, well, not negative, exactly, but fatalistic? negativistic? doomsday thinking? I’m not sure really…
Three weeks ago, I went for my regular therapy appointment. I sat down on the couch and I said something like this: “So! I’m sure this is completely inappropriate, but who cares. And I’m sure you’re going to say, ‘no’, but I figure it can’t hurt… But you can say no. It’s OK. But anyway… I’m having a birthday party next Saturday and I would be glad for you to come. You know. If you wanted.” (There’s nothing like being clear and concise and confident… And that was nothing like it.)
She said no, of course. And I wasn’t the least bit surprised. She said something along the lines of it being something she can’t do in her role in our relationship and then she wanted to talk about what it would be like for me if she were there among my friends. I admitted that it would be a little strange and while I trusted that she had the good sense not to say the wrong thing I did wonder how she would handle the “So, how do you know Kevin?” question. I told her that while our relationship is different from any of my other relationships, she knows me better than pretty much anyone else that would be there (including Michelle really). And while our relationship is, by design, kind of one-sided, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to extend the invitation.
She told me, as I knew she would, that she could not attend the party, but that she definitely wanted to hear about it when we met again, which would be after the party. Our conversation revealed that this was my first ever birthday party, that I’ve never had one before because my family didn’t do birthday parties, and as an adult I didn’t believe I had anyone to invite and/or that anyone would show up if I did. She thought the fact that I was having the party was a good thing, some sort of progress for me, but also an opportunity for a lot of anxiety, and these “feelings” she keeps talking about, to come up and so she would want to know about the party afterward.
Last week I went in, sat down, took a deep breath and she asked me, “So tell me about the party.” We talked in great detail about the party. What went on. Who was there. The good turn out of people (about 15.) The interactions. The conversations. The music (I made an iTunes playlist.) The cake. I also told her about the myriad disappointments that occurred. All the people who never acknowledged the Evite. The number of people who declined the invitation. The handful of people who I really wanted to be there who weren’t. The deviled eggs that I looked forward to for two weeks which got knocked over on the way to the party and were inedible.
Deb had a number of favorable comments that, proof-in-the-puddin’, I don’t remember, about my handling of the situation and the “progress I have made” and I, of course, discounted most of what she had to say. She told me that she had all this confidence and faith in me and my ability to do… whatever, and I keep telling her “I can’t”.
I asked, “I said ‘I can’t?'” (I didn’t say I can’t.)
“Well, OK. Not, ‘I can’t’. ‘Yeah, but'”, she told me. (Yeah, that I said… a lot.)
I don’t know why I’m predisposed to seeing the negative side of everything. I mean, I know we all do that to some extent, but it seems like most people at least see things equally positive and negative. My birthday party post was so short, with just the pictures, largely because, as fun as it was and as much as I enjoyed the people that were there, I couldn’t think of anything to say besides “I wish that…”
What I wish, is that I was less like that and more able to take things as they come. I wish I was more confident and able to feel good about myself, who and what I am, without constantly having to worry about what other people are going to think.
~~~~~
This week-end, I found out something. Something that I already suspected. Something that doesn’t surprise me, and yet blew me away. And something about which, despite all the reasons I should feel differently…
Michelle’s nephew Curtis graduated from High School on Friday. His Graduation was Friday, Saturday I went to Michelle’s for my bi-weekly laundry extravaganza. Saturday night, Michelle’s family had a barbecue to celebrate Curtis Graduation. And on Sunday, at the butt-crack– actually, before the butt-crack of dawn, Michelle flew to Tulsa (with strict instructions NOT to call my mother) for two weeks, for work. When I arrived at Michelle’s house on Saturday she told me that she would be leaving me to go to the Barbecue and asked if I was going to come over when I finished my laundry. I asked her who was going to be there. If they were having a party for Curtis and his just-graduated-from-high-school friends, I wasn’t interested, but if it was a family thing than I would try to stop by.
Michelle told me, “I think it’s just going to be family. Maybe one or two of his friends will stop by. I think Jonathan will be there.”
I enjoy every opportunity I get to torment Michelle because deep down inside I am an evil bastard. I asked, “Who’s Jonathan? Is that his boyfriend?”
While continuing to stir the shrimp scampi she was making, part of our traditional, Kevin’s-birthday-meal, she chuckled and said, “yeah. Sort of. Until he upgrades.”
Did anyone else just hear the record screech to a halt? No? That was just me? OK. Moving on.
I let it go for a few minutes so we could finish the conversation we were having. and then I asked her to clarify. “So… Were you just… going along with what I said? Or is Jonathan actually Curtis’s boyfriend? Is he really gay?”
I used to jab at Michelle every so often with the idea that Curtis was gay. I’ve suspected it since I met him – when he was four years old. Michelle always got defensive and said he wasn’t, which is what made it so fun, naturally. Once gain, evil bastard! Now she’s talking about it like it’s not big deal, which so help me, it shouldn’t be, but daaaamn!
Apparently Curtis and Jonathan have known each other for years. Curtis was in a special program at his high school that’s geared toward performing arts and not to invoke the stereotype, but there’s a reason why stereotypes exist. Curtis, purports himself to be “bisexual”, but like so many people (especially gay men), I’m not sure I believe such a thing exists.
So here’s the part I should be ashamed of…
Curtis is 17. He’ll be 18 in August. Already at 17, he’s figured out (or thinks he has) that he’s “bisexual”. Already at 17, he’s got a boy friend. At 36, I’ve never had a boyfriend. Already at 17, he’s come out to his family, and apparently had no qualms about doing so. At 36, I’m pretty sure I’ll never come out to my family.
So I’ll admit it… Yes, I’m jealous, or maybe envious, is the right word. Is there really a difference?
If I weren’t an inherently negative person, then surely I would see how wonderful all of that is. I would be proud of him for not denying himself. I would be happy for him that he had the strength and the courage to come out to his family. I would be proud of his family for creating an environment where he could come out and for being so accepting of and loving to him.
Eighteen years ago, today, I walked across the stage at the Mabee Center, at Oral Roberts University, in Tulsa, OK, shook the hand of some random old man, had a picture snapped which somehow managed to make my nose and chin look 18 inches larger (each) than their already gargantuan proportions and walked down the steps on the other side with a diploma in my hand. I could tell you more about the evening, but, well, I really don’t remember anything else about that day. It was much too stressful and busy and overwhelming.
Fourteen hours ago, today, Laura walked across a stage somewhere, and shook hands with some old person (probably) and walked back off the stage with a diploma in her hands. My graduation was from high school; her’s was from college. I’m very proud of her and her achievement, even if I don’t really know her all that well.
A couple of weeks ago I received an e-mail invitation from Laura’s mother inviting me to an open house at her home in celebration of Laura’s graduation and I confirmed my attendance. My assumptions about tonight’s event were slightly off, but only slightly. This was not a party of Laura’s peers. Maybe I should have realized that her peers would all have their own family gatherings to attend on this important day and that it wouldn’t be a bunch of 22 year-olds hanging out with the “old guy”. Instead it was a bunch of Laura’s extended family and friends and former teachers and coaches. I was still the odd man out, but I wasn’t the oldest person there, by far. It’s OK. I anticipated it and didn’t expect anything different. Laura actually apologized to me– well, Me and Micah and Judy, for not spending more time with us. I told her, “Don’t be sorry. This is your day and all these people were here for you. Most of them have known you longer than I have. No one could expect you to spend very much time with them. You have nothing to feel bad about.”
When I decided, I was ready to leave, Micah decided he was ready to leave too. Apparently that thing about him understanding he had to find his own way home was not so much with the correct. I asked him where he expected me to take him. I didn’t really plan on taking him home since it was out of my way. He mumbled something about friends in The City and I told him, “I’M NOT TAKING YOU TO SAN FRANCISCO!” He laughed and told me he had said he needed to find out if they were there and I could just drop him at a BART station or something.
I told him I could drop him at the Fruitvale BART station which is right by my house and he said that would be fine. On the ride toward Oakland, he made some phone calls and found out what he needed to know and just as I was about to take the interchange from Highway 24 to Highway 13, toward my home, Micah said, “Um, you can just stay in this lane” in a tone that suggested he was innocently giving me directions how to get somewhere I hadn’t been before.
“I can?” I asked as I turned my blinker off. “Where am I taking you now?” Micah kind of hemmed and hawed before telling me he guessed I could just take him home. “I can?” I asked again. “Is that what would be most convenient for you?” We both laughed. It was sort of an inside joke, as he and I had discussed my issue with Judy earlier in the day. I decided to go ahead and take him all the way home because we were in the middle of a conversation that I deemed worth finishing.
Judy, apparently, had some issues in her attempt to take public transportation and she ended up choosing to go ahead and drive herself to the party. She arrived, under her own steam, shortly before 7:00 and immediately launched into her “Woe is me” story of trials and tribulations trying to get there. I acknowledge that is fairly normal human behavior given what she’d been through. I also acknowledge that I was already on edge with her and that I may have been predisposed to not like what she had to say.
I noticed something tonight, that I’ve never noticed before, though how I could miss it I do not know. Judy has to make everything about her. Every conversation, every story, every interaction, everything, Has. To be. About. Her. I would start to talk to Micah about something and she’d turn it around to be about her. I talked briefly to Laura about her day and Judy turned it around to be about her. Somehow I managed to walk through the house and into the back yard without noticing the photo gallery inside. As I was ready to leave I noticed some striking photographs of the San Francisco sky line, asked Laura’s mother who the photographer was, and found out that her mother is a professional photographer. Judy managed to make it about her.
As I pulled away from Laura’s mother’s house with Micah in my passenger seat, he ruminated about whether “we all” would really hang out together now that we are approaching the final week of the EMT class. I confided in Micah, “I know this is a terrible thing for me to say, but I’m going to say it anyway, because I’m a terrible person. I really like you and would like to keep hanging out with you. And I really like Laura and would like to get to know her better. But I don’t really enjoy hanging out with Judy all that much and I’m kind of afraid it’s an all or nothing kind of package deal.” I would hate to have my feelings about Judy get in the way of friendships with other people; on the other hand, I could see Judy getting in the way of being able to develop those friendships in the first place. I don’t know what’s going to come of that.
Toward the end of that conversation I told Micah that there was something specific that Judy had said in the past that gave me great concern about being friends with her. Judy has a tattoo on her leg of a rainbow-colored ichthus which one night before class Laura asked her about. Judy told her that it was an ichthus because it’s a symbol of God, and she wanted it rainbow-colored because it represented God’s covenant with Noah and his promise never to flood the earth again. Laura, just as innocently and endearingly as can be asked, “Is that why it’s used for gay pride?
Judy, rather indignantly in my opinion, said, “No! They stole it.” Her tone and demeanor actually reminded me of my mother and I was not impressed.
I told Micah this story… And I told him that I am gay. And in spite of my best intentions of not caring what other people think or whether they approve, I was nervous; cold and shaking. Micah, for his part said, “OK,” and moved on with the conversation. He still wants to hang out and be friends.
I’ve thought of telling him, all three of them, more than once, but I didn’t. First because I’m just not comfortable talking about it face to face with people, and I don’t know if I ever will be.
But the thing is, as dumb as it is, I kind of don’t want Laura to find out. I’m still kind of crushin’ on her. I know it’ll pass. I know it’s all in my head. I know nothing can come of it, but in the back of my mind, the thought keeps coming up that maybe it could and maybe her finding out that “I thought I was gay” will send her away before we get a chance.
I don’t know. Maybe I’m just enjoying the fantasy. Lord knows that’s all it is. Maybe it’s just the idea of being in love and being loved AND being in an “acceptable relationship” (acceptable to society, but even more, acceptable to my mother) that’s so bewitching, but I can’t help feeling like Laura finding out will destroy that fantasy and I’m just not ready for that to happen, yet.
It felt good to be open and honest with yet another person though.
Honestly, my anxiety level is pretty high right now and that tells me one thing…
I really don’t want to think or “talk” about this. The problem of course is, I can’t not think about it. So I might as well write it and get it out of my head. I’m very confused right now.
Somewhat against my better judgement, I went out with some people on Saturday night. Two of the people were students from the EMT class that I’m helping with. The third person was another “Teacher’s Assistant.” I guess that’s what I am, unofficially. I’m volunteering my time because I wanted to reenforce the knowledge for myself, but right now I’m kind of dealing with some feelings of being taken advantage of. I don’t doubt that Mr. Williams appreciates my help, but I think after so many weeks of my reliable presence he is taking it for granted that I am going to be there and that he can put me to work. That’s not what bothers me though; that’s what I signed up for. It’s the students. Some of the students are less than gracious. They seem to take us (the other “TA”, Micah, and me) for granted and they don’t seem to appreciate the sacrifices we are making for them. I suppose that feeling may have accounted, to some extent, for Mr. Williams attitude last semester, but the thing is, he is getting paid. The rest of us are volunteers.
That’s really not what this is about.
After my experience last semester, I am very reluctant to consider being friendly with any of the people in this class now. I have given up every other Sunday afternoon (the time when I’m not hanging out with Lil’B) to go and meet with some of the students and help them practice their skills. Over the course of the weeks a rapport has developed among some of us, and I was more or less OK with it except that I feel like at times I’ve let my guard down more than I should and I’ve allowed my need to be liked to interfere with my position as a leader or an authority in the setting.
Micah has been very involved with this class, more than he was for mine. He has helped with all the study groups and skills practices. He’s a good guy and I like him a lot. He and I are the only ones who show up reliably to assist with the class. There are other people, but their attendance is sporadic and unreliable. And when they do show up, all the students clamor to join up with Micah and me, because Allen is a jack ass who yells at the students (when he’s not telling them of his personal life difficulties) and teaching them to his teacher’s specifications, which is all well and good except that his teacher wasn’t Mr. Williams, and Mr. Williams is who is teaching now, and then there’s Noah, who really has no idea what he’s doing and routinely comes to me to understand what he’s supposed to be doing, even though I’m not the teacher and graduated from the class more recently than anyone else who is helping, which seems wrong to me, because at least in theory, they should have more experience than I do, and oh my God, I can’t believe I just wrote another run-on sentence.
Anyway, I’m well liked, apparently, by most of the students so it came as no surprise when Judy texted me. “Check your calendar for the 16th. It’s Laura’s last home game & I want to go & support her. & then we want to go out afterwards.” Laura comes to class most days, dressed in some sort of athletic attire embroidered with the name of the water polo team from one school or another. These days she is affiliated with the women’s water polo team at Cal State Berkeley. She’s athletically built, is quite outgoing and has a very confident personality, or at least that how it seems at first. More on that later.
Judy is two years older than I, and Mr. Williams says she is my twin. I don’t honestly know why and I’m not sure I like it. We do seem to have a lot of similarities, however where we differ, we differ greatly. Judy was a cheerleader; I was a dork. Judy is very outgoing; I’m shy. (No really, I am!) Judy makes herself the center of attention, all the time; I try to fade into the wood work. Judy is perpetually laden with sexual innuendo, to the point of seeming like she’s trying too hard; I’m unreasonably uncomfortable talking about such things. In another text Judy said, “I hope you know that when this class is over, I am going to actively pursue you till you become one of my best friends!!!”, to which I replied, “Read: Stalk.”
I told Judy, “You might have guessed I don’t know the first thing about sports, but I am free that day and I might go.”
She replied, “there is no ‘might go’ available.” Earlier that night, I had to actually separate Judy and Laura because they wouldn’t stop talking and giggling while I was trying to teach them the skill of emergency childbirth, something I really don’t know how to do in the first place (would very much like, never to experience) and found out halfway through the night, I was not teaching correctly. Judy texted me, “That is what Laura & I were talking about is how much fun we would have hanging out with you.”
The next day she texted me to say, “I need another job so bad. Don’t you need a personal assistant or something?”
I told her, “Have I mentioned how much I hate MY job?”
She replied, “Yes…but you would like your job more if you got to hang with me all day.”
Somehow I doubt that.
Over that week-end, I found out that Aisha Tyler was playing a local comedy club this past week-end, but only on Saturday and Sunday. I love Aisha Tyler! (If you’ve been coming around here long, you know this already) I don’t generally go out on Sunday nights though, because I’m old and I have to work the next day, so I really wanted to go see her show on Saturday night at 10:30. I texted Judy, “About what time do you think Laura’s match will be over?”
Judy: “Don’t know but we wanted you to hang with us afterwards.
Me: “Did you have something specific in mind?” I wondered if they’d be interested in going to the show and if we had time to get there. Maybe everyone could get a little bit of what they wanted.
Judy: “Yep… but I can’t share it with you. Teehee. Laura wanted us all to go out after the game. Especially if Cal wins!!! It will be fun (trust me). Just pencil us in from 7 till we get you safe back home.”
Me: “You obviously don’t know me very well.”
Judy: “I don’t… that is why we have to hang out.”
Me: “I never trust anybody who tells me “Trust me”.
Judy: “Haha. Smart move.”
Me: “So??? What is the plan?”
Turns out there was no plan made. Micah apparently wanted to challenge Judy to Karaoke. Laura just wanted to make sure there were drinks involved. Judy said, “I think we will just go with the flow & see what there is to do in Berkeley.” This week, the school where the EMT class is taught is on Spring Break. Cal is not on Spring Break so it’s not really a break for Laura, but it’s a break from the EMT class at least.
When it was all said and done everyone was interested in going to see Aisha Tyler. Laura, I found out, is not a player, but an assistant coach. She’s a Fifth-Year Senior, “My victory lap” she calls it, and apparently she’s no longer eligible to play. Judy’s answer was, “Sounds like fun, but I don’t drive in the city.” I get so tired of people saying that. San Francisco is not that bad to drive in and certainly that’s no reason to deprive yourself of having fun. Originally, I told her I would drive her car. She drives a small-ish SUV, as compared to my compact hybrid. I didn’t really think we would fit in my car very well, but I really didn’t want to drive someone else’s car and eventually I told her, “Micah is so big he actually crowds me in the driver’s seat of my car. But I can wear my big girl panties and suck it up, if you two don’t mind being cramped in the back seat.” (None of these people know I’m gay, and occasionally I drop hints.)
Judy: “Yah… except that way we don’t get to see you drunk, which would be really entertaining.”
Me: “I don’t do drunk.”
Judy: “I figured…that is why it would be so entertaining.”
Me: “It’s really not that entertaining. That’s why I don’t do it… Anymore.”
Judy: “Well, I’ll just keep it on my bucket list (since we will be friends till we are old & gray.)
Saturday morning I sent a group text to the three, “FYI. There will be a 5 or so (not level) block walk from the parking garage to the comedy club and back again, so take that into consideration when selecting the height of your heels… Micah.” See, more hints. Laura, apparently, was very impressed that I thought to warn them. She said she told her father about it.
I was a little reluctant to go out with these people. I feel a little bit like it’s inappropriate to associate myself with the students. On the other hand I’m not the teacher and I don’t exactly have people banging down my door to be my friend. I decided I would go and just try to maintain an appropriate level of detachment which, by and large, was easy enough to do.
Micah is currently unemployed and he doesn’t have a working vehicle. I agreed to pick him up and take him to Laura’s match. I asked him on Friday what time he wanted me to pick him up and he said 5:00. That seemed unreasonably early to me but I let it go for the time being. However, as the, as it turned out, very lazy Saturday progressed, it became apparent I was not going to be on time. At 5:00 when, Micah called me, I was just about to step into the shower. Micah told me he was in Pacifica and just about to get on BART. He then told me he’d be back in Oakland around 5:30.
~
Mr. Williams, he himself a black man, often talks about some of the students living on “BPT” (actually, he says “CPT” but I personally find the C to be offensive.) BPT is “Black People Time”. I would never use that terminology myself, but based on my experiences with Michelle and her family, I can see where the phrase comes from. Michelle has no concept of time. She tells me she’ll be over at 5:30, it’ll be well after 6:00 before I see her. She tells me the movie starts in 20 minutes and we have plenty of time, even though we’re a 15 minute drive from the theater and still have to park, buy our tickets, go to the bathroom, buy our concessions and find seats in the crowded dark theater, but she’s still wandering aimlessly around the house.
~
It takes nearly an hour to get from Pacifica to Oakland on BART and I knew there was no way that Micah was going to be home by 5:30. I told him I, too, was running late, and we’d play it by ear. I took my shower, brushed my teeth, beautified myself, before I texted him to say, “I’ll be ready to go in 10 minutes. Will you be ready to be picked up?” I got dressed and went into the kitchen to feed the cat. That’s when my phone rang. It’s was Micah who wanted to know how long ago I had sent the text. I told him about 4 minutes. It was 6:03 and he had just arrived in Oakland. He was waiting for the bus that would take him home so he could change for the evening. I told him I would head toward the street corner he was on and we would see if I got there before the bus did.
I picked Micah up and took him to his house so he could change clothes. I hadn’t eaten in hours and I was starving. I knew we would all go eat after the water polo match but I was too hungry to wait that long so I told Micah we’d stop at McDonald’s or something along the way. I didn’t mind buying him a burger. Due to a few circumstances beyond my control we were late arriving at the match. Cal lost to Stanford 8-4 if anybody cares. The match was over a little after 8:00 and we went back to Laura’s apartment so she could change.
Laura’s room mates were having an impromptu party, and there were many distractions as Laura was trying to change and Micah was trying to Flirt. Judy and I were starving and we wanted to get something to eat before heading into The City and Micah and Laura were slowing down the works. Despite my warning, Laura wore a pair of close-fitting jeans, a lovely, but casual black maternity shirt (she says she actually bought it in the maternity department, but God only knows why, she certainly doesn’t need to shop there) and three-inch heels. To be honest, that surprised me for reasons unrelated to the walking that would be taking place. The top was low-cut and she was displaying a pleasant, not absurd amount of cleavage. This was the first time I had ever seen Laura with her hair down and I had no idea how long her hair actually was. She always comes to class with a pony tail. Laura is beautiful, with long blond hair, clear, glowing skin and bright blue eyes. She has perfect, white teeth, with a beautiful smile. She has a low-pitched voice she describes as a smokers voice, even though she doesn’t smoke (think Angie Harmon). It’s not gruff, just not high-pitched. She has a fantastic laugh that is very infectious. She’s just a lot of fun to spend time with.
When she was ready and we were about leave her apartment, Judy told Laura that she looked “hot”. I was surprised to see Laura blush and trivialize the very accurate complement. Later as we walked from my car to the restaurant, I asked, “Laura. You’re not self conscious are you?” She said she was not, but then she said she didn’t believe it when people say things like that. (Um… What does “self-conscious” mean to you?) Judy’s reply was that she had enough confidence for both of them. Oy!
~
We had dinner at Chipotle and then headed into San Francisco. While we waited in the longest line I’ve ever experienced at this club, I looked up and realized I had a beautiful view of Coit Tower. I tried to take a picture of it, but of course in the dark, at a distance, with my crappy little point and shoot digital, it came out as a blurry swab of dim light on an otherwise dark background. As I pointed my crappy camera at the beautiful specter, I heard Judy behind me. “Two beautiful blondes right here and he’s taking pictures of landscapes.” After I took my bad picture, I turned the camera on her. I couldn’t even see her, and I didn’t really care how the picture turned out, but when it was taken and I looked at the finished product, I saw that in the blink of an eye, she had posed for the picture.
~
The host/first act of the night was a local morning radio show host; one half of Fernando & Greg, the only gay radio show I’ve ever heard of. I don’t honestly know if it was Fernando or Greg. I don’t really care. He wasn’t funny. The opening act, also a gay man whose name I can not remember, was downright filthy and offensive. Both of them made a lot of gay jokes, which, naturally, I found humor in, to a point, but they both pushed the envelope quite a bit. There were a number of anti-female and anti-heterosexuality jokes made with a lot of derogatory references to female genitalia and I found the whole thing very uncomfortable. I know some people believe that’s what comedy should be. I am not one of those people. Aisha Tyler, of course was hilarious, only once saying something that I found offensive, a single word, but still. That was a new experience for me.
Judy, Laura and Micah enjoyed the show. They complied with the two drink minimum. Micah with a whiskey & lime and a Kamikaze, Laura with two beers and Judy with a bottle of White Zinfandel. I had two Diet Cokes. Judy paid for Micah’s drinks and unbeknownst to me, Laura paid for mine. I drove, used my gas, my electronic toll pass to cross the bridge and paid for the parking, so I didn’t mind letting Laura pay for my absurdly expensive soft drinks ($4.00 a piece).
When the show was over, we got in line to meet my BFF. Laura took this picture. It’s better than the one Michelle took the last time I saw Aisha. That picture was unsharable. (Also? LOOK BRACES!) We also took a group picture.
Micah, Me, Aisha Tyler, Judy and Laura
After, we headed back to the parking garage where my car was parked. No sooner did we get outside, than Judy grabbed Micah and said, “I need an arm.” She then proceeded to hang on him all the way to the garage. Laura and I walked together a few paces ahead of Micah and Judy. Laura was curious about my “relationship” with Aisha and we talked all the way back. She was amused and seemed genuinely… Impressed doesn’t seem like the right word, but for lack of a better option…
It was nearly 1:00 AM when we got to the parking garage and I realized I forgot to have my parking ticket validated. I was just going to pay the full price for my parking ($2.00 every 20 minutes for the three or more hours we were there) but both Judy and Laura told me I shouldn’t do that. I said, “Do you guys really want to walk all the way back there?”
Laura said, “Sure!”
Judy said, “No.”
I said we would have to walk back to get it validated. Judy wanted to wait while I went back. I told her, “We all go or nobody goes.” So we all turned around and went back to the club, about seven blocks, to get the ticket validated. The whole way, Laura and I were ahead of Judy and Micah, and we talked. (You’ll recall that Laura was wearing three-inch heels. What I didn’t say was that she was wearing them with no stockings. At no point did she complain about her feet.)
I was very thirsty and after getting my ticket validated we crossed the street to a liquor store so I could get a bottle of Diet Pepsi. While I was standing at the cooler, I heard Judy say, “Pepsi please” and I grabbed one. Micah and Laura both said they didn’t want anything. I held the Pepsi out to Judy and she just looked at it.
I asked, “Didn’t you say you wanted this?”
“Yeah,” she replied, “but I can’t hold it yet.” After a beat as I just looked at her, she said, “I’ll pay for it, I just can’t hold it.”
I put the bottles down on the counter. The cashier rang them up, and I gave him $4.00. He handed me my change and put the bottles in a black plastic bag. I turned around and followed the crew outside where I pulled the Pepsi out of the bag and held it out to Judy. “I can’t hold that yet,” she said again. Enough was enough. I rolled my eyes, put her Pepsi back in the bag, pulled my Diet Pepsi out and held the bag out to her. She whined for a second and I continued to hold it out to her. Finally she took it and I turned to walk back to the car. Suddenly I felt a drag on my arm as Judy reached out and grabbed it to “steady herself”. Again she said, “I need an arm” and she proceeded to hold on to me all the way back to the car. I hated it, but I didn’t man up and tell her to let go of me.
At first Micah and Laura were ahead of us, but soon, Laura fell behind and walked with Judy and me, and she and I continued our conversation. Soon, Micah joined us.
We were back at Laura’s apartment in Berkeley by 2:00. After a few minutes of conversation, Laura went inside, and Micah and Judy got into her car while I got into mine.
~
You may be wondering what is so confusing about all this, as the title of this post would imply. On the other hand, I’m not terribly subtle, maybe you’re not wondering at all…
Really, there are a number of things that are confusing to me.
I had fun, and yet, I didn’t.
I liked being out and doing stuff, but I didn’t enjoy feeling taken advantage of. I didn’t like playing taxi service.
I was simultaneously willing and annoyed to have to buy Micah’s food. I understand what it’s like to be broke when everyone else isn’t, and I’m OK with helping him out, and yet, I kind of feel like he should have declined to come out with us if he didn’t have any money. I can imagine how he might feel and I don’t want to make him feel worse. I also think it’s kind of presumptuous of him.
I found Judy’s behavior off-putting, but I realized I don’t really have a good reason to not like her. Plus, she seems to really like me, which means if I reject her, I’ll feel like even more of a dick, than I would if we were just casual acquaintances. She really isn’t a not nice person and I should accept her friendship at least to a point, but I really hate that girly, helpless, I need a man for everything attitude. Too dainty to walk very far. Too dependent to hold her self upright after a couple of glasses of wine. Too cold to hold the cold soda that she asked for. Give me a break! Puh-lease!
Judy and Laura had a lot of whispered conversations. I really hate that! I know it happens. Frequently even. Especially among women. But it’s just so annoying, and I think rather rude when in the midst of company. They sat in the back seat of my car as I drove into the city and they were whispering to each other. They wanted me to turn on music, but in order to be able to hear each other talk, it had to be turned down so low that you couldn’t hear it anyway. After one song I turned it back off and no one noticed for almost 10 minutes.
I felt a little bit like I was bullied into the whole situation, because Judy wanted it and she always seems to get her way. I’m realizing as I write this that Judy tells people what they’re going to do, but she does it in such a way as to feel as though you’re being asked when in fact you’re not. And it’s not until later that you realize you’ve actually been manipulated into doing what she wants. Generally what she wants is harmless enough, but that’s so not the point.
And then there’s the biggest confusion of all.
Without really giving it any thought or even really being aware of what was happening, I found myself admiring… Laura.
I’ve liked Laura since I met her. She’s funny. She’s smart. She’s personable. She’s self-assured. She’s athletic. She seems to be very happy. She’s always seemed a bit of a tomboy, which is fine if that’s your thing. Not butch, not masculine, just… Tomboy.
Something that has always bothered me about women, if you haven’t already picked up on this, and which should have probably given me a clue about myself sooner in life, is the helpless, needy, dainty, girliness of them. I know that I’m treading on dangerous waters here, since the majority of my readership is female, but still…
I never wanted to be with someone I had to do everything for. I always wanted to be with a partner; an equal. I want someone who when they ask for help carrying in the groceries they mean help not do it for me. Better yet, someone who won’t ask for help. That would be awesome! I want to be with someone who, when they get a wild hair to rearrange the furniture, asks for my input, because that’s the only thing they need from me, not my “help” because they want to point and direct while I push all the furniture around. Someone who wants to remodel the bathroom together, not have me do all the work (which is a joke, because I’m as unhandy as you can get.)
I wanted to be with someone who is strong (physically and emotionally), capable, independent, but who can clean themselves up, throw on a nice outfit and be attractive and sexy for an evening outing.
The point is, I wanted to be with someone who was independent. Someone who didn’t need me for every little thing. Someone who is perfectly content to do things on their own but who enjoys doing things with me. I want to be with someone who wants to be with me, not needs to be. I want to feel wanted not needed.
Growing up, I was sure I was never going to find that, but if I some how did, it would be a woman. It had to be, there was no other viable option. For the last few years I’ve been sure I was never going to find that, but if I somehow did, it was going to be a man. Men are my thing, and since I’m not sure I’ll ever truly come to terms with that, I fully expect to be alone for the rest of my life.
But…
But…
But I haven’t stopped thinking about Laura since Saturday night. It’s all very confusing. And there are a lot of reasons for this to be confusing.
I have no idea if Laura is interested in me. Sometimes I think she might be. She enjoys talking to me, and naturally, that can’t possibly be just because she likes me as a person… I’m realizing now, that whatever her motivation, or the extent of her interest, she does show genuine interest in knowing me. She bought me lunch once when we were meeting with a bunch of people to review skills. She hasn’t done that for Micah. She bought my drinks on Saturday, even though I had already handed her money for them. She didn’t buy anything for Micah all night. She walked with and talked to me all the way to the parking garage and back to the club. After just a couple of minutes with Micah, she came back to talk to me on the next walk. She presumably wanted me to come on this outing with them, at least that’s what Judy said.
Laura, seems to me to be all the things I described above: strong, capable, confident, a partner not a clinger on. She’s tough and athletic which is something I’ve always found appealing. But when she took her hair down, and she wore the high heels, never once complaining about how hard they are to walk in, and walked a lot. She looked beautiful; sexy even.
Laura is also too young. She’s only 22. I’m 35. There’s a whole span of history and culture she knows nothing about and I do. I’ve strongly adhered to the “half your age plus seven rule of not being creepy”, which clearly dictates that I can’t be with anyone under 24.
Also, in case I haven’t mentioned it previously… Laura is a girl. A full-fledged girl with floppy chesticles and a real vagina… I assume.
I never truly ruled out the possibility of accidentally falling in love with a woman. Lord knows, a part of my heart always has and always will belong to Heather, but Heather is safe and those feelings are far more about the unconditional love and acceptance I get from her, and not so much about physical or sexual attraction. Heather represents something I’ve never had in my life and I never expect to have again. Laura… Laura is something new.
But I have been with a woman. I know what it’s all about. I’ve performed oral sex, exactly one time, on a woman and I was quite sure, from that one time, it was not something I ever wanted to do again. I can’t imagine feeling differently about that, just because it’s a different woman.
It would be horrible of me to try to get over it and fail. How could I do something so hurtful to someone I cared about? The risk is too great, and not worth taking.
Besides, this may all be one-sided.
~
I’m blowing this out of proportion.
I’m sure.
Laura is something I don’t often seen in women, something that I like and I’m sure that’s what this is about.
Riggledo 