I was almost ready to start writing my essay about who I was. Soon, I thought. I was getting closer to having something insightful to say. Could sort of feel it building. Some important things had happened very recently, and I thought I could go into my feelings about them, but I still wasn’t where I wanted to be.
I’d learned some lessons from the way things had gone, and putting them on paper seemed a good way to clarify them in my mind. I thought that might be valuable. But I had a feeling I needed to resolve some of the things that weren’t settled yet, things I wanted to figure out before writing the essay. If it were to be meaningful.
Some kids had already turned theirs in. I wanted mine to be really good. And I wasn’t ready yet.
≈≈ ≈≈
The school’s theater club was staging Romeo and Juliet this year, and in preparation for it, Mr. Mahoney had us reading Shakespeare’s play in class. I liked Mr. Mahoney and liked his assignments. Generally. I didn’t like Shakespeare. I liked guys who wrote in English. I put Shakespeare in with Chaucer: writers who predated the invention of the English language. I’ve never figured out what language those two guys wrote in, but it sure wasn’t English. I know English. I speak the language. Perhaps Shakespeare spoke it, too, but if so, he was bilingual.
Anyway, we’d been reading it out loud in class for a week or so. I think Mr. Mahoney did this knowing if he just told us to read it, most of us wouldn’t. We’d get a synopsis of it off the internet or read the Cliff Notes. Hearing it in class or our stumbling attempts to conquer its confusing text which were as garbled as the writing was, well, I assumed Mr. Mahoney’s purpose was for us to get a feel for the play.
I didn’t like the reading of it at all, but we then summarized what we’d heard. That is, we were supposed to, but I wasn’t the only one having a hard time understanding it, so Mr. Mahoney did most of the translating, uh, summarizing, and I could understand that. It made me think. He was good at that.
I’d done a lot of thinking about love lately. Made sense as it was something new for me, and I always liked to figure out things that were new. I think I spent more time in my head than most boys my age.
Anyway, we finally got to the end of it, and Mr. Mahoney, as was his way, asked us to write an essay about what we thought teen love was all about and compare it to Mr. Shakespeare’s version.
I think I’ve mentioned I like writing. It feels good to me to get my thoughts down on paper. Sometimes seeing them written makes it clear to me how screwed up I am and can change my thinking. Sometimes it just strengthens my beliefs.
Okay. So I did what I do. I gathered my thoughts, then did a little research on the play. After that, I wrote what I thought.
Teenagers are unfinished humans. Some people say we have the brains of a donut. I think they’re referring to the hole.
But we do know something about love. Most of us are experiencing it for the first time after finding a willing partner. Most partners are of the other sex, some not, but that probably doesn’t matter a whole lot as the feelings can’t be greatly different; I’d guess they likely are very much the same.
I’ve felt the stirrings of love myself. They can be overwhelming, depending on the depth of the love. Or the stirrings can be based more on lust than love. I think at our age, it’s very difficult to tell one from the other. They’re both terrific.
As I could only speak for myself without really knowing the opinions of other teens, and the assignment was to include the views of teens, not just those of moi, I did perform an incomplete survey. I didn’t include girls because what do they know of love? I really don’t understand girls. Who does?
The boys I surveyed were pretty uniform in their views. If love included sex, they were all for it. If they fell in love with someone and sex wasn’t part of the action, they fell back out of love pretty quickly. Such is the steadfast nature of today’s teen boy.
Perhaps every era’s teen boy.
My view differs. I think love is separate from sex. Sex is the spice that makes you want to come back for a second helping. But the food can be wonderful without any additional spices. Love and sex are two different animals. They go together, certainly. But they aren’t the same. They can both exist separately, and for today’s teenagers, the serious ones, they usually do.
As to William Shakespeare’s view of love, it can be a terrible thing indeed. According to him, if your love dies, the appropriate thing is for you to die as well because there’s no more point in living. Another famous English writer named William—Mr. Gilbert—had a different view altogether; he stated that there are many fish in the sea. I think today’s teen is more likely to adopt the latter view than the former.
As for looking at Shakespeare’s thoughts on love and comparing them with mine, I think I should add that I disagree not only with his, but with most of the critics who’ve praised this play. I’m not really this disagreeable all the time, but I feel this needs to be said. While this play is considered an essential statement of love for all ages, I can say that from my teenage point of view, that’s hogwash. Not Shakespeare; the critics. I wouldn’t belittle Shakespeare that way, knowing you like him.
But think about it as I see it. I’m a teen, and so was Juliet. Probably Romeo, too, as he was hairless on his chin. It doesn’t tell us about elsewhere, so that’s left to our imaginations, and anyway, he’s not the subject of my thesis. It’s Juliet I’m on about here, and what the critics have to say about her that needs examining.
She’s supposed to be the perfect love interest of young males and a tragic heroine who is still idolized after all these years. Yet let’s look a bit closer at her and what she does. What she does is to perfectly play the part of a teenage girl who could seamlessly be a member of the female part of our school today.
She defies her family, disobeying them. Gee, today’s girl teens never do that, do they? Then, she meets Romeo and, ta da, sleeps with him the next night. The very next night! Couldn’t even wait to learn what his GPA is, who his favorite jouster is or what’s his favorite flavor of ice cream.
They have sex. Well, it’s understated but it’s easy to read between the lines. So, meet and sleep together the next night. Would today’s teen girl do that? You betcha. Not with me, but that just shows they do have some discrimination. Yeah—they discriminate against nice guys.
To top it all off, what does she do when the plot thickens and she gets a little frustrated? She takes drugs! Yeah, that’s right, drugs. This ultimately leads to a couple of unnecessary deaths. Sound familiar? Could be in tomorrow’s headlines. ‘Girl takes drugs. Parents grieving. Funeral arrangements pending.’
This is just to point out that Juliet is a typical young teen girl, and that girls are the same today as they were several centuries ago.
Mr. Mahoney gave me an A on that essay. He wrote on the top of the page, ‘Very whimsical. I like whimsy!’ Maybe that’s why I liked Mr. Mahoney so much.
I’d never considered myself to be whimsical. Though I had to look up the word to be sure.
≈≈ ≈≈
My mom wasn’t sure about the sleepovers I was having with Micah. She liked Micah a lot and told me she could see how much we cared about each other just watching us. But she had a problem with us sleeping together and having sex without Micah’s parents’ knowledge and approval.
“We’re not getting up to much,” I told her when we were discussing it. Mom was much better now that she was working. I could discuss things with her now, and the discussions were nothing like what had been going on between us before. This was so much better! “And it’s not really sex. It’s making out, which is what teens do. So far, nothing’s been put inside anyone anywhere. We’re taking our time and enjoying what we’re doing.”
“Well, if it’s all so innocent and rudimentary, why can’t he tell his parents? Surely they understand young love.”
“He doesn’t know how they’d accept that he’s gay. And if they won’t, then what? He loves his parents. They love him. It’s a dangerous thing to do, telling them something that might change everything for him.”
“Yes, I can understand that. But, think for a second. Say they don’t approve. Say they tell him he’s too young to know if he’s really gay or if he’ll still feel this way when he’s older. Say they tell him it’s just a crush, and they don’t approve and don’t want him sleeping over here any longer, that he needs to end the temptation you cause him, that you’re a bad influence on him. And then they call me and read me out for allowing this, saying I’m contributing to the moral decay of a teenager, and they’re going to call the police. That wouldn’t be fair to me, would it?”
“It wouldn’t come to that. They’re nice people.”
“You’ve heard of mama bears, haven’t you, protecting their cubs? They’re probably nice mama bears, too, until anything goes cockeyed involving their cubs.”
“I guess I do see your point,” I said. “I’ll talk to Micah again. I wish he was out. I could be then, too, and I hate hiding. If I’m gay, and I am, I shouldn’t be afraid of the label. I want people to know who I am when dealing with me. But I can’t, for Micah’s sake.”
“If his parents are nice people, they’ll probably accept it.” She showed me some compassion then by giving me a hug. “If he doesn’t tell them, we really need to rethink these sleepovers. Maybe not stop them, but maybe have the door open. That would at least let me tell them that if they call.”
“I’ll talk to him.”
≈≈ ≈≈
We’d had three sleepovers by now. I was starting to think seriously about oral sex. We hadn’t done it. We’d both had reservations. But mine were fading fast. When we got hot and heavy with the stroking and rubbing and sliding around on top of each other, the desire for that was interfering with my inhibitions. Subduing them. No, actually killing them deader than that poor dodo. I needed to talk to Micah about this. We were still pledged to talking about new activities, although since we hadn’t done anything new the past couple of times, there’d been no need for it.
I spoke to him while we were eating lunch. I was glad we’d picked the table we had. It only had two chairs and there was no room for a third. I was sure by now other kids would have joined us if they could. Micah was becoming popular, and I’d always had friends to eat with. Because of our small table, lunch was one of the few times I could be alone with him, and I treasured it.
“Two things,” I said when we were seated. “One, I think I want to start finding out what a blowjob feels like. Well, more to the point, I want you to start finding that out. Two, Mom’s worried about our sleepovers. She doesn’t mind us making out, but worries what’ll happen if your parents find out she’s been allowing it. Thinks they might have a cow and blame her. She thinks you should tell your parents you’re gay.”
He stopped with a forkful of some sort of chicken-and-veggies medley halfway to his mouth. Then he moved the fork back to his plate. “You know, you just said one thing to get me aroused and another to keep it from happening.”
I laughed. He was so cute. And I loved his sense of humor.
“I’ve been thinking of telling them,” he said. “I know I should. It’s who I am, and they should know. We love each other; how bad could it be?”
“You have no idea how they feel about gays?”
“None at all. Did you know how your parents would react?” I shook my head. “Then you understand. But I’m so happy about us, and I want them to know. And I don’t want to stop the sleepovers. So, well, yeah. I’ll tell them. Today.”
I liked that, but it worried me, too. The unknown always did.
≈≈ ≈≈
At home that evening, I tried starting to write my personal essay for Mr. Mahoney, but I had trouble concentrating. My thoughts were with Micah. Luckily, this was a night Lina dropped by. She hadn’t been doing as much of that lately. I think it was a combination of not being new here any longer and by now having made other friends, plus the time she was spending with Linda.
“How’s that going?” I asked.
She gave me a look, and I wondered if my voice showed my state of mind. I’d thought Micah would have called me by now, but I’d heard nothing. It seemed to me that the longer it took for him to call me, the worse what he had to tell me might be. He should have called already!
“Not as well as I’d like, but what’s got your tit in a wringer?”
“Micah. He’s telling his parents he’s gay. I thought he’d have called by now.”
“Oh, shit. I can see how you must feel. You know, you could call him.”
“No, he said he’d call me. He might be telling them right now, and the worst thing I could do is interrupt that.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right.”
Wow! She really was worried for me. I couldn’t remember the last time she’d agreed with me about anything.
“So what can we do to take your mind off this?” She gave me another look, then said, “What do you think a boy and girl our age could do to get their minds off something? That’s a great question. You do have a door. We could close it. A year or so ago we could have played I’ll show you mine if you show me yours, but that seems a little tame right now. Doing that now, it should probably also include touching.”
“Lina! I’m not going to do anything sexual with you!”
“Why not? It’d pass the time, you’d be too busy to worry about anything, and it could be educational. You might learn you’re not nearly as gay as you think you are. You might see a girl in a whole new light. You’ve never been naked with a girl before, have you?”
“Lina, this is ridiculous. You’re ridiculous! I’m not getting naked with you. I’m in love with Micah. When he calls, you want me to say, ‘Hey, hold on, I’m with Lina and need to get dressed before we talk?’ Like I’m going to do that!”
“Yeah, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I’d be willing, but you’re something of a pussy. At this age, we’re not meant to be monogamous, you know. How can you be sure you’re not interested in girls if you’ve never been with one?”
“I know what turns me on and what doesn’t. Micah does; girls don’t.”
“Well, anyway, I tried. I also got you to stop worrying for a few minutes, so that’s something.” She grinned at me, then said, “I’d better scoot. Shouldn’t be here when he calls. You’ll want to have phone sex then, and I certainly wouldn’t want to see anything as disgusting as that.”
She left. I went back to my essay, wrote a page, then simply deleted the entire thing. Neither my heart nor head was in it.
He still hadn’t called by the time I went to bed. I couldn’t imagine any reason he’d not have called if telling his parents had gone well. Even if it hadn’t, why not call and tell me that? I couldn’t figure it out.
I didn’t get much sleep that night.
≈≈ ≈≈
I was standing at Micah’s locker when he came in the next morning. He took one look at me and I saw tears form in his eyes. I grabbed his arm and pulled him into a nearby boys’ room. Luckily, it was empty, as was usual first thing in the morning.
“What happened?” I asked.
“Dad said I wasn’t gay. He said it was too early for me to know. He said boys get crushes on boys at my age, but it’ll be different in a year or so when my full dose of hormones kicks in. I told him I knew about hormones, but it was different for us.”
He shook his head. He looked like the gloom and doom he was feeling. “That’s when Dad got upset. I’ve talked about you a lot, and so he asked if you were gay. You are, and you’re out to your parents, so I told him you were, and I was, and we were in love. He said that was ridiculous, it was just a schoolboy crush and I was to stop seeing you, that you were a bad influence, and that we’d better not be having sex.
“He said I wasn’t to see you anymore, that you were no longer allowed at our house, and I wasn’t to have anything to do with you. That he’d check my phone to be sure I wasn’t calling you and you weren’t calling me. He said I’d see, that within a week I’d have crushes on other boys. But that I wasn’t to act on them, that I wasn’t gay and doing sexual things with other boys would just tempt me more.”
He did start crying then. I felt like I could, too, but didn’t. Instead, anger descended on me like . . . well, I was too mad to figure out what. This wasn’t right. We were young, but that didn’t mean we were stupid or didn’t understand how we felt. We weren’t even doing anything wrong having sex with each other. Who were we hurting? What laws were we breaking?
“I need to think about this, Micah.” I was getting madder by the minute. This couldn’t be happening! It wasn’t just not fair; it was simply wrong. I gritted my teeth. That didn’t help anything. When I spoke, I couldn’t keep the anger out of my voice. “He’s wrong, and there’s no way I’m going to let this happen. Not without putting up a fight. I love you. You mean everything to me. I need to think about this.”
I couldn’t get the vision I’d had of Micah with tears in his eyes and rolling down his face out of my head.