The loss of a presumed close friend took me by surprise. Too may things have transpired over such a short period of time. After a few experiences of coming out to people, it is easy to take a fall in the pit and think that it is getting easier. Coming out to Josh was perhaps the toughest ever. Uncertainty, conflict of interest and expectation of support and surprise all came bombarding me at the very same instant, making "I don't date girls" the most choked up sentence ever said. Up until now, I still can't be sure exactly why I chose to do it. A big part of me was hoping for support and approval; the other part of me was contemplating an evil plan to turn a curious young man queer. Anyway, neither happened as wished.
In retrospect, it indeed is the trippiest experience of coming out. The clock was ticking away all the precious time I had before his mom was expected to return from work, while I was sitting unnervingly across the living room from him pretending to watch TV but in fact working up my courage to prove my existence. As the Simpsons show ended, he appeared annoyed by evidently flipping through the channels. Unable to convince myself to seize the moment and clueless as to what to say to rescue the room suffocated by dead silences, I got up and express my wish to leave. Much to his mutual wish, he got up immediately as a gesture to convey his 100% support.
So, that was the end of the most classic monologue. I went down the steps, walked upon Quadra St., turned around to observe the duplex he lives in, crossed to the other side of the street, and had my hand firmly fisted around my cell phone. That must have been the shittiest moment in my life where I had no mercy for the greatest failure of my own. Unsure yet determined, I marched back to the duplex and knocked on the door. When I was greeted with the most puzzled expression on his face, I knew there was no turning back. "Josh, there's something that I wanna tell you and I hope you're gonna be cool with it." "What?" (He muttered with an even more confused look on his face. I looked to the floor and forced out "I don't date girls". "I don't wanna hear this." (He took a huge step back and followed right away with "I'm not that way.") At that point, I was nervous and stunned by his devastating reaction. In an attempt to keep my cool, I, without much time to think of a strategic comeback, answered "I know. I just wanted you to know." "I have no problem with it." "Okay, see ya." "See ya."
The way we ended the conversation was ugly and the farthest thing from what I had pictured earlier. Not only did he show no support, he alienated me right in my face. The short walk from his place to mine seemed to take forever to finish. Traffic light flashing, horns honking, cell phone ringing, and my head was pounded with so many should'ves could'ves and would'ves. I suddenly remembered I had a cell phone that I could use and call up someone to unburden my heart. But nothing, my mind was drawing a blank. I did not know whom to call. The truth is I did not want others to see how vulnerable I was. I have never been in favor of pouring my heart out. I just do not do it.
Weeks have passed since I announced the big news to him. The dynamics of our friendship have altered. I get conscious even by sitting too close to him. My reliance on the gang of people, who are now away on a work term, has significantly attenuated with time. My reliance on having him around has too, but at a slightly slower rate. "It is not your fault", please bear that in mind. Thanks for trying not to let my queerness bother you. You could've been more homophobic to someone that sucks cocks. After all, pussies and cocks are the two opposite extremities on the spectrum of gender. All there's left to do is for me to understand that I am considered different, regardless of how little difference I see in us.
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