He was having a hard time talking to me. Something about, he knew all along, but tried to deny it, didn’t want to accept it. See, now I’m REALLY confused. I never slept around on him. I snuck around to be with him, but I think that’s part of the excitement. But, I repeat…I never cheated, so why did he “try to deny it” and “not accept it”; what was he talking about?
Wait, WHY is his friend holding his hand? WAIT, is he HUGGING him?
In my mind, I am having a montage of our relationship flashing by. Yes, I have that happen often. Don’t tell me you don’t!!
That night we missed the New Year’s countdown because he couldn’t decide which shirt to wear with his brand new jeans. Him doing my makeup, combing my hair, and picking out some outfits for me. He was the first man I knew who put on lotion. He was an excellent dancer. Wait, I know a lot of excellent dancers!
Hmm. Something was off. Skewed. A little crooked. Huh. Oh my god! He’s – oh-god-I-can’t-say-it! G – A – Y! Yikes!
Where did I go wrong?
It’s not that I purposely made him that way. It’s probably that he was always, deep down inside, just that way. It could be the friends he hung around that made him that way. It most definitely was NOT me. No; impossible; not possible.
And, wait, that friend of his. Who pretended to be MY friend for a while too. Oh. I think that was the most gut-wrenching pain. I could take his being gay, and I could accept that I had struck out and that the plans we had made were swiftly flying into the wind like my period underwear in a strong windstorm. (Yes, ugly and ungraceful). It was a bad feeling. I was heartbroken because I knew that I was losing my friend, and in the process, another friend proved to be a hypocrite and a liar. Two friends lost because they just couldn’t be honest. I wished I had cheated – I would have felt a bit better. Mean, but better.
No. I wouldn’t have. There is no way to feel better when your heart has been broken in possibly the worst way. It was all I could do to not rip their eyes out and kick them both in the butt – but for all I knew, they would have liked it! Instead, I walked off and didn’t look back. (Well, for a while anyway. A girl’s gotta salvage some semblance of dignity.)
Epilogue: We remained friends after all. Ultimately, friendship was too hard to give up, and I knew I could always count on him to help me out with girlie stuff – as cliché as that sounds, he was all about it. His obvious relief at being himself was contagious, and I am happier now being around him, knowing that his joy comes from his freedom. Who am I to hold back anyone from being who they are?
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