Shattered Glass(30)

My grandfather died in my senior year. Dave was already on the police force by then. He was waiting outside the house while we held the open casket wake. I relished grandfather’s death-hardened countenance, forever grim and cold. “I’m going to be a cop,” I had said. “Fuck you and fuck Princeton. Fuck being a lawyer. Fuck your edicts about my friends. And most of all, fuck your son and his frigid wife. I’ll be there for kids like me.” For kids like Jesse.

It was easy to be brave when no one but the dead could hear.





How To Lock Yourself in A Closet without Realizing It

So there it was, everything I had avoided thinking about for the past thirteen years. First the feelings stirred by Jesse, then his seemingly instant descent into drugs and alcohol until his final ‘fuck you’ death. I started repressing my feelings way back then because of our friendship, then continued doing so because of my grandfather and his threats and watching what coming out did to Jesse. Lastly came my own ‘fuck you’ to my grandfather, followed by cementing my repressed status when I joined a profession where ‘gay’ was just another word for ‘pussy’. Now that was irony.

In three short days Life had managed to sucker punch me in the gut and kick me in the balls a few times, then it kissed my forehead and sauntered off to wreak havoc on the rest of my existence.

I took two over-the-counter sleeping pills, downed some bottled blue cold medicine, and chased it all with a glass of Bourbon. Woozy, I lay down on the bed, fully dressed, and fell asleep with the alarm clock blinking 19:27.





Chapter Five





Endorphins, Escapism, Enough!

I woke up at five a.m. lethargic from the pills and disheartened from my fight with Angelica. I had two people in the world I could talk to, her and Dave. Neither of them wanted to join me in dealing with (or even discussing) this problem. Angelica for obvious reasons, and Dave because we just didn’t talk about Jesse. Ever. It seemed I was going to have to work out this issue on my own.

Padding down to the kitchen, I thought about things while I made coffee and cleaned up from last night.

I didn’t realize I had become appealing to women until after Jesse’s death. Before that, I was struggling with my staring-at-Jesse problem, and I wasn’t paying attention to girls or flirting. When Jesse died, and Dave drew away from me, the way girls reacted became a little more noticeable. The pressure to prove I wasn’t gay was on. Time to get really into dating. Not that I was a wet dream. As one of my ex-girlfriends said, “You’re cute. Like, dorky-cute.”

The first girl I asked out was a sweet, but insecure, freshman with bubblegum breath and an eager smile. Because Mandy was younger, I thought there was a stronger chance she’d say yes to dating an older guy and she’d be happy to be with someone who didn’t push for sex.

I didn’t know anything about her, other than she was blonde, attractive and her family was “acceptable”. All I cared about was bringing her home, showing her off and then ending the relationship as quickly as possible. That proved easy when her friend Natalie made out with me and then told Mandy about it. Mandy dumped me, Natalie became my girlfriend, and I learned how to come off as a stud without actually having to be one.

I jumped from girlfriend to girlfriend in high school, never having to actually have sex. The best part was when I started to bring home the ‘wrong’ girls. No question about me being a faggot anymore, with the added bonus of pissing off my dad and grandfather just enough to be satisfying, without actually risking anything.

With hindsight, I could see the reasons for my development. Some people might think it was the money that held me back, but that was only partially the problem. It was watching Jesse spiral. Watching what being gay did to him, cost him. And my grandfather reminded every day of what it would cost me.

Not that I was ready to acknowledge being gay. Not completely. Or maybe I was acknowledging it, just not eagerly. Funny thing was I’d expected when I admitted it to Angelica, something would click and things would make sense. But all I’d accomplished was hurting her and sinking myself into a depressive state.

“Enough,” I yelled, throwing the last dish into the dishwasher. I wasn’t going to figure things out by flooding my brain with memories and questions. It was time for some endorphins. I went upstairs, changed, and then it was back down to my basement where I vegetated on ESPN while getting in a few treadmill miles.





Hump Day!

Fact: Wednesday is commonly referred to as “hump day”—a.k.a Austin’s favorite day.

“Today is hump day, Luis.” I lolled my head to the side and blinked prettily at my partner.