Part 1
How could they know? I had been nothing if not loyal, caring, giving, and kind. How could anyone know how self-loathing and lonely I was, when I did not even know it myself...yet. I can not understand this. Even now, these many decades later, when I can acknowledge the inner pain I carried since early childhood, I still have trouble understanding the rejection.
I sleep in Gary's bed because he offers. I needed a place to crash. It is platonic. Besides, our friend Frank is my real crush. A totally beautiful man in appearance and temperament, Frank is very loving to everyone. He is also straight as an arrow. That he could be unnervingly close to guys, in the most unaffected and genuinely open way, causes me great joy and pain. We are all in the military, and I can never admit to my feelings out loud. Never.
"Hey. Do this with me." Frank holds out two pills in his outstretched hand. He tells me he is lonely; and wants company on his trip. Oh, to be so honest and open! Though I have taken part in smoking some weed now and again with my friends group, I sink in despair at having to deny Frank his request. Weed is weed. Pills are drugs. He shrugs off my answer, and pops one into his mouth. I sit nearby as my friend takes a ride on whatever transport grabs him. He is mostly in his own head; and eventually just falls asleep.
Was that it? Did my reluctance to join in, and instead stand for what I believed in, stand in the way of deeper friendships? I am certain that he did not hold it against me, and I have good evidence for this. But he was in a small group of friends who took leave time together...and excluded me from their midst. Okay. I guess my being 'lost' was obvious to everyone, after all. No one wants to carry another every time they are together. So it becomes natural to exclude those who need help the most. 'The rich get richer and the poor get poorer'...and I was very poor in the self-worth department. I must have silently screamed that reality to everyone. I thought they all liked me. That I did not like myself was just too much for them to elect to be constantly around. Now I see how 'showing up' with baked goods and treats was seen as trying too hard - desperate - possibly even annoying. I was accepted, so I thought. No. Tolerated was more like it.
"Come on. You know you want to. Just take one hit." Okay, so it's weed. But it's in a bong - something I have no experience with. Will I get stupid?
"No, stupid. But I will get pissed at you if you don't at least take a hit." So I take a hit. Mike watches me intently as I draw deeply from the contraption, and fill my lungs with its vapor.
"Yeah. That's it. Do it again!" I look at him wide eyed, for assurances. He shakes his head up and down. Assurances are my weakness. Before I'm done, the entire bong is depleted. I feel nothing.
"Nothing?" No.
"That's not possible!" Well, it's true. As I say these words, my head kicks in with a barrage of sillies; and I burst out laughing. Mike smiles knowingly. He reaches out, takes the bong from my hands, and sets it aside. Then he does something I wish I had the courage to do with Frank. Mike leans in and kisses me.
Part 2
In one of our various living arrangements, Mike and I had shared an apartment. He had a girlfriend. I had no one. After they broke up, he invited me on a trip to his hometown. That's where we did the bong. I was in his bedroom of the house he grew up in. It's back in the day, and 'Jesus Christ Superstar' has just come out as an album. We have been listening to it. The weed heightens my senses; and just after the kiss, I start to sob - it is, I think, in reaction to the music and words of the record. No. It is really in reaction to my own inner feelings.
"What's wrong? don't you like it?" He looks worried. I tell him I like it just fine. It's just that he has given me something that makes me feel good - and that floods me with sad memories at the same time.
"Then lean back and let me replace those memories with something more current." I do as he says. Mike has been sitting on the edge of his bed, as have I. Now he hovers over me, his hands at my belt, loosening the strap from the buckle...struggling to pop the button of my jeans from its snug resting place within the button hole.
"Damn tight hole." We both chuckle. His eyes sparkle. I know where this is going, and I have no intention of stopping any of it. I want the acceptance . Mike probably just needs to get off, but I want his acceptance, and I will not deny that. Let me.
