Autoboyography
Page 24
Was there a time I could have stopped this train of feelings from barreling into my bloodstream?
“Tanner, I’ll only be gone two years.”
My laugh is so dry it’s dusty. “‘Only.’” I shake my head, blinking down to the ground at my feet. “Well, in that case, I’m totally not upset anymore.”
We fall into silence, and it’s like a block of ice has been dropped between us. I am an enormous jerk. I’m being such a baby right now; I’m making this endlessly awkward.
“Can you at least call me when you’re gone?” I ask. I don’t care anymore how crazy I must sound.
Sebastian shakes his head.
“E-mail, or . . . text?”
“I can e-mail family,” he clarifies. “I can go on Facebook but . . . only for church-related stuff.”
I feel when he turns to look at me, and the wind whips across my face so hard it hurts, but it also feels like the sky trying to slap some sense into me.
Wake up, Tanner. Wake the hell up.
“Tanner, I don’t . . .” He rubs a hand on his face, shaking his head.
When he doesn’t finish the thought, I press. “You don’t what?”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
He’s fully staring at me, brows pulled down low. But it isn’t confusion there; at least I don’t think it is. I mean, I know he knows. Does he just want me to say it? Does he want me to say it so he can explain gently why us being together is impossible? Or does he want me to admit how I feel so he can . . . ?
I don’t actually care why. The words are this heavy boulder in my thoughts, in every waking thought, and if I don’t just let it roll straight out of me, it’s going to crash around and break everything delicate inside.
“I like you,” I say.
But when I look over, I see that these words aren’t enough; they don’t clear away the expression on his face. “And I know your church doesn’t allow that kind of feeling.”
He waits, so still, like he’s holding his breath.
“It doesn’t allow for guys to have feelings like this . . . for other guys.”
He breathes out a barely audible “No.”
“But I’m not LDS,” I say, hardly any louder than him now. “In my family, it isn’t a bad thing. And I don’t know what to do about how I feel or how to stop feeling this way about you.”
I was right. This doesn’t surprise him at all. His face clears, but only long enough to cloud in a new way. Every feature grows tight. I wonder if maybe he wishes that I hadn’t said anything at all, or that I’d just pretended that he was my new favorite dudebro and I would miss platonic hanging out and fumbling through this stupid book project with him for the next two years.
“I . . . ,” he starts, and then exhales in a controlled stream, like each molecule of air is coming out single file.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him. My heart is racing. It’s a fist punching, and punching, and punching me from the inside. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I only wanted to explain why I was upset. And,” I add, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me, “also why my book is basically about how it feels to fall for you.”
I watch his throat as he swallows thickly. “I think I knew.”
“I think you knew too.”
His breath is coming out so hard and fast. His cheeks are pink. “Have you always . . . liked guys?”
“I’ve always liked whoever,” I tell him. “I really am bi. It’s about the person, not the parts, I guess.”
Sebastian nods, and then he doesn’t stop. He just nods, and nods, and nods as he stares at his hands between his knees.
“Why wouldn’t you just be with a girl, then?” he asks quietly. “If you were attracted to them? Wouldn’t it be so much easier?”
“That’s not something you get to choose.”
This is so much worse than I ever would have guessed. This is even harder than telling my dad. I mean, when I came out to him, I could tell he was worried about how the world might treat me and what kinds of obstacles I would meet that he would be unable to help me navigate. But I saw that reaction masked beneath the firmest discipline. He wants me to be accepted and does everything he can to hide his fears from me.
But here . . . I was so wrong about this. I shouldn’t have said anything to Sebastian. How can we even be friends after today? I have the melodramatic thought that this is what it’s like to have a heart broken. There’s no shattering; there’s just this slow, painful fissure that forms straight down the middle.
“I think . . . I’ve always liked guys,” he whispers.
My eyes fly to his face.
His lower lids are heavy with tears. “I mean, I know I have.”
Oh my God.
“I’m not even attracted to girls. I envy you that. I keep praying I will be at some point.” He puffs out a breath. “I’ve never said that out loud.” When he blinks, the tears slide down his cheeks. Sebastian tilts his face up, looking at the clouds and letting out a sad laugh. “I can’t tell if this feels good or terrible.”
My thoughts are a cyclone; my blood is a river overrun. I scramble to think of the best thing to say, what I would want someone to say to me right now. The problem is, him admitting this to me is huge. It’s not the same as anything I’ve ever faced, even with my family.
I go with my first instinct, the thing my dad said to me: “I can’t tell you how good it feels that you trust me.”
“Yeah.” He looks over to me, eyes wet. “But I’ve never . . .” He shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve . . . wanted to, but never . . .”
“You’ve never been with a guy?”
He shakes his head again, quickly. “No. Nothing.”
“I’ve kissed guys, but honestly . . . I’ve never felt like . . . this.”
He lets this sink in for a beat. “I tried to change. And”—he squints—“to not even let myself imagine how it would feel . . . being with . . .”
This is like a punch to my solar plexus.
“But then I met you,” he says.
His meaning hits me even harder.
I’ve been pulled out of my own body, and it’s like watching this from across the trail. We’re sitting on a rock, side by side, arms touching, and I know this moment will be seared into my history forever.
“The first time I saw you,” I start, and he’s already nodding, like he knows exactly what I’m going to say.
“Yeah.”
My chest squeezes. “I never felt that way before.”
“Me either.”
I turn to him, and it happens so fast. One second he’s staring at my face and the next second his mouth is on mine, warm and smooth and it feels so good. Oh my God. I make some guttural sound I can’t control. He makes it back, and the growl turns into a laugh because he pulls away with the biggest smile the sky has ever seen, and then he’s coming in to kiss me more and deeper, his hands on my neck.
His mouth opens, and I feel the tentative sweep of his tongue.
Light bursts behind my closed eyes, so intensely I nearly hear the popping sound. It’s my brain melting, or my world ending, or maybe we’ve just been hit by a meteor and this is the rapture and I’m given one last perfect moment before I’m sent to purgatory and he’s sent somewhere much, much better.
“Tanner, I’ll only be gone two years.”
My laugh is so dry it’s dusty. “‘Only.’” I shake my head, blinking down to the ground at my feet. “Well, in that case, I’m totally not upset anymore.”
We fall into silence, and it’s like a block of ice has been dropped between us. I am an enormous jerk. I’m being such a baby right now; I’m making this endlessly awkward.
“Can you at least call me when you’re gone?” I ask. I don’t care anymore how crazy I must sound.
Sebastian shakes his head.
“E-mail, or . . . text?”
“I can e-mail family,” he clarifies. “I can go on Facebook but . . . only for church-related stuff.”
I feel when he turns to look at me, and the wind whips across my face so hard it hurts, but it also feels like the sky trying to slap some sense into me.
Wake up, Tanner. Wake the hell up.
“Tanner, I don’t . . .” He rubs a hand on his face, shaking his head.
When he doesn’t finish the thought, I press. “You don’t what?”
“I don’t understand why you’re so upset.”
He’s fully staring at me, brows pulled down low. But it isn’t confusion there; at least I don’t think it is. I mean, I know he knows. Does he just want me to say it? Does he want me to say it so he can explain gently why us being together is impossible? Or does he want me to admit how I feel so he can . . . ?
I don’t actually care why. The words are this heavy boulder in my thoughts, in every waking thought, and if I don’t just let it roll straight out of me, it’s going to crash around and break everything delicate inside.
“I like you,” I say.
But when I look over, I see that these words aren’t enough; they don’t clear away the expression on his face. “And I know your church doesn’t allow that kind of feeling.”
He waits, so still, like he’s holding his breath.
“It doesn’t allow for guys to have feelings like this . . . for other guys.”
He breathes out a barely audible “No.”
“But I’m not LDS,” I say, hardly any louder than him now. “In my family, it isn’t a bad thing. And I don’t know what to do about how I feel or how to stop feeling this way about you.”
I was right. This doesn’t surprise him at all. His face clears, but only long enough to cloud in a new way. Every feature grows tight. I wonder if maybe he wishes that I hadn’t said anything at all, or that I’d just pretended that he was my new favorite dudebro and I would miss platonic hanging out and fumbling through this stupid book project with him for the next two years.
“I . . . ,” he starts, and then exhales in a controlled stream, like each molecule of air is coming out single file.
“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell him. My heart is racing. It’s a fist punching, and punching, and punching me from the inside. Stupid, stupid, stupid. “I only wanted to explain why I was upset. And,” I add, wanting the ground to open up and swallow me, “also why my book is basically about how it feels to fall for you.”
I watch his throat as he swallows thickly. “I think I knew.”
“I think you knew too.”
His breath is coming out so hard and fast. His cheeks are pink. “Have you always . . . liked guys?”
“I’ve always liked whoever,” I tell him. “I really am bi. It’s about the person, not the parts, I guess.”
Sebastian nods, and then he doesn’t stop. He just nods, and nods, and nods as he stares at his hands between his knees.
“Why wouldn’t you just be with a girl, then?” he asks quietly. “If you were attracted to them? Wouldn’t it be so much easier?”
“That’s not something you get to choose.”
This is so much worse than I ever would have guessed. This is even harder than telling my dad. I mean, when I came out to him, I could tell he was worried about how the world might treat me and what kinds of obstacles I would meet that he would be unable to help me navigate. But I saw that reaction masked beneath the firmest discipline. He wants me to be accepted and does everything he can to hide his fears from me.
But here . . . I was so wrong about this. I shouldn’t have said anything to Sebastian. How can we even be friends after today? I have the melodramatic thought that this is what it’s like to have a heart broken. There’s no shattering; there’s just this slow, painful fissure that forms straight down the middle.
“I think . . . I’ve always liked guys,” he whispers.
My eyes fly to his face.
His lower lids are heavy with tears. “I mean, I know I have.”
Oh my God.
“I’m not even attracted to girls. I envy you that. I keep praying I will be at some point.” He puffs out a breath. “I’ve never said that out loud.” When he blinks, the tears slide down his cheeks. Sebastian tilts his face up, looking at the clouds and letting out a sad laugh. “I can’t tell if this feels good or terrible.”
My thoughts are a cyclone; my blood is a river overrun. I scramble to think of the best thing to say, what I would want someone to say to me right now. The problem is, him admitting this to me is huge. It’s not the same as anything I’ve ever faced, even with my family.
I go with my first instinct, the thing my dad said to me: “I can’t tell you how good it feels that you trust me.”
“Yeah.” He looks over to me, eyes wet. “But I’ve never . . .” He shakes his head. “I mean, I’ve . . . wanted to, but never . . .”
“You’ve never been with a guy?”
He shakes his head again, quickly. “No. Nothing.”
“I’ve kissed guys, but honestly . . . I’ve never felt like . . . this.”
He lets this sink in for a beat. “I tried to change. And”—he squints—“to not even let myself imagine how it would feel . . . being with . . .”
This is like a punch to my solar plexus.
“But then I met you,” he says.
His meaning hits me even harder.
I’ve been pulled out of my own body, and it’s like watching this from across the trail. We’re sitting on a rock, side by side, arms touching, and I know this moment will be seared into my history forever.
“The first time I saw you,” I start, and he’s already nodding, like he knows exactly what I’m going to say.
“Yeah.”
My chest squeezes. “I never felt that way before.”
“Me either.”
I turn to him, and it happens so fast. One second he’s staring at my face and the next second his mouth is on mine, warm and smooth and it feels so good. Oh my God. I make some guttural sound I can’t control. He makes it back, and the growl turns into a laugh because he pulls away with the biggest smile the sky has ever seen, and then he’s coming in to kiss me more and deeper, his hands on my neck.
His mouth opens, and I feel the tentative sweep of his tongue.
Light bursts behind my closed eyes, so intensely I nearly hear the popping sound. It’s my brain melting, or my world ending, or maybe we’ve just been hit by a meteor and this is the rapture and I’m given one last perfect moment before I’m sent to purgatory and he’s sent somewhere much, much better.
