Ben looked at me for
a moment, his brow furrowed and his eyes showing a complicated mix
of hurt, offense, and...guilt? I wasn't sure about that last bit,
but I really got the impression that he was wavering between feeling
like he had really fucked up, and being angry that I could explode
at someone like that just for knocking on my door.
"Well, I gotta
get to class," he mumbled, and shuffled back down the hall.
Jesus FUCK, I cursed
silently. I couldn't believe that fucknut, and the way he'd just
barge right up to my door and everything. And then he has the balls
to be pissed when I didn't greet him with open arms? I mean damn,
we had coffee once, it doesn't make us best buddies and it certainly
doesn't obligate me to make sure he knows where I am at all times.
I backed into my room,
slammed and locked the door, and took out my frustrations on a big
squishy floor pillow. Pounding away on corduroy and poly-fill, my
anger slowly diffused and my pressure level dropped; I started breathing
normally. Needless to say, once I calmed down, I felt like a complete
asshole for blowing up at Ben. I still think that just showing up
at someone's door unannounced is crossing a line, but he was just
trying to look out for me. He was worried about me. That's something
a friendless loser like me doesn’t get very often.
So, out of guilt driven
obligation, I stood outside Jung Hall a few days later, to catch
him as he came out of his class. I didn't know what to expect, obviously
he and I didn't quite play by the same social rules, but I was just
hoping he wouldn't be too pissed to see me. When he stepped through
the doorway and spotted me leaning against the wall, he looked a
little surprised, but I got a smile, not a punch, so I figured I
was okay.
"Hey," I
offered, quietly.
We had a whole damn
conversation right there in the hall, without either of us making
a sound. My apology was written in slender script across my raised
eyebrows, and his acceptance and gruff dismissal of the situation
was plainly spoken by his tentative smile. He knew I had issues
with space, and he knew he had broken one of my boundaries, and
he was going to be understanding of that in the future. I knew he
didn't mean to freak me out, and I was going to try and get used
to someone being closer than arm's length. And once the awkward,
silent exchange was done, it seemed safe to speak aloud again.
"Let's grab lunch,
dude, I need some food pretty bad," he suggested.
"Maybe some other..."
I stopped. Maybe I shouldn't be so quick to push him away this time?
If nothing else, that's what got me into trouble before. Maybe I
should grit my teeth and sit through lunch with someone instead
of fleeing back to my cave like I usually do. "Ok, yeah. Let's
go," I agreed finally.
We had lunch.
It didn't kill me.
In fact, it was rather
cool. We talked about music, a whole lot. I admit, I'm a music obsessed
individual; a music nerd, if you will. The tunes themselves some
first of course, but I also love the back stories. What are the
odds that Chris Cornell and Jeff Buckley, two singers with possibly
the most startling vocal ranges in recent popular music, would happen
to be close friends? If Stevie Ray hadn't died in a plane crash,
could he have become as influential as Eddie Van Halen? Jimi Hendrix?
Since Megadeth is arguably more radio friendly than Metallica, would
the latter have had greater commercial success if they HADN'T ejected
Dave Mustaine? If My Chemical Romance and Fall Out Boy ran out of
teen angst, would they become ‘pop crap’ like Hoobastank or message-laced
pop-punk like Green day? This was just a fraction of what we mulled
over while stuffing our snackholes at the dining hall buffet.
We broke up the discussion
a while later, since Ben had another class, and I wanted to head
back to my dorm room; my excuse was that I was inspired to do some
‘research’ for our next musical discussion. But in truth, I needed
some alone time. This all was a big stretch for me, and I needed
to head home for some time in my own little space.
Maybe it was the fresh
air, which I don't typically expose myself to for more than four
or five minutes at a time, but I had now been out in for most of
the morning. Maybe it was a result of interacting with another human
a significant measure more than I usually do. Whatever the cause,
as I walked back to my hall I felt lighter than I had in a long,
long time, as though I had coughed all of the smog out of my lungs,
or shaken off a heavy coat to find that it was short-sleeve weather
after all.
Jesus, what's wrong
with me? Flowery metaphors? What the fuck?
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Since about age fourteen,
I've had emotional defenses built up around me that could rival
Hadrian's Wall. I more or less figured out I was into guys and had
almost no interest in girls, and to me that was a secret to be hidden
from everyone. So I grew a shell; people could know a little about
me, the superficial stuff like my favorite food and my hobbies,
but nobody got inside. Years later, in a rare moment of self-realization,
I figured out that the deeper reason I was so closeted was that
I cared a great deal about other people's feelings, and I was actually
more bothered that other people would be uncomfortable with my sexuality...for
their OWN sake, I mean. If someone disliked me, so be it, but the
idea that I would make someone sad or disturbed or wish they were
somewhere else because I was gay was almost unbearable to me. So
I kept my sexuality inside, along with everything else in my heart
by not talking about myself, and not making deep emotional connections
with anyone.
Rather twisted, eh?
So opening up to Ben
was not easy for me, even though my sexuality never came into it.
Up to this point, hanging out with a friend and getting into complicated
discussions about topics I was passionate about, like music or politics,
was unheard of. I didn't flip completely around, though. A water-phobic
kid that finally learns to float doesn't immediately start jumping
off the high diving board, but he might finally give up the water
wings. Likewise, Ben and I started meeting for the occasional meal
or caffeine dose.
Most Mondays, after
the lecture that we almost shared, we'd grab a coffee, and if I
was feeling particularly adventurous, we might talk about what we
did the previous weekend. For me, it wasn't usually much of a tale;
nobody wanted to hear about me staring at the inside of my dorm
room, though I did occasionally head into town or hop a bus to somewhere
not too far away. Ben, on the other hand, headed out of town to
a different college town each weekend with the cycling team. Stories
were told of five a.m. starts of road trips, changing in the vans,
practical jokes, races won and lost, and dozens of guys and girls
cramming in like clowns into a VW, still soaked with sweat, for
miles and miles of driving trying to get home for a few hours of
sleep before Monday morning classes. It sounded like the most horrifically
wonderful bonding experience ever.
He didn't talk about
checking out all the cute guys in tight spandex shorts, but I didn't
need him to. My imagination filled in all the blanks.
And then, one weekend,
I didn't have to imagine any more; I got to see more tight bodies
in tight cycling shorts than I ever thought possible. Ben, with
big puppy-dog eyes, asked if I would help out with the only hometown
race of the season which was coming up that weekend. They were short
on support staff, since everyone on the team would be racing, and
they were asking anyone they could find to lend a hand. I was bribed
with a team t-shirt and a water bottle, and some pizza. How could
I say no?
I was enlisted as a
‘marshal’, which is a fancy term for someone that stands at the
entrance or exit of a parking lot, keeping cars at bay while cyclists
whizzed past. Watching the race was quite a novelty, for the first
thirty minutes or so, because bike races can be pretty exciting
and intense. But collegiate races go on for HOURS, and I couldn't
very well just give up when I got bored. But things took a turn
for the better around noon when Ben stopped by for a visit, and
to thank me for helping out. He and four or five other guys pedaled
up to hang out and chat for a few minutes, and every one of them
shook my hand and said "thank you". It never occurred
to me before, but a convenient side-effect of shyly keeping my eyes
cast down toward the ground is that you can check out a cyclist's
package without them noticing. This was my introduction to cycling,
and I enjoyed it very much.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"Hey Jeff, Ben's
out back getting tetanus. His turn to pitch the rusty hanger collection,”
Over the past several weeks, Jen had gotten to recognize me on sight,
since I had come to meet Ben for a bite in town on weekends on several
occasions. Not that either of us could afford it, but there were
a few places to get a cheap slice or a sandwich if you knew where
to look. Ben couldn't very well travel back to campus for a lunch
break, and I was getting to the point where I preferred not to eat
alone. Who would've thought?
Jen looked over at
me with that same smile...like she knew the punch line to a joke
I hadn't heard yet.
"Why are you always
smirking at me when I come in here?" I asked.
"I just think
you two are cute, is all," she replied.
I leaned against the
crappy sticker-encrusted counter, trying to look casual as my defenses
rose up just a bit. "What do you mean by that?" I asked,
warily.
"Oh, like you
don't know..." she began, but she backpedaled a bit when she
saw my blank look. "Oh, I...well, nothing. Shit, I'm sorry.
I've just known BJ a while, and - oh damn, I just got caught in
a really bad stereotype, I guess..." She was blushing furiously.
"It's just that he's so sweet, and he obviously cares a lot
about how he looks, and he's always talking about you two hanging
out. I just assumed he was gay... and so I figured you..."
she stopped.
Whoa. WHOA. I completely
didn't register that she pegged me as a fag, because I was still
stuck back on the fact that she just gave me some vague confirmation
that Ben was GAY.
Ben was GAY. At least
Jen, who had been spending ten or twenty hours a week with the guy
since before we met, thought so. I never thought to HOPE Ben was
gay. I mean, there was just no fucking WAY that...well, it's not
like I had any chance in hell with him anyway, but it was just a
crazy coincidence. I finally run into someone that I could call
a friend - something I hadn't had in quite a while - and they turned
out to be total eye candy, so I just counted my blessings that I
got to look at him for an hour or two once or twice a week. But,
holy shit, here's someone that might not think I'm a total freak
for liking guys.
Oh fuck, I thought
to myself, I'm in real trouble now. It was one thing when I knew,
or thought I knew that Ben was straight. It made it easy for me
to put up that usual barrier, that one where I blocked out my feelings
for someone, knowing they'd never be returned. But after Jen dropped
that bomb on my head, I knew I needed to put some distance between
Ben and me. I knew that if I kept hanging out with this hot guy
who ran around in spandex shorts and listened to cool music, I would
end up saying or doing something to make a complete fool of myself.
Like asking him out, and making him have to turn me down flat.
Jen stood there, staring
at me, dumbstruck. From her perspective, it must have looked like
I went from excited and happy to worried and upset in about two
and a half seconds. "Jeff, hey, I don't know what I'm talking
about, just forget wha...Jeff?" She stopped as I headed for
the door.
"I just realized
I forgot to...do...something, tell Ben I'll...I'll catch him later?"
I turned and ran out the door before she had a chance to reply.
I guess I'll never
know for sure what Jen said to Ben, though I seriously doubt she
would have told him the whole story. The first message was waiting
for me when I got home but I was too fucking chicken to listen to
it. The second came that night, but I didn't hear the phone ring
because I was sitting out in the hallway on the window’s edge, looking
out at the dusk and thinking that these past weeks were just a fluke
and I really rather liked living in my own little dorm room bubble.
A few moments later, when some of my floor mates started filtering
back from dinner, I scuttled back in and let the Deftones wash over
me, building up my walls once more.
I didn't even get through
a whole track, though, before I started thinking about him. I felt
bad for ditching him, I felt guilty for bolting without even talking
to him. I didn't want to hear the voice mail messages, but at the
same time I faintly hoped that whatever he said, he'd sound upbeat
or curious and not sad or upset. I wanted to know, but I couldn't
listen! It struck me at this point that this guy had totally gotten
under my skin, for this situation to be affecting me like this.
Was this the plan, was he trying to win me over, or did making friends
just come so naturally to him?
I couldn't really afford
to lose my only friend. Yes, hiding was comfortable for me, but
at the same time I couldn't deny that the changes he squeezed out
of me were for the better. I was less stressed and I was getting
more air. I was probably eating better too, since I wasn't just
inhaling food and scurrying back to my room, we were taking our
time at the dining hall. Talking a little, even if it wasn't too
deep, was actually growing on me, and if I fucked this all up now,
I would be right back to square one, ground zero, level one with
no saved game and no replays. Shit, no matter how much I wanted
to avoid it, I had to think this all over, and my dorm room was
just keeping me in my avoidant rut. I needed to get out.
I hit the sidewalk
outside the dorm and headed right, hooking back behind the building
and crossing over the small green ringed by the north campus residence
halls. I wanted somewhere to sit and think but I was staying well
away from the band of campus running between the biology buildings
and the student union building; I suppose I could run into Ben anywhere
- assuming he was even on campus - but the only place I ever seemed
to see him was in that area, so I didn't want to risk an encounter.
I wanted to be somewhere that I could stay invisible; the problem
was that on a campus of twelve thousand, there weren't a lot of
places that nobody ever went. But ahead of me, the sports arena/rec
center rose up peeking over the tops of the dorms, and I knew where
I wanted to be.
The arena building
was several stories tall and built on a slope so that the right
side of the complex was exposed on the bottom floor, and the hill
sloped up towards the left so the main entrance in the middle of
the building was on the second floor. Staying on the lower side
of the building, I plopped down on a patch of grass next to a pair
of wide doors used for loading large equipment inside. This spot
allowed me to watch the steady flow of foot traffic climbing the
short hill up to the main entrance, but avoid even a glance since
nobody paid any attention to the loading area. I leaned back against
the concrete foundation and closed my eyes, and tried to think my
way through my predicament.
It felt as though I
had been sitting there for no more than fifteen or twenty seconds
when a calm voice spoke to me from my left. "What's shakin',
chief?" It was Josh, one of the cycling team kids.
I liked Josh, or I
felt like I did, based on the few times we had spoken since I met
him on race day. He was quiet, and reserved, and at the risk of
being stereotypical, cerebral - he was a hardcore reader and a concise
talker. Entirely approachable, he didn't seem to look down on anyone
whether they were a newbie rider on the team or someone like me
who didn't ride at all, even though he was well on his way to becoming
one of the team's elite riders. Looking at his clean cycling outfit
and dry skin, I guessed he was heading out for a ride rather than
just returning. He leaned his bike carefully against the building
and sat cross-legged across from me.
"Something up?"
he asked, quietly. "Girl trouble, maybe?" He smirked a
bit.
"Something like
that," I replied, eyes at the grass in front of me. Josh put
me at ease, honestly, for reasons that were not clear to me. I somehow
knew I didn't have to hide anything from him. But how could I even
begin...? And did I want to?
"Let me give you
some advice - something that no college guy interested in more than
a quick fuck ever seems to figure out." He paused for a sec,
choosing his words. "Don't overcomplicate things. Say what
you want, listen to what they want. If you meet in the middle, hang
on and don't let go. If you don't, then remember you have your whole
life ahead of you. Find your happiness elsewhere."
With that, he stood,
unfolding his legs and rising in one fluid motion. He rested his
hand on my shoulder, reassuringly, for a second before mounting
his bike. He pedaled off, leaving me to ponder what to do about
Ben, and what Josh's advice had to do with...anything.
I was scared to lose
a connection with Ben, who was the only person right now I could
call a friend. It wasn't much but it was all I had, and maybe that
made it valuable after all. But what was I supposed to do - let
things progress and maybe dig into those areas I always kept apart
from other people? Pull back and try to keep things where they were
now, friendly and casual but not very deep? And damn, I was scared
to open up about my sexuality whether anything developed between
us or not. Signs said maybe he was gay, and he spent lots of time
with me, but my heart told me there was no way someone like him
would go for someone like me. Unless he hit me over the head with
a big ol' gay pride flag embroidered with the slogan ‘I dig you,
Jeff’, I don't think I'd ever make a move.
Then I thought back
to what Josh had just told me.
I realized that I was
having a huge internal debate about something that very well might
have only existed in my head; Ben certainly liked to hang out with
me, but was there really anything more? Maybe, maybe not - but worrying
that something might come up and might cause a problem was, I think,
causing a situation that I was trying to avoid in the first place.
I'm not above giving in to my fears, but I'm also not so thick that
I'll shoot myself in the foot if I see it coming.
I was overcomplicating
things.
The realization didn't
dull the fear of facing the situation one bit, but at least I knew
what to do; I'd keep rolling ahead, and see where fate took me.
I might get fucked over royally in any number of ways, but I wasn't
going to pre-emptively screw myself. In the back of my head, despite
my fear, I knew I was going to have to talk to him, going to have
to keep hanging out, and I was going to have to take my chances
that I could keep myself from doing something stupid and wrecking
what little I had. So I headed back to my place, to return Ben's
calls.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
So I didn't actually call Ben until two days later. Yeah, maybe
I had smartened up a bit, but I was still a fucking chicken. But
I did call, and we did talk, and things were cool. Except for me
missing his birthday.
Now, in my defense,
it's not like he gave me a lot of warning, but the anniversary of
his birth passed right under my nose and I didn't do a thing for
him. I felt guilty, really guilty, even worse after he told me a
bunch of the cycling guys took him out and he wanted me to come
and hang with the crowd that night. But I hadn't returned his call,
so I didn't find out about it, and I missed out.
We were talking about
it again the next day over burgers in the dining hall. He was downplaying
it, either so I didn't feel quite as bad, or because it honestly
wasn't a big deal. But as he was telling me not to worry about it,
he was keeping me in an eye-lock the whole time, with a slightly
mischievous look on his brow. What the hell was that all about?
Was he secretly enjoying my guilt a little bit? Was it a flirty
look? Had Jen said something to him about us, or what she told me?
God, I my mind was turning fast, juggling paranoid scenarios.
He did the eyebrow
thing again a few moments later, with a little smirk, while bringing
a french fry up to his lips, and at that point I was pretty sure
they were flirty eyes aimed in my direction. I don't know where
it came from, but a rather daring - for me - idea popped into my
head and flew right out of my mouth before I had thought it through
at all.
"Well dammit,
I'll just take you out to dinner to make up for it. We'll go to
that seafood grill downtown, on the corner by the record store."
Ben's eyes lit up even
more. "Sweet!" he replied, simply.
Holy shit, what did
I just do? It's not like I asked him on a legitimate date or anything,
but from his pleased look, he sure seemed to enjoy the idea of the
two of us spending a night hanging out, eating, and talking. I was
scared as hell, but at the same time, it just seemed right - what
else could those looks mean but "hey, I'm interested"?
"Tonight?"
he asked.
"Huh?" I
replied, not understanding his query.
"Should we go
tonight?"
Oh shit...so soon?
"Um, I dunno man, won't we need a reservation or something?"
I asked, desperate for a way out. Yeah, I was getting into the idea,
but I needed at least a few minutes to think this over! Taking him
out tonight seemed so, well, sudden.
"It's a Thursday
night, and we're a party of two. They're not going to make us get
a reservation," he explained. And thinking about it, I knew
he was right.
I gave in.
"OK man, meet
me outside my dorm around five and we'll catch the bus into town.
I gotta bail now, though...so I'll catch you later?" I ran
off to find something to vomit into.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"This is some
sick tuna, dude," was the first statement to come out of Ben
following a good five minutes of silence spent admiring the soy,
wasabi, and honey-glazed work of culinary art sitting on the plate
in front of him. I would have been jealous, but at that moment I
couldn't imagine anything tastier than the pecan-and-parmesan-crusted
tilapia I was devouring. When we met earlier at the bus stop, I
would have killed for a shot of something strong, a pill, anything
to calm my nerves. But by the time the food arrived at our table
at Jay's, I was doing just fine. His smiles, the easy conversation,
the tasty appetizers, everything was just as it should have been.
And those flirtatious expressions that had me wondering at lunchtime
continued all through dinner.
We ate, we rested,
we talked, and we ate more. I didn't even want to look at the bill
when it came - I was having too much fun to worry about the damage
I was about to do to my credit card balance, so I just slid my card
to the waitress and signed the slip when she returned. It was only
about eight by the time we were done, and we agreed that a bit of
walking would be a good idea after all that eating, so off we went.
I was having a really
hard time wrapping my head around just how well this night was going.
Here I was walking side-by-side with a guy so amazingly cute that
he made my stomach flutter, on a perfect early summer night in downtown
Portsmouth. Intoxicated by the scent of a dozen restaurants cranking
away for the dinner crowd, mingling with the air's faint marine
tang as the breeze gently lifted up a few wisps of hair from my
neck like a lover's exhale. It was too much, really, for a mundane
soul like me. What god smiled down on me tonight? Did I really care
to know?
Looking down over the
railing of Memorial Bridge at the black Piscataqua flowing fleetly
past, I felt like I owned that night, made just for me and my chosen
co-star; like everyone else in this town was an extra in this film.
I let out a sigh, relaxed and content, and looked over at Ben. He
was already watching me; our eyes locked, and I smiled, earning
a smile from him in return. I could tell from the gleam in his eye
that he felt it too; he was as drunk on this night as I was.
We wandered back to
the bus stop, in a manner of speaking, as it was obvious that neither
of us were in a hurry to get anywhere. Back in the bustling shopping
area, we slipped right back into our previous conversation effortlessly.
Classes, the summer plans, books, any topic that sprung into one
of our heads was fair game, and it seemed that every thread of conversation
eventually hooked back around to music - something so critical to
both of us.
We had to run to catch
the 9:05 bus when we hit the square, though, since it was there
and waiting, the idling clatter of the diesel engine telling us
we'd better hurry. Hopping up two steps, we flashed our IDs to the
driver and walked to the back of the bus, which was almost empty
as most people would be getting in another few hours of drinking
before calling it a night. Let them, I thought, I have this guy
alone in the back of a forty -foot long diesel limousine...take
us home, Jeeves.
I've heard many people
say that if you can sit with someone in silence for five minutes
and it doesn't get awkward, if neither of you feel the need to break
the silence with small talk, then it's a big sign that you two are
a match for each other. Outside of rush hour, it takes twenty-three
minutes to go from Market Square to the stop in front of T-hall
by bus.
Neither of us spoke
a word the entire time.
How could I help but
think that night was meant to be? I knew that I had finally found
something real - not a compromise, like those high-school girlfriends
that let me hide in plain sight. Sure, the idea of being in public
with boyfriend scared the ever-living fuck out of me, but I could
let those details sleep until tomorrow. Right now, I had the perfect
guy standing right next to me, sending me all the right signals,
saying all the right things.
The situation practically
begged me to make the next move. And damn it, I would, for once
in my life. I knew what I wanted, and although we spent the evening
together under the pretense of a late birthday gift, it felt to
me like a legitimate date in everything but name. What do I have
to lose by making it a formal thing?
And so, as we stood
alone on the sidewalk, the bus pulling away and not a soul in sight,
I reached over and took Ben's elbow in my hand, tugging a bit, urging
him to turn and look at me. I met his eyes with mine and took a
breath, before laying it all on the line.
"Ben, do you think
you'd like to go on a date sometime?"
His eyes widened a
bit, and then he tilted his head to the side. His mouth curved a
bit, almost a smirk, but then it disappeared.
"Wait, what?"
Oh God. I dropped my
hand from his arm.
"Do you think
you'd like to go out on a date sometime?" I repeated. That
gentle lover's breeze was turning chilly, very quickly.
"A date?"
he asked, pausing. "Um, no...I don't think so..."
I stared at Ben, dumbfounded.
What the hell did that mean? No, I'm not gay, even though I've been
sending you signals for weeks? No, you're not cute enough? No, I've
been fucking LEADING you ON so I can SCREW with you?
"Wh...but..."
I stammered, trying to put together some sort of coherent question,
but the dozen already flying around in my head got clogged up when
they got down to the back of my throat.
"Look, uh, Jeff...I
really have to go," he said, as the turned to leave. Unable
to speak, all I could do was watch him fade away.