« I'm A Victim | OK, back to home | PrideAlive Deserves More, Not Less »

Sunday, April 24, 2005

Three Years Later…

Orlando, July 4, 2001:

Swan-shaped paddle boats churned in the lake beside the Disney-owned pavilion. Crowds of people — families and teenagers and old folks — jockeyed for position on the edge of the lake, though there were still two hours before the fireworks were scheduled to begin. Radio stations broadcasted live from the back of vans, their loudspeakers fighting for attention.

Jose and I wandered through the madness. It was the first time he witnessed Fourth of July festivities. As I remember, he wasn’t very impressed.

“Americans are fat,” he said. Or something like that.

Half an hour before the fireworks began, we settled down on a sandy area near a playground. We talked about religion. Always that summer we talked about religion. As a missionary to the heathen people of Orlando, it was my job. I saw Jose as my most intriguing case. Certainly the cutest case. Not that I could say that.

As darkness descended, spotlights flooded the lake, patriotic music floated faintly across the water and a laser show began. Unfortunately, we were on the wrong side of the lake and saw nothing except… the other side of the lake.

I think Jose’s first Fourth of July sums up his opinion of America. Disappointing.

One month later, Cocoa Beach, Fla.

The sand was hot and the water cold. I applied sunscreen liberally. Eric, almost as white as I, decided to apply tan accelerator. It was a decision doomed to turn into regret. And it did later, when his skin burned and boiled like stew left too long on the stove. Jose, with his Venezuelan complexion, laughed at sunscreen, stripped off his shirt and headed to the water.

After an hour of batting a volleyball around, I joined Jose in the Atlantic. We swam far out away from the others and took turns riding a boogeyboard into shore.

The desire to grab his lean waist and pull him close was unbearable. Instead of giving in, though, I caught a small wave and rode the boogeyboard into shore, where I left the water and re-joined the group, leaving temptation to the ocean.

A few weeks later, I said goodbye to Jose and drove 2000 miles north to Michigan. Because I was involved in ex-gay ministries, I never told him how I felt — how our conversations were more than pathetic attempts to convert him, how I felt like I … knew him.

One day soon after I returned, I got a phone call at my parent’s house. It was JR, a mutual friend of Jose and me. Unlike Jose, I HAD told JR about my homosexual leanings.

“Aaron,” JR said as soon as I answered. “Jose has something to tell you.”

“Umm… OK,” I answered.

There was a pause while JR handed the phone to Jose.

His accent was unmistakable.

“It’s not really a big deal,” he said. “But JR thinks I should tell you that I’m gay.”

Shock hit my system, along with regret. Regret that I hadn’t told him about my “struggles.” I told myself I wanted to share my experiences with him so he could see there was a better way… The Christian way. But deep down I knew that wasn’t quite what I wanted, or quite why I regretted not being open with him.

Today

It’s been two years since I left behind ex-gay ministries and started making peace with myself. I speak with almost no one from those days, partially because our lives just drifted apart and partially because my life isn’t acceptable. Jose and I have exchanged e-mails sporadically. A year or so after I left Orlando, he was forced to move back to Venezuela. I didn’t think I would see him again.

Then I received an e-mail from Jose in September:

“I moved to Toronto a couple of months ago.”

Toronto… I’ve been there several times. It’s closer to home than Minneapolis.

I e-mailed back, telling Jose that if Bush won the election, he should expect to see me in Toronto, bags in hand. I was only half kidding.

But, of course, I didn’t move. After the election, I grumbled along with half the population but didn’t really do much to show just how displeased I was. Certainly not anything so drastic as leave the country.

Last week, Jose called me out on that.

“Hey, it’s been a long time since we don’t talk or write to each other at all. I could take the blame, but I rather think that it is your fault. Actually you lied to me; you said that if Bush were to be re-elected you would move out. So much for nothing.”

He was right. It was my fault, and I decided that maybe I’m not ready to move to Toronto, but I should at least visit. And we could spend months writing each other and saying, “You really should visit sometime.”

Or I could just do it.

So I did. Memorial Day weekend, I’m flying to Toronto for a few days of catching up with Jose. It’s been three years since I’ve seen him, and things will be different this time. For one thing, I will be fully myself.

I can’t wait.

Posted by Aaron on April 24, 2005 8:10 PM