M. and Losing a Love That I Never Had

M. and Losing a Love That I Never Had

With M., all I ever really wanted to do was to be his friend—that and only that. If I could have been his friend, I wouldn't want anything else from him. I wouldn’t ask for a hug, talk to him about boys, or anything else that could jeopardize such a privileged status. If he could treat me in the same, completely informal, jocular manner that he treats all of his friends, there would be few other pleasures that I would want, at least for my immediate circumstances (the future…). Each time I would ask M. a question, almost always with fabricated intent or with people much better suited to supply an answer available, he would reply in such a business-like manner, not cold, but disappointingly formal. This was highly-depressing, considering questions composed most of the interaction that M. and I shared, as, with a question, people rarely become suspicious of someone’s intent in their speaking to them, because a person has a reason for addressing them: gaining required knowledge. I often (rather hastily) threw the guise of requirement and need over myself, pretending to be “reluctantly forced” into the “completely neutral” experience of talking to M. by universal forces beyond anyone’s control. Hey, God rolled dice at the beginning of time, and this was the result*. Their were times, however, when our interaction was more than farce, only slightly, but still genuine interaction nonetheless—like the kind you might actually have with someone in your high school Math class, as I am, not someone you have just met at a business meeting, as I am not.

* In philosophy, as a part of casual determinism, it is stated that all states have their basis in previously-existing states, no matter how complex the abstraction, until the primordial state, whose qualities dictate the qualities of all following states. (John was named so because his mother once knew someone named John that she thought was nice, she was able to meet this person because their parents worked in the same city, they worked in the same city because…ad nauseum; this would continue until the first atom, the qualities of which influenced the qualities of all other things to come into existence.)

I remember both occasions distinctly—what happened before and what happened after. Each time ended with (well, consisted of) M. and I laughing at the same thing, for the same reasons, and at the same time. These could almost be classified as highlights of the year, as to a gay male, laughing, sincerely, with a straight man they adore is like a first kiss—a kiss being comparable to laughing because, for a straight man, above a kiss there is only one higher mode of affection, sex, in the same way there is only one higher mode of affection for a gay male in love with a straight man than laughter with similar company, a hug. The above hierarchy’s unforgiving inequality is regrettable (and very, very lamentable), but it is the nature of being gay. To actually share positive feeling with M. was euphoric; it was such a pleasure to watch M.’s cheeks turn red and his cheek bones rise in laughter, at the expense of his eyes, as that unrestrained, idyllic, jocular, informal sound filled the air. To him, for a moment, while it slipped his mind, I wasn’t only that gay kid who “creeped” on him, but I was what I actually am—his peer and equal. Unfortunately, beyond its mate, each of these brief instances of camaraderie had no other accompaniment.

And it seems they never will. Once M. [omitted in online copy to avoid identification], all hopes—dashed, communication—ended, cautious friendliness—a fondly remembered fragment of the past. To him, I suppose, he was just another victim of my “perving,” as I assume his close association with [M.'s evil friend] and my many other detractors would bias him into perceiving my infatuation as, so for him, it did not seem inappropriate to inform me in such a casual manner, as a joke between him and [M.'s evil friend], that he knew I “liked” (!) him and that I make him uncomfortable. What M. does not realize is that his light-hearted, playful expression of his feelings about me felt like a dismissal of my feelings, as he was, thankfully, I suppose, unaware as to just how emotionally invested I was in him, as my love for him extends far beyond broad shoulders and a deep voice, but to both the persona he presents to the world and the personality that he truly holds in his heart. The boyish, childlike demeanor that M. holds with him, at all times of the day, is, perhaps, the most endearing of all of his traits. He is always willing to joke, to prank, [more coming...]

June Edit: My response to this last paragraph: fuck that shit! He is an outright asshole, bigot, and ruthless, incompassionate overachiever. The last term being ironic, as he does not really want to achieve anything—money and fame are about as real as the pixels illuminated in the "fag purple" that you see before you.