The You I've Never Known(32)

I’ve got an excellent friend who happens to be a lesbian, and our relationship is very close to love at this point, but whether or not that will become sexual, I don’t know.”

I see. So then, what about guys? Or, I suppose more accurately, what about me?

“Jeez, are you always

so blunt? Okay, well,

to return the favor,

you’re the first guy

of my approximate age

who I’ve ever had fun

just being around. I don’t think I’m allowed to confess anything more because

the game isn’t played

that way, is it?”





Those Exceptional Eyes


Lock mine. I couldn’t look away if I wanted to, but

right this moment I don’t.

I don’t like games.

He puts his drink on the table, removes mine from my grasp, and places it just touching his.

And I don’t require confessions.

He reaches for my hand.

His skin is warm and rough in the way of someone who labors for a living. It’s not unpleasant. Now he lifts

my fingers to his lips, kisses the tips individually. One. By.

One. The intimate gesture

makes my heart tremble and lifts goose bumps. I never thought my first real kiss would be with a boy, but this boy says, And I don’t care if you love someone else. I really want to kiss you. Okay?





My Head


Doesn’t ask

for permission

to nod. It bobs all on its own.

Gabe turns his hands heel-to-heel, palms facing upward, cups my jaws and lifts, tilting my mouth toward his. Unlike his hands, his lips are soft when they cover mine, and if I had any doubt about my ability to kiss, he erases it immediately.

It’s instinctive.

It’s gentle at first.

Its intensity grows.

The flutter in my chest swells into a quake, one I don’t want to quell.

But now he pulls away.

Wow. Not bad for an amateur.





I Kissed a Boy


And I liked it. A lot. Wonder

if I’ll like kissing a girl as much.

“I thought it would be trickier.

Maybe you’re just a good teacher.”

Maybe you’ve got a high kissing IQ?

Anyway, I wouldn’t mind doing it again. But I think I’d better go before your father comes looking for me with a shotgun or something. Hey.

Wait. Does your dad own a gun?

I laugh, happy he has no plans

to pressure me for anything beyond kissing. I know I’m not ready for more.

“Not that I’m aware of, and I think I’d know about it if he did.” Thank God. Dad isn’t a very good drunk.

I’d hate to see him go off half-cocked with a deadly weapon in hand.

Well, I’m leaving anyway, so I guess we’re probably safe. A kiss good-bye?





My Second Kiss


Is a subtle echo of the first—quiet, caring, and a promise of something more to come, if I extend the invitation.

But I won’t do that right now.

After Gabe leaves, I sit for a while in contemplation, seeking the meaning of what just happened between us, its relevance to my quest for identity.

Is it really possible to lean both ways?

If it is, and I do, that must make me bi, but is multi-gendered attraction an actual, viable thing?

I’ve heard people say that’s bull, that those who claim to be bisexual are nothing more than nymphos indulging unencumbered greed.

Maybe I’m greedy, borderline

gluttonous. Or maybe I’m just

curious to know if I have a preference.

One thing’s certain: I’m confused.





The Worst Thing


Is I can’t talk to Monica about this.

Any other subject, she’d be my go-to confessor. But she wouldn’t understand and the last thing I want is to make her crumble.

Funny, but I’ve always thought she was the tough one, and she is on the surface. But just beneath the crust is a layer of liquid goo, one that’s hard to tap into.

It’s where she buries her pride when she must, which is usually around her family. At school she’s fine claiming her unique personal vision, and I covet the bold self-acceptance

she presents to our classmates.

I just wish she were strong enough to shed her hetero mask at home.

Sometimes when I consider stuff like that, I wonder if I’m thinking about my best friend. Or myself.





Either Way


I know I’ve got to call Monica,

who I haven’t talked to since

yesterday. I need to hear the rasp of her voice—rich and warm

and fringed with accent.

But when she picks up, she’s

anything but her usual soft—

spoken self. Oh, hey, where have you been? Did you hear about Hillary? She fell off her horse and cracked her head on a rock or something.

“Wait. What? Slow down,

hermana. How do you know

what happened to Hillary?”

Seriously? It’s on the news.

They said if some local kids hadn’t found her, she probably would have “succumbed to the elements.” That means died.