7 March 1989

“Love would be great, but she’s a good alternative” he said to me, “and I really don’t care what anyone thinks about that.”

We were sitting on bleachers gazing out at the softball field. The sun was just under the buildings, the only horizon we knew as kids, and the big bright phosphorous lights were coming on instead of moon and starlight. We were still kids but we didn’t think so then, the difference between 6th grade and 7th made it feel like the park wasn’t our place anymore, like we’d been gone from it for decades, but it was true, that’s what it felt like.

“I don’t know that I’ll ever understand love, I have an idea of it but I don’t know that I’ll ever experience it.” I remember looking at him nervously after saying this and I remember thinking that he wanted to say, “that’s because you’re gay” but refrained from it because he knew that I was before I could know what it meant.

I still think it is strange that I didn’t know.

Instead, he said, “That’s because you know love like none of us do, I think you experience it for everyone.”

I didn’t listen to what he was saying at all, I was still occupied with what I thought he wanted to say, and I guess if I had to be completely honest, what I’d hoped he was going to say.

“Yeah, I don’t know.”

 

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