Written by Weldon Boyd
The music was playing softly, the soundtrack from Beaches. I love the way it flows from a powerful orchestra and Bette Midler’s seductive voice. I had fond memories of that soundtrack; here I was, about to make another memory with that same music melting into the background.
We had come to my house after a night on the town. We started after work by going to happy hour at our local hangout, then progressed to a yuppie dance club and finally back to my homestead. Truthfully, I was amazed that he actually agreed to come back here. I mentioned that I had rented some movies earlier in the week and still had them. He was more than ready to come back and watch them with me.
A couple of beers into the first movie, we shut it off and turned on the radio. I slyly put the Beaches CD into the player, hoping to switch over later without him noticing. We were talking as we always do. If there is one thing about our relationship, it’s that we have some of the best conversations one could imagine. Being the same age, but of entirely different backgrounds, we have many life experiences to share. I loved hearing about his parents, his high school experiences, and his past relationships.
The beer, mixed with my thin blood, was running straight to my brain. I was losing all signs of control and apprehension listening to him talk, staring at his beautiful eyes, and feeling his glow when he laughed.
It was an awkward moment. The conversation had lulled us a little and I was ready. Sitting on the far end of the couch, I gently put my beer back on the coffee table and looked deep into his eyes.
“Paul,” I said, already blushing a deep purple red. “I have a question I have to ask you . . .” The look on his face was one I never expected, although, I really didn’t know what to expect.
So, here I was at yet another pivotal point in my life. I was asking Paul if he was gay. The past relationships he had talked about so freely were all with women. We got along so well because we worked with each other and made a great team, at work. He felt comfortable with me, because he knew me as someone else. When we sat down that night to watch movies, I had no idea whether or not Paul was interested in having a different type of relationship with me. This entire story is somewhat more than one year long. It has very little to do with being gay, but has everything to do with being me. For an entire year I struggled with myself — wondering who I was, what life had in store for me, and how I could become everything I wanted to be. Sometimes I let my homosexuality confuse the issue. I tended to allow myself to slip into the “I feel sorry for myself because I am gay” syndrome. However, I knew the real issue that caused me confusion and conflict was not being gay, it was being me.
For a year I had been a very lonely man. Loneliness was the feeling that I had no friends, no one to really talk with about my problems, no one with whom to share my life. Loneliness was coming home from a long day at work to an empty house. I had nothing to do but read, watch television, and go to sleep. Loneliness was being too old to be young and too young to be old; too poor to be happy, too much money to be desolate. Loneliness was wanting more out of life than I could possibly get. Loneliness was watching the days on the calendar go by without anything positive to say.
Loneliness brought on thoughts about why I was put on this earth, and what contributions I was supposed to be making. Loneliness brought on daydreams and a fantasy life. Loneliness was empty.
Loneliness was my choice: the choice to live my life inside myself instead of showing my real feelings. Loneliness was fear. Fear that someone might get inside my life, not like what they see, and leave me alone again. Loneliness was disgust. Disgust with myself and how pitiful I felt. Loneliness was hate. The hate that is spawned by the jealousy of everyone who has someone.
Loneliness was seeing people who interested me; imagining what it would be like to talk with them, or be with them; then walking away without saying so much as “Hello” and never seeing them again. Loneliness was looking forward to another day of loneliness and not expecting anything to be different. Loneliness was wishing, wanting, pretending, and lying.
Loneliness was the feeling that it is better to be alone than to have had and then lost someone. Loneliness was conforming to the idea that everyone fits into the picture but me, that life is a straight line that must be walked, that I was different and did not fit into the grand scheme of things.
Being alone meant that the only voices I heard at night were the ones on the television or radio I left on all night to keep me company. Being alone meant the only thing I held at night was my pillow. Being alone meant when the alarm clock whistled in the morning, I got out of bed, got dressed, and went to work — only to come back and do it over again.
Loneliness was the belief in heroes and heroines who could save the day. Loneliness was waiting for a knight in shining armor to knock on my door and announce his arrival.
Loneliness was sitting by myself and trying to figure out what I want from life. Trying to figure out how I could live my life without anyone knowing about it. How I could please everyone and still be happy — then giving up because the timing was not right or it was not worth the trouble. Loneliness was a deep black hole that continued to suck in my energy, my time, and my motivation.
I am not sure when the loneliness stopped and the smile returned to my face. Sometime during that year of lonely reflection, I had learned several things that finally came together, all at once, and helped me realize that I really was who I wanted to be. I learned that everyone expected me to be me, even though they may not know who that really was.
Everyone saw the change in my attitude. Not the least of whom was Paul. In working with him over that entire year, I had kept to myself. I really did not want interaction with anyone. I do not have the calendar marked with the specific day I came to work smiling for the first time, having looked forward to waking up. But life was becoming fun again.
Paul and I started working closely together. We made a great team. Our accomplishments were noted by our co-workers. I was working harder than ever and enjoying it more than I ever had before.
We began going out after work and talking over a couple of beers during happy hour. We did this at least once a week. Then we started hanging out with each other on weekends, playing golf, barbecuing, and just having fun.
I have to admit that I have been attracted to Paul since the day I met him. He is about six feet two with a lean frame, but not skinny. He was one year younger than myself, twenty-six, and also single.
I am not at all forward. Being a closeted gay man, I was very conscious of everything I said and did, trying not to give the wrong impression. I paid special attention to everything he said and did, trying to catch any clue that he might be gay. There were no signs. It was frustrating, but very exciting. I began to feel adventure and a purpose. I found myself smiling and laughing at everything. Paul told me on more than one occasion that I was his best friend, that I was really the only person he knew who was his age and was cool to “hang out with.” I have dreams about Paul. Some erotic dreams (more than a few) but mostly dreams of companionship.
Paul was not the only reason I stopped being lonely. I started being social. I started planning for the future and believing that I could really get where I wanted to be. I started writing. I found that writing was a way to express myself. It isn’t for everyone, but it continues to help me. I suddenly realized that there was nothing holding me back from being successful both professionally and personally — from being happy.
I used to wake up daily with a frown, looking for something to bring me cheer. Now I wake up with an excited smile, dodging any bullets that threaten my enthusiasm.
Sometimes I still find myself lying to protect what I feel is my personal life (being gay). However, I have found that not everyone is out to prove I am gay. I do not have to prove to anyone that I am not gay. To most people it does not matter, and with those to whom it does, I avoid the issue. It’s none of their business. I am sure I will become more open and honest with others, but it is a relief to have become open and honest about the issue with myself. Everything else will come with time. I am comfortable.
“Paul, I have a question I have to ask you . . .”
The question was truly a turning point in my life. I had played the scenario out hundreds of times in my daydreams, my dreams, and my fantasies. I had reached a comfortable point in my life and was taking a chance I never would have imagined even three months earlier. The implications are enormous. Someone I work with, someone who could ruin my career and undoubtedly make my life miserable, but someone I care for and want to be in love with.
“that’s a trick question,” he replied with sincerity in his voice. The look on his face was one I never expected.
“What do you mean?” My heart was pounding over a thousand times a second. I was already light-headed from the booze, but I was becoming a little dizzy as the room seemed to begin spinning slowly.
“I mean, you are either asking me that question because you hate gays, and you are afraid I am gay. Or you want to seduce me.” Paul broke the tension with a smile. His glow filled the room as he stared back at me with his deep hazel eyes. There was no more tension. The air seemed to be a little clearer. He took a swig of his beer and let out a little laugh. I couldn’t help laughing, too. A little of the beer chuckles and a whole lot of nervous relief.
“Okay,” Paul was still giggling a little bit, “I . . . I . . . uh, I am not gay.” He looked at me with a little bit of pleading in his eyes. I wasn’t sure exactly how to take that answer. I stopped laughing immediately. As I looked at him, I knew that he was telling the truth. He wasn’t just shielding himself. He really was not gay.
“Now,” Paul started, choosing his words carefully and slowly, “I think I deserve to know why you asked that question.” He sat back on the couch and looked at me.
A lot of things ran through my mind. But I didn’t think, I just answered. “Because, I was trying to seduce you.”
“I had no idea. Does this mean you are gay?”
“Yes . . .” I looked away from him. I couldn’t look at him anymore. I didn’t want to see his reaction.
“Since I am not gay, does this mean you don’t want to hang out with me anymore?” he asked. I turned back to look at him. Now I was really confused. “I just told you I was gay.”
“I know,” he said. “I am sorry if I led you to believe I was. I really didn’t mean to. Is that the only reason you like me, because you thought I was gay?”
“No . . . I don’t think so.”
“I really like you. I like being your friend. But I am not gay — I thought we were just good friends.”
I looked at Paul. He was hurt. For some reason, I became connected to the thought that he knows about loneliness.
“No matter what, Paul, I am still your friend. I’d think you’d be the one who wouldn’t want to know me!”
“Well, I guess there are some things I don’t want to know. But I really like being your friend.”
The dream ends with a hug between friends. A happy ending to a desperate struggle to realize that I could be me.
There are several other endings to that dream. The erotic ending is my favorite one. Then there is the one were he punches me in the face and proceeds to ruin my life by telling everyone he knows that I am gay. There is precedent for all the endings.
I have set my alarm clock for 5 a.m. I can’t wait to go to work and possibly to happy hour with Paul. Maybe tonight we will sit on the couch, with Beaches playing softly in the background. “Paul, I have a question to ask you
. . .” But it really isn’t important. I would rather wait.