could you be loved?

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26 may 1997

10:38 p.m.

Dear diary, The week that recently mauled me turned right around and mowed me down again. It seemed like the same ruthless attack at first. Twelve more hours of overtime (the last two of which, quite honestly, I would have given up my firstborn to get out of) and the additional scolding, mopping and logging that went with it. The extra fat paycheck, I constantly reminded myself, would be worth it all. Then the new boss decided to switch offices with someone upstairs. Heavy lifting was never part of my job description. Neither was shredding one-and-a-half filing cabinets' worth of random documents of dubious importance. And on top of all the dragging, sweeping, stacking and sneezing, I was also dubbed "lunch courier" for the last couple of days. (The only reason I agreed to do it was because the overage usually paid for mine. Never refuse a free lunch.) Every night, I would've crashed the minute I staggered through the door. I say would've, because a whole other chunk of life was always waiting for me, hiding behind the ever-innocent-looking blinking red LED on my answering machine. Derek told me he loved me. Two of my friends left for the mainland. Mary, suffering from serious cabin fever, kept dragging me out at odd hours of the night. And a cute guy asked me out... three times and counting. Right up until the long weekend hit, I was teetering on the edge of a nervous breakdown. But at least it would've been a good nervous breakdown. He said it. He almost didn't even realize he said it. So he said it again -- this time with feeling. And I said it back. No more words. Just a thoughtful, shared sigh. As I hung up the phone, I felt a rush that I dare say would make a heroin addict jealous. Maybe it was the distance. Maybe it was because, after I was truly angry at him for the first time, we realized how hurting eachother was the last thing on this earth either of us would do. Maybe it was a beautiful mistake. Macht nicht. I have my answer. "I love you." The words flowed out as naturally as breath; as simple and true as saying, "I am." No doubt it was the same for him. "I love you." Already so cliche, so ubiquitous, overused. What was the block? What was the problem? Why didn't he tell me at the concert at the Shell (I swear he almost did)? Why didn't I tell him on Valentine's Day? All the insecurity, the soul-searching, the melodramatic prattle... now it all seems pathetically stupid. I'm this close to using the phrase, "wasted time." But I couldn't handle the frustration. Well. He and his posse head arrived home tonight after a week in and around the culturally barren, yet cheap-thrill rich, county of Anaheim. He called to say he was jetlagged beyond belief... and, of course, that he loved me. I can't wait to see him again. Sure, our relationship will change very little on the surface. We'll still be thankful if we manage to see each other once a week. We'll still go Dutch on dinner-and-movie dates... most of the time. But inside -- at least for me -- it will feel completely and wonderfully different. I've surrendered. Whether to love as friend or foe, I still don't know. But, having finally taken the step, I'm willing to find out -- hard way or not. On Friday, Greg left for Texas. Everyone who came to see him off at the airport gave him leis, but the one unforgettable gift he took with him was probably passed along a week ago. Strep throat. And he looked terrible. His parents practically had to carry him to the gate. Yes, his parents were there. And had I an ounce of sense, I would've carefully watched every word I said. Instead, I damn near outed him. Everyone else there knew he was gay. Everyone else there was afraid he was contagious (the strep infection, not being gay). So, in a stunning flash of intelligence, I mixed the two realities. "He's not contagious any more," I said, reassuringly. "Though when he was contagious, I'll bet he was kissing his boyfriend." At first I didn't know what nearly happened. The conversation had turned to other things naturally, but Greg was noticably silent. Finally, I asked him what was wrong. "I wonder if my mom heard what you just said," he said. "Ooooooh," I said, trying not to look too obvious as I scanned the boarding area. Thankfully, Mr. and Mrs. Bueno were at the far end, probably discussing what they'd do with Greg's room while he was gone. Whew. Given how much weight Greg gives his sexual orientation in his top-level personality, it's hard to believe his parents still don't know. I mean, all his friends knew, then all his coworkers, then -- if that wasn't enough -- he printed a column about being gay in the school newspaper. And now, of course, everyone on the internet could conceivably know. Information is a finicky animal. In a town as tiny as Honolulu, stuff you work hard at hiding still gets around to your nearest and dearest. Yet, you can essentially be screaming something at the top of your lungs, and people in the same room still manage not to hear you. Lucky bastard. He e-mailed yesterday to say he's not dead (rather, the closest thing to it), but I'm sure he'll recover and wow 'em in no time. It's hard to believe only a year ago, he was asking me how to do a HTML table. Now he'll be making bucks building a city site in Austin. They grow up so fast! The very next day, I was back at the airport, only one gate down from where Greg wobbled onto his plane. This time it was Jen leaving to stay with her parents in Florida for the summer. It was a surreal experience. First, Nate's girlfriend was there. I realized I hadn't seen her in person since well before I practically went on a murderous rampage when she changed her mind about moving with him to Portland. At the time, I considered it just a hair shy of a heartless dumping. Now, six months later, their relationship seems stronger than ever. Through smiles and small talk, I tried to convey that there are no more hard feelings. But I know I owe her more than that. Second, Jen's ex -- or at least I think he's still her ex -- was there. The whole story between them has been a complete blur for the last few months, but what I'd heard from Greg was true -- he did throw her out of their place in February after she started seeing another guy. I didn't even know they were still talking. Instead, he was the one behind the airport send-off party. Despite all that's happened, I get the feeling they're eventually going to give it another go. You know, I've given up trying to understand relationships. That's probably why I'm more comfortable with getting into another serious one. Hell, over the balance of my few adult years, I've soundly proven I know shit about love. The next time anyone asks me for advice or an opinion on matters of the heart, I'm going to tell them to ask a Magic 8-Ball instead. What else? I know Mary and I are probably going to end up best friends whether we like it or not. At least while our men are away at work or play. This past week -- on top of grocery shopping and one midnight run out to WalMart for no good reason -- we saw "The Fifth Element" and "The Lost World," and managed to rent "Courage Under Fire" and "The Exorcist" (!) too. The last two Fridays, she even talked me into watching "ER" with her. I get the feeling she just sits at home doing cross-stitch whenever Sean's not around. I'm usually too exhausted to be bored, but otherwise I appreciate having company too. Actually, I'm exhausted right now. I'll have to tell you about the cute guy later. I do want to enter for the record, though, that "The Fifth Element" was okay, if not more a collage of a dozen other sci-fi flicks (from Bladerunner to Star Wars), and that "The Lost World," although full of gasp-worthy special effects, was probably the worst movie I've seen so far this year.