How and when it all began is foggy. I really have no memory of my first ten years, and what I do remember I’m not sure they’re real memories or ones “implanted” by relatives. My dad died in July of 1968. I was 5 ½. His death had a major impact on my life and there was no one to talk to then, no counselors and even my mother’s church seemed unsure what to do, though one priest helped my mom cope; after all she had 4 kids to bring up.
Anyway, four doors down from my mom’s was a kid who would become my best friend. But when and how we met is a mystery to me. I only remember the years after my mom married her second husband. But, to say the least, I’ve known this guy for 35 plus years.
It was an odd relationship, really. I think what drew us together was a strict mother. My mom did not let us kids get away with anything, and neither did his mother. So, we became friends.
There is one thing I need to mention here, something even this late in life, I have a hard time talking about. I was born with something called pectus excavatum -or commonly called funnel chest. My sternum, basically, is depressed in a concave shape (see photo on the side). Again, while this can be fixed today, when I was a kid is was risky, life threatening surgery. My parents were unwilling to have it done. And then, as mentioned, my dad died of lung cancer. This disfigurement created a negative self-image for me (and still does today). I still have an unwillingness to be seen without a shirt while swimming, or even in my house when my roommate is home.
Anyway, this kid knew about that and was the only person who accepted me as “normal”. Of course, I was jealous that he could take his shirt off anytime he wanted. I do remember one time that when we played together he had his shirt off and requested that he put one on. I was just terribly self conscious of this and hated being around someone who could something I could not do: walk around shirtless without other people laughing at me (which I do remember, sadly).
Again, I don’t know when it all began, but our relationship took on different meaning when puberty struck. It became very physical.
During our early teens -he’s six months younger than me - his parents divorced. While his dad stayed in Illinois, he moved with his mom to Colorado. I knew I would miss him, badly, but I also could not tell you why. We sent letters back and forth for about two years, before he returned to Illinois to live with his father. Our friendship resumed, as well as our sexual relationship.
By then, while I knew something was different in me. I could not articulate it yet, but when I was with him, I knew I was safe from ridicule and anything else. We spent as much time as we could together, but because we went to different High Schools, we usually only had weekends. And his dad was always around then.
He also was dating girls by now, something I realize now, pissed me off. But he had a new girlfriend almost every week. None were ever serious. Just after High School, he joined the National Guard. During those four years, we spent very little time with each other, and when we did get together, we did nothing sexual.
But we always fell into the same slot, in the respect that we could be apart for a long time, yet within five minutes, it was like no time had ever passed between us. We had become friends, and I had fallen in love.
In our 20's, we drifted apart. He ended up in Southern California (I forget how) doing and studying sports medicine (while he was never a great athlete, he loved sports like football and basketball). One day, in early 1990, he calls out of the blue and asks me if I want to move to LA and work for a movie theater. Apparently, he had been help a district manager of Long Beach through some recovery and this guy had talked my friend up about the movie theater business.
Of course, I said yes. It was sad in some ways. While I was excited about the prospect of moving to California, the real idea was to see if we could re-start our relationship, at least the physical part, cause I knew that on the friendship level, we would be fine.
So, I packed up my things and came west, young man. But instead of coming to LA, we ended up in the Bay Area (long, and boring story on how that happened). Anyway, as soon as I got there, I knew things were only going to be friendship based. While he and I felt comfortable around each other -like being naked - anything else appeared to be off limits.
Then I began to hate him then. The way he walked, the way he talked and what not. Still, while I knew I was gay, I had not verbalized those words to anyone. In the almost two years I lived in the Bay Area and visited San Francisco many times by myself, I never explored my gay life. Ironic and very sad, indeed.
After about a year working and living together, he became dissatisfied with his job and was dying to get back into sports medicine. He quit and moved back to the Midwest, ending up in Milwaukee. I stayed in California for another 6 months and moved back to Chicago. During that time, I had very little contact with him, and over 3 years passed before I would see him again.
It was I who found him, working at a school on the south side of Chicago. I met him for lunch and we talked. I told him I was open about my sexuality, I remember that look in his eyes, as he flashed back to all those times we fooled around with each other. But, I’ve never told anyone about those times (until now, but his name is safely anonymous).
I even told him that.
Anyway, that day our relationship changed. After lunch, we went back to the school where he worked. It suddenly struck me that here, in this high school boys locker room, where he was kneading out teenage boys muscles and helping them through whatever physical therapy they needed that he could be hiding in plain sight, so to speak.
Could he be a closet case, unwilling to come out due to his job or himself? Was this the perfect job then for a guy so unsure of whom he liked?
But those questions remained in the air, never to be answered. Almost four years went by, before I tried to contact him, explaining in a letter my feelings for him went beyond friendship.
That I loved him.
We talked on the phone, and I could hear the disbelief in his voice. He said that he did not have those same feelings and that, as a matter of fact, he was getting married in a years time. I was not being invited, as he basically told me that he could not risk me acting all “queeny” at the wedding.
I realized then, after some 25 years of knowing me, he really did not know me. I would’ve never made a scene, but he felt he could not take that risk.
It’s now well over 10 years since I last saw or spoke with him. I don’t know if he really married, I don’t know what’s happened to him, really. Before I moved back to California in the summer of 2005, I tried to find him, but I could not find him without paying a ton of money. But, I think he’s still somewhere in Chicago.
Is he gay, or was he gay? Was our sexual play just “normal” things guys do before setting the “proper” course?
I don’t have those answers.
The thing is, I still love him. I love him for many reasons, beyond him treating normal as kid, even with this pectus excavatum. Our relationship was always based on the fact that we never bull shitted each other and that we always could fall into the same old grind, like trains on a track, no matter how much water had passed under so many bridges.
Even if he came through my door today, and he said he was gay and wanted a relationship, I would say yes.
But, to be honest, all I wish now is that we just had a friendship.
Anyway, four doors down from my mom’s was a kid who would become my best friend. But when and how we met is a mystery to me. I only remember the years after my mom married her second husband. But, to say the least, I’ve known this guy for 35 plus years.
It was an odd relationship, really. I think what drew us together was a strict mother. My mom did not let us kids get away with anything, and neither did his mother. So, we became friends.
There is one thing I need to mention here, something even this late in life, I have a hard time talking about. I was born with something called pectus excavatum -or commonly called funnel chest. My sternum, basically, is depressed in a concave shape (see photo on the side). Again, while this can be fixed today, when I was a kid is was risky, life threatening surgery. My parents were unwilling to have it done. And then, as mentioned, my dad died of lung cancer. This disfigurement created a negative self-image for me (and still does today). I still have an unwillingness to be seen without a shirt while swimming, or even in my house when my roommate is home.
Anyway, this kid knew about that and was the only person who accepted me as “normal”. Of course, I was jealous that he could take his shirt off anytime he wanted. I do remember one time that when we played together he had his shirt off and requested that he put one on. I was just terribly self conscious of this and hated being around someone who could something I could not do: walk around shirtless without other people laughing at me (which I do remember, sadly).
Again, I don’t know when it all began, but our relationship took on different meaning when puberty struck. It became very physical.
During our early teens -he’s six months younger than me - his parents divorced. While his dad stayed in Illinois, he moved with his mom to Colorado. I knew I would miss him, badly, but I also could not tell you why. We sent letters back and forth for about two years, before he returned to Illinois to live with his father. Our friendship resumed, as well as our sexual relationship.
By then, while I knew something was different in me. I could not articulate it yet, but when I was with him, I knew I was safe from ridicule and anything else. We spent as much time as we could together, but because we went to different High Schools, we usually only had weekends. And his dad was always around then.
He also was dating girls by now, something I realize now, pissed me off. But he had a new girlfriend almost every week. None were ever serious. Just after High School, he joined the National Guard. During those four years, we spent very little time with each other, and when we did get together, we did nothing sexual.
But we always fell into the same slot, in the respect that we could be apart for a long time, yet within five minutes, it was like no time had ever passed between us. We had become friends, and I had fallen in love.
In our 20's, we drifted apart. He ended up in Southern California (I forget how) doing and studying sports medicine (while he was never a great athlete, he loved sports like football and basketball). One day, in early 1990, he calls out of the blue and asks me if I want to move to LA and work for a movie theater. Apparently, he had been help a district manager of Long Beach through some recovery and this guy had talked my friend up about the movie theater business.
Of course, I said yes. It was sad in some ways. While I was excited about the prospect of moving to California, the real idea was to see if we could re-start our relationship, at least the physical part, cause I knew that on the friendship level, we would be fine.
So, I packed up my things and came west, young man. But instead of coming to LA, we ended up in the Bay Area (long, and boring story on how that happened). Anyway, as soon as I got there, I knew things were only going to be friendship based. While he and I felt comfortable around each other -like being naked - anything else appeared to be off limits.
Then I began to hate him then. The way he walked, the way he talked and what not. Still, while I knew I was gay, I had not verbalized those words to anyone. In the almost two years I lived in the Bay Area and visited San Francisco many times by myself, I never explored my gay life. Ironic and very sad, indeed.
After about a year working and living together, he became dissatisfied with his job and was dying to get back into sports medicine. He quit and moved back to the Midwest, ending up in Milwaukee. I stayed in California for another 6 months and moved back to Chicago. During that time, I had very little contact with him, and over 3 years passed before I would see him again.
It was I who found him, working at a school on the south side of Chicago. I met him for lunch and we talked. I told him I was open about my sexuality, I remember that look in his eyes, as he flashed back to all those times we fooled around with each other. But, I’ve never told anyone about those times (until now, but his name is safely anonymous).
I even told him that.
Anyway, that day our relationship changed. After lunch, we went back to the school where he worked. It suddenly struck me that here, in this high school boys locker room, where he was kneading out teenage boys muscles and helping them through whatever physical therapy they needed that he could be hiding in plain sight, so to speak.
Could he be a closet case, unwilling to come out due to his job or himself? Was this the perfect job then for a guy so unsure of whom he liked?
But those questions remained in the air, never to be answered. Almost four years went by, before I tried to contact him, explaining in a letter my feelings for him went beyond friendship.
That I loved him.
We talked on the phone, and I could hear the disbelief in his voice. He said that he did not have those same feelings and that, as a matter of fact, he was getting married in a years time. I was not being invited, as he basically told me that he could not risk me acting all “queeny” at the wedding.
I realized then, after some 25 years of knowing me, he really did not know me. I would’ve never made a scene, but he felt he could not take that risk.
It’s now well over 10 years since I last saw or spoke with him. I don’t know if he really married, I don’t know what’s happened to him, really. Before I moved back to California in the summer of 2005, I tried to find him, but I could not find him without paying a ton of money. But, I think he’s still somewhere in Chicago.
Is he gay, or was he gay? Was our sexual play just “normal” things guys do before setting the “proper” course?
I don’t have those answers.
The thing is, I still love him. I love him for many reasons, beyond him treating normal as kid, even with this pectus excavatum. Our relationship was always based on the fact that we never bull shitted each other and that we always could fall into the same old grind, like trains on a track, no matter how much water had passed under so many bridges.
Even if he came through my door today, and he said he was gay and wanted a relationship, I would say yes.
But, to be honest, all I wish now is that we just had a friendship.
2 comments:
::hugs::
a well told and touching story. i never knew that whole thing!
xoxoxo
Marc in Chicago
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