Things I Can’t Talk About

My parents don’t know I’m gay (though really they should know without me telling them). Since coming out, I have been especially distant; this weekend I’m going home for Easter dinner.

Things I can’t talk about:

1. Ezra, Michael, and Craig, my pseudo-suitors
2. How absolutely fabulous Diana Vreeland’s Memos are
3. My friend Lawrence who died (who was also gay) this week
4. How I’ve been so exhausted this semester that stuff like filling out a doodle poll leaves me exhausted 
5. How I dropped two courses this semester
6. My new (this year) best friend Jose, also my roommate, who is gay
7. How everyone in the Student Government and my College Council are basic bitches who’ve got something else coming
8. How its awkward to run into past hook-ups in public
9. That I spent $250 on two (incredible gorgeous) shirts a couple of weeks back
10. How I really want a pauldron (shoulder armor) tattoo
11. How I might lose my scholarship

I’ve never been close with my family, so it shouldn’t be difficult. I just hate having to censor myself.

Note: most of the items in above list warrant posts of their own. Consider these forthcoming.

 

An Old Banker, a Late-Night Snack Run, and Innocence

The night before last I hooked up with a guy I met over Grindr. I took the bus to a nice, inner city neighbourhood and found myself standing in front of a gorgeous infill home. It was quite late at night.

His name was Lawrence. He met me at the door, and we tip-toed up to his bedroom. The house was even nicer on the inside. He refused to turn on any lights, so he was perpetually in shadow.

Lawrence is a 40-year-old banker. (Don’t worry – I usually go for the older types.) He had a great body. He refused to cuddle though, or even kiss afterwards. The epitome of a selfish bottom I’d say. When he went to check his phone, his face was illuminated and I realized he had the squashed face of a pug.

In  had placed my watch on one of the night tables. “You left something.” he said, as I was leaving. He sounded horrified. The nerve of me…

I walked ten or fifteen blocks to the 7/11 near my bus stop. I bought cookies and orange juice, and the late-night shift lady even gave me some free chicken wings. When the bus came I smiled and say “good morning” to the bus driver.  I sat down opposite to the back doors, and watched my reflection in the glass.

It was the strangest thing: I felt so innocent, sitting there clutching my paper snack bag. I felt like I was leaving behind disaster and heading optimistically into the future.

Sometimes I can get ahead of myself. I’m only 19 years old after all.

Terry Hill