The One With The Four Letter Word
My room was dark, yet I stood silently in the center of it, staring off into space with my hands balled into fists at my sides. I was so angry, I was actually huffing, not breathing. I could feel Taylor standing on the other side of the door even before he softly knocked; I ignored him when he meekly called my name, and I imagined him standing with one hand on his hip, the other stuffed in his hair, pushing it back. The image made me tingle, and I let out a low growl at the fact that the mere thought of his presence was enough to confuse and confound my entire existence. When he grew a pair and knocked a little louder, I growled louder, flinging my door open and rushing through the apartment toward the front door.
I am positive I must have looked like a child, stomping around in a tantrum as I snatched my keys off the rack next to the door (which I slammed behind me), but I didn’t care. Taylor had gone too far this time, and I couldn’t sit around and just let him win. Despite having thoroughly enjoyed the way his hair fell over his face as he bobbed his head up and down on my dick, I still was not ready to admit the one thing we both knew: Taylor and I were boyfriends. It had not started out that way, and it certainly was never my intention, but somewhere along the way we had transitioned from being good friends and roommates to being an actual couple.
The confusion and fury that accompanied denial raged within me, making me anxious and uncomfortable as I stormed down the sidewalk in front of our complex. My phone had been buzzing for a solid minute before I noticed, and when I finally removed it from my pocket, I saw two missed calls and three texts from Taylor. While I decided I was not going to listen to the voicemail he left, I did read the texts he sent, although I really only needed to read one. The first two messages were him apologizing and asking me to come back. The third message simply read: This needs to be discussed.
For the first time in months, Taylor and I agreed on something. I couldn’t function much longer without discussing what was going on between the two of us, however I disagreed with who I should be talking to. For the better part of the last ten years, any time I needed someone to talk to–about anything–Taylor was always the first person I would call. What was going on inside my head (and loins) was because of Taylor, and it centered around Taylor. I couldn’t talk to him and get an objective, truthful answer–he wanted this to happen. While I was certain that I did as well, I was not as comfortable admitting it.
Without my best-friend in arms to back me up, I had to decide on a reasonable replacement. Before I really had much time to contemplate, I was already scrolling through my phone and dialing. “Hey, Cade. You wanna go grab a drink?”
Twenty minutes later, I was sitting at MacGee’s Irish Pub, downing a pint of Yuengling next to Cade, who was eyeing the patrons and decor with curiosity. He took a sip from his beer, then turned to me. “So, Zac. Tell me. Why is it you decided to call me out for a drink this evening?”
I shrugged, unsure how to broach the topic without sounding like an idiot. Cade merely raised a perfectly-manicured eyebrow in response to my shrug. The act was like a wrecking ball on the walls I had been hiding behind, and with a sigh and a grumble, I launched into a long-winded explanation of the state of my life. Cade listened intently, and nodded understandingly each time I reminded him I was not gay. He waited until I finished, not even flinching when I mentioned the incident in the parking lot, before a soft smile formed on his lips. “What?” I asked, defensively.
“You’ve got it bad,” he shrugged, the smile growing wider.
“Thanks, Cade–your wisdom in my time of need is appreciated.” I bit, taking another large gulp of beer.
Cade shifted next to me, his elbow resting on the edge of the bar. “Look. I know what you’re going through; it wasn’t easy for me to come out, either. I don’t have very much ‘wisdom’ about the subject to offer you right now, but what I can tell you is that you, my friend, are in love with Taylor. And it doesn’t matter if you’re gay or straight or a combination of both–all that matters is how you feel about him and with him. Who cares about labels and sexual orientation and all of that bullshit in 2013? Nobody that matters. You just do you. If that happens to mean doing Taylor, do Taylor. Who the fuck cares?”
“What if I care?”
“Zac, do me a favor. Forget everything everyone has ever told you about being straight or gay. Do not think of Taylor as having a gender, but think of Taylor. How do you feel?”
I took Cade’s instruction, which wasn’t very difficult as Taylor has always been rather androgynous, and soon I was essentially meditating on the idea of Taylor, which felt slightly weird in the middle of a pub, but I went with it. I felt my heart began to beat faster, my blood pumping roughly through my veins, and a tingling sensation began inching up my spine. A smile spreading across my lips without me even realizing, and Cade nudged me. When my eyes opened, I saw a huge smile on his face.
“Well? How did you feel thinking about him?”
“Weird. Fuzzy…happy, I guess?”
“So what’s the problem?”
My mouth opened, preparing for words I did not have. Instead, I drank the last of my beer and set the pint glass down on the bar top. “I’m not…” my voice trailed off, the last word I had intended to say falling short before delivery.
Cade shook his head, smiling. “Forget about labels and classifications, Zac. You’re not anything but you, man.”
“I guess you’re right,” I finally conceded. “Thanks for the chat,” I smiled at Cade, clapping him on the shoulder. “You really turned out to be a good dude.”
Cade laughed, throwing a ten spot on the bar before standing. “I do what I can. Let me know how it goes with Tay…and if you need to talk, I’m here.” He extended his hand toward me, and I accepted it. He pulled me into a quick hug, patting my back, and then we said our goodbyes.
I walked back toward the apartment, a thousand words bouncing around incomprehensibly in my mind. I still hadn’t figured out exactly what I was going to say to Taylor when I got back, but when I finally swung the door open and saw him sitting dejectedly on the couch, the words that failed me at the bar came tumbling out of my mouth of their own accord. “So, here’s the thing,” I started, shifting my weight from my right to left foot. Before I continued, I closed my eyes, took a deep breath, counted to ten, and then let it go:
“I’m in love with you.”