is writing it all out.

This is another creative writing project. I have told this story before on my blog, so it isn't anything you haven't heard before, but this is another retelling in a different format. I think my thoughts are a little more organized about this topic. I was so emotional when I was writing about it at the beginning of the year that the quality of the writing wasn't as good.

This is a rough draft. Be kind. :)

At the point of the mountain (the place I found out my boyfriend is gay)

When we reached the point of the mountain our conversation ran out. John wasn’t much of a conversationalist past “I like your hair”, and I occupied myself by watching the hills pass by. The houses seemed too visible from the road on their naked slopes. Trying to distract myself from the situation wasn’t working; all I could concentrate on was my rabbiting heartbeat, shallow breathing, and above all other things, him. I tried to look over at him as often as I could, but then I got nervous about that. I couldn’t let him know I was nervous and when I started worrying about that, I broke out in a cold sweat too. Then I got bold, I glanced over at John and waited for him to say something. After a few agonizing seconds he cleared his throat and started in his typical way, “Sooo, I wanted to talk to you about something.” His choice of words really sucked every time he wanted to say something important. In my mind I screamed, What is it? I couldn’t handle the suspense after what he’d put me through.

“Yeah?” I tried to sound casual, but my elevated, breathless answer gave me away.

“I’ve been thinking about what you said to me. In September. Do you remember that?” He seemed to wince.

“I think I remember that.” I sarcastically answered, half-smiling. Of course I remembered. I went to his house at 11:30 at night to make him let me in so that I could tell him my most agonizing secret in the most awkward way (which I incidentally hadn’t thought through clearly enough because it was so much worse than I thought it would be). I’d kept my feelings in for almost the entire year, but not totally hidden. I am not capable of subtlety. He already knew, but I had to know the answer. So I placed myself at his mercy. I called him on my phone from his doorstep and he answered the door after about five minutes, looking thoroughly annoyed and red-eyed from studying at his computer for too long. I sat down on his couch, probably to avoid falling over when my blood rushed away from my extremities to my over-active heart. I said to him, in essence, what I’d written in a second-grade note: do you like me? Check yes or no. He grinned too wide and gave me exactly what I’d been expecting, a polite no. After my blubbering turned to the “why?” part of the conversation, he succeeded in shutting me down without much explanation, according to his generally abrupt style. I claimed then I hadn’t wanted an explanation, but seriously! I was perfect for him, couldn’t he see? I ran out as awkwardly as I’d entered and started crying as soon as my feet hit the frozen pavement outside his house—I didn’t stop crying for the rest of the night.

“I realized that I was wrong.” What?! My thoughts stopped suddenly at that moment and I put my head in my lap. I didn’t want to scream out loud and scare him away again.

That was when I became John’s girlfriend. It was actually one of the best days of my entire life. I held his hand all night. I made him dance to stupid Harry Connick Jr. songs. It was paradise. Unfortunately, the newly rekindled flame led me to write some pretty heinous love poems to accompany it:

My hope led me to think that you
Expressed in every minute act
Some gentle and encouraging clue
To contradict the looming fact

That you had softly answered no
And with that gentle answer tore
My heart and left me in the throes
Of longing, ever wanting more

Rejected, but love never died
I found a peace within at last
My mind at ease, but in a lie
I answered that my dream had passed

Until a moment, unexpected
You came to me, as in my dream
My broken heart was resurrected
Could things be really as they seemed?

I am very sorry to subject you to that kind of thing, but I just want you to know how far gone I was. Yes, I actually thought this poem was good enough to post on my blog. It’s amazing that it’s legal to do that sort of thing. Poor John even saw it himself. But before I tell you about our breakup, which was inevitable after a poem like that, I want to give you a little insight into why I liked this guy so much. He wasn’t as unfortunate as I made him sound in the beginning.

When I first met John he was a squeaky-brand new return missionary. I think I even commented on his “shininess.” He was especially shiny and new. Like a new toy. I just had to get to know him and he presented a unique challenge. He was the reclusive, nerdy type that never really got out and just sat in his room getting paler every day while staring at his computer screen and reading Wikipedia for fun. In my naïveté, I thought he needed to get out and socialize. What better for socializing than hot tubbing? I promptly invited him to come along with me and my roommates that night. At the first mention of entering what would certainly prove to be a den of iniquity, he backed into the hallway (which was off-limits to girls), protecting his still shirted chest with his trembling, pasty hands. I put my palms up in the air as a gesture of peace—just so he knew I wasn’t going to rip his clothes off him. I assumed the look of panic on his face was post-mission weirdness and I let it go, just for that night. But alas, I don’t give up easily. I continued my method of “socialization” by calling daily, coming over uninvited, hanging out in his living room, and basically letting him know that I wasn’t going anywhere until he accepted that I was a part of his life. His life was further complicated when he became my new home teacher and more opportunities to infringe on his kindness presented themselves. And really, the more I got to know him, the more I liked him. His innocence was endearing, and he was very patient with my continuous efforts to get him to notice me.

I soon learned that not only was John a tedious nerd, as I’d first assumed, but he danced too! What a combination. There were so many interesting sides to him. His list of talents was enough to turn any typical BYU male green with envy: he spoke French along with the Russian he learned on his mission, danced almost every type of dance there was, cooked, liked foreign films, fixed computers, got straight A’s, and he was always studying for the law school entrance exam—the LSAT, which seemed entirely too responsible considering that he wasn’t applying for another year. It was disgusting, just about everything he did, he did well. I even liked his quirks like the way he rubbed his eyes when he was tired and did pirouettes in the kitchen—really, too cute. I imagined that he liked my quirks too. Maybe he did. After I calmed down a little, we started spending almost every weekend together—still at my request—and I hoped that he would soon see that we would be perfect together. I already knew it, of course. My decision-making has always been like super-glue: instant and immovable. I agonized and pined over him. I couldn’t imagine a better guy than him. After all, we had so much in common. Well, the list is failing me now, but I was certain that we connected in a way I never had with any other guy. I could literally go on for hours about why we should be together to any person who could stomach it. My bad poetry hit a new low with this lengthy phase of unrequited love:

When nothing's on my mind
he is.
My weary thoughts return
for what?
To teach my heart to learn
to shut
itself against a love that blinds.

Or rather, I should learn to dwell
on one
whose love's expressed in deed
and word.
My soul would then be freed
assured,
if I could but undo the spell.

Ah, but luckily my nights of watching Sabrina and crying alone soon ended. We started dating in the beginning of December. This is how dating John went: I would go over to his apartment almost every night and sit on his couch while I graded papers. Every night I hoped that he would finally kiss me. I kept waiting for a night that would be special enough. I didn’t know if any night would ever push him over the edge, but two days before we broke up, we sat watching the snow fall outside the window and hearing the shrieks of his neighbors making a snowman. I thought to myself, It had better be tonight. As he walked me to my car we passed the debris of a fallen snowman in the parking lot and I couldn’t help but make the comparison to our relationship in my mind. What was happening to us? Did he even like me anymore? I tried to avoid the answers to these questions and instead focused on how the snow sifted down on us lightly and made the scene seem perfect. I squeezed his hand expectantly. Do it tonight. Seriously. When we got to my car, I bear hugged him around his middle and didn’t let go until he got the picture. When I looked up into his face he looked back and leaned in a little. It was fairly hesitant, but I tried not see that. I needed a tighter grip on him and our arms couldn’t reach around each other completely because of the bulk of our coats, so I squeezed tighter. Now. He answered my wish with a small, misplaced peck on the corner of my mouth. It was in almost the same place as the first kiss I’d ever received as a six-year-old. Like he’d never done it before. I tucked my head into his neck, unable to process what had happened. What was that? He tried to explain, “I bet you’re wondering what took me so long.” Of course I wondered, but instead I said, “It’s okay. I’m just glad you did it.” He kissed me a few short times before letting go. It wasn’t enough for me, but I pretended like it was enough. I asked him if I could tell my best friend and he nodded. It was like waiting for a prize in the mail after months of collecting coupons and upon receiving it, breaking it in the first five minutes. Nothing could have been more unsatisfying. I got into my frozen truck quickly, but peering out the icy windshield I saw him shuffle back inside with his head down. I saw disappointment in his walk but tried to read it as him huddling in the cold. I couldn’t shake the feeling the something was wrong. I waved at him, but he didn’t see and then he was gone. Ignoring my insecurity, I called my friend and bragged. “He did it! It took him long enough.” I shivered and ran through the yellow light on the way back to my apartment.

We never kissed again. Two days later he came to pick me up and take me to the airport to go home for Christmas. Finals were over and I was packed, but I didn’t really want to leave. I felt like I was leaving more than school behind, and I must have understood that before I knew. He didn’t hug me when he came into my apartment to help me with my bags. I pretended it didn’t bother me. Grabbing the last of my stuff, I got into his car and tensely clutched his Christmas present—a bottle of Victoria’s Secret “Very Sexy for Men” cologne—close to my chest. We exchanged gifts, talked about last-minute things, and the conversation ran out again at the point of the mountain, as usual. I tried to fill the void this time, because I was scared. Upon asking him what I perfume I should buy with the gift card he bought me, he just started ahead and made an exasperated sound. He cut me off before I could try to smooth out the discomfort again. Another silent eternity passed. I was glad at least for the houses—the hills were white this time and they hidden under the snow, away from prying eyes. Then he broke the stillness, “Sooo, I need to talk to you about something.” I patted his knee and gave it a squeeze, probably to his disgust.

“Say what you need to say, sweetie.” I couldn’t think of anything that required this phrase besides a stronger declaration of his feelings. He loves me. Does he want to marry me? I pushed all my doubtful thoughts away. He was the one. We loved each other. He was mine. My happy train of thought was interrupted as he continued. “I don’t know how you’re going to take this.” I continued patting his knee while my heart sank.

“Just say it.” I still smiled, but I was gritting my teeth as the anxious feeling that accompanied our first serious discussion in the car returned.

“I deal with SSA, same-sex attraction. I have known about it since I was in high school.” I put my head in my lap to avoid screaming. I was horrified to realize that I wasn’t surprised by this fact. It all makes sense now. His declaration sounded like he was telling me that he was terminally ill.

“Same-sex attraction?” I didn’t know what it meant when he first said it. Then it registered. He’s gay. I shook my head as I started to cry. My mind processed the thought first and then my heart kicked in and I felt my insides wrench. Does that mean we can’t be together? “What does that mean? For us?” I just had to ask. And it got worse.

“I knew that it wasn’t going to work out the second day we were together. I can’t pretend anymore.” He sounded drained.

“Wha—I don’t understand!” I really didn’t. No one had ever told me they were gay before. I didn’t even know that guys at BYU could be gay. I choked on tears and sobbed, holding onto his leg for support. What happened to my perfect guy?

Sadly, this was the only time that we didn’t run out of things to say for the rest of the drive. We cried together as he managed to keep us going in a straight line in the carpool lane. I moaned and bawled at my shattered dream. I told him that I loved him before I got on the plane adding “but not in a romantic way,” even though I did. He tearfully told me that I needed to hurry or I was going to miss my flight. That Christmas break was probably the worse one of my life. Another bad verse follows:

December 20th

Love seemed as though a cruel joke
I nodded numbly as you spoke
And told me that your heart was true
But there was nothing you could do

Desire is a razor's edge
A heart is not enough to pledge
I begged for you to let me stay
You sighed and wiped the blood away

The keen blade glinted, never fading
A vision blurred, my eyes evading
The truth before me stark and cold
Am I the only one you've told?

I bawled and stuffed airplane shaped crackers into my mouth on the plane. Since when did I become an emotional eater? I looked to the passenger next to me, a young guy in army fatigues and I think he was pretending to be asleep so that I wouldn’t try to talk to him. Probably the best course of action for him in the present circumstances. So, I got out my journal started writing as I continued to sob and tears peppered the page like bombshells on civilians. The first words I wrote were “I feel like Satan has played a cruel joke on my happiness.” I had to find someone to blame and only the devil could be responsible for something this terrible, right? God would never do this to one of his children. It did not occur to me at that moment that I was supposed to learn something from the spontaneous combustion of my dreams. I cried my nerves raw and all that was left of my mascara lingered under my eyes in two dark smudges reminiscent of the undead.

In my lack of subtlety, I didn’t know what to say to anyone but the ugly truth. When I got off the plane and my sister came to meet me by the baggage claim, she asked me if I was okay. Not exactly. I wanted to scream to the entire terminal JOHN IS GAY! I almost did.

On a more positive note, I prayed that night more fervently than I had in years. I knew if I believed that God would make all of this alright, that it would be. And not entirely wanting to, at the end I did tell him, “Thy will be done.”

After Christmas break was over and my fantasy world had self-destructed long ago, only the smoke remained. The truth was more visible in this way, but it didn’t mean my pain was gone. It took me at least another month to wake up in the morning and feel like I wanted to get up. I did know some new things, however. I had dated and loved John, but he wasn’t perfect for me, even considering his SSA. He wasn’t going to be mine, but my life wasn’t ruined and neither was his. I wasn’t angry with him or myself. I didn’t blame anyone. I suppose that itself is a gift. I loved him enough that I could accept reality as it was opened to me. Life would continue, we would be friends. The smoke would blow away eventually and sunlight would come back into my life.

Last week John drove me to Family Home Evening along with some friends of ours who are a part of our ever-expanding circle of friends with SSA. I am still amazed at how many I know (and knew, unwittingly). One asked me, “is it true that you dated John?” The whole car burst into laughter.

“Yeah, I did.”

“So what was it like kissing him?” One boy asked, stifling a grimace.

“It wouldn’t have been good if I didn’t know he cared about me”—a nice way of saying it wasn’t that great. I looked into the rear view mirror to catch John’s reaction. We both laughed at the awkward memory. The rest of the drive to FHE was filled with joking and talking, without even a pause when we drove past the point of the mountain.