There were those that were going down like gentlemen; There was him who was going to be taken down with his ship, awaiting the waters in what he originally knew as the center of all control; And on the other side of the deck there were those two lovers holding hands and each other as they watched themselves plummet toward the icy waters, their barrier from falling only a few ten foot brass bars that didn't seem to do anything much else than push into their abdomens and remind them that it was going to be a while before they reached America.
'Never let go, Rose.'
'I won't Jack.'
This scene has played hundreds of thousands of times in theaters across the United States, as well as the world, and you imagined that on February 14th of this year, that hundreds of thousands of teenaged couples, no matter if they were heterosexual, bisexual, gay, or lesbian, sat in the reclining seats of their local theater and watched this climax for the first, second, or even seventeenth time.
Love has no boundaries, no preference of sex, mentality, orientation, or anything else of that matter. It does not make exceptions and creates unions between the rich and the poor, the bound and the free, the strong and the week, the scared and the fearless.
You sat alone on February 14th of this year for most of the day. You spent the time cleaning, responding to e-mail, and wondering what it would be like if you had someone in your life to fill the void inside yourself that has disguised itself as loneliness. After a while, you met with some friends of yours, went out for coffee like usual, and transpired as if the day was nothing special. And after a while of sitting, and smoking, and digressing through de-caffeinated coffee, you summed up your ideas of that day in one sentence:
Love is fucking bullshit.
Now you realize that this is not an entirely true statement. Love can move mountains, create new plains on the range to explore, and can make someone feel so special that nothing can harm them and they seem to be invincible. And you see so many people abusing the love they find for petty reasons, under petty circumstances, with petty jurisdiction. A petty and crude way of dealing with something that so many of you long to feel and cherish at some point of your lives, something that you don't realistically think you'll even find or experience: true love.
He looked at that guy or She looked at that girl or She looked at that guy or He looked at that girl so they broke-up.
In a society where finding a homosexual male or female is more difficult than finding a honest politician, especially in the rural areas, and the Midwest locale, if one is found, it's even harder to find someone who is genuinely interested in getting involved.
Everyone seems to be interested in messing around, experimenting with their 'new found' sexuality, and checking out that brand new teenage dance club. And the ones who are sincere in knowing what they want, and trying to find what they're looking for don't find shit. Though, sometimes, you'll find a sample of what you think is what you're looking for... but not exactly, and it's a huge tease to your conscience.
Now, possibly, it isn't like this everywhere. Maybe if you went down to the big city for some weekend and looked around in the eclectic coffee shops, and classier clubs, that you'd find what you're looking for... but you lost hope to such a degree that you find that it's hard to really get out of bed in the morning and face all the couples that you see everyday at school.
Maybe if you get that new haircut, or maybe if you change the way you dress a little bit, or maybe if you just change your personality a tad, loose just another fifteen pounds; grow another six inches (and get that genuine 'Raver' look) you'll find what you're looking for. Maybe that special gay guy will come running to you from the hallway around the Science area with open arms screaming 'Oh my God!! I've been looking for you for 4 fucking years!!'
It's a waste of time to change. He won't come running. He doesn't really exist.
You find yourself under the impression that you're not good enough for the gay community. You don't have that cookie cutter XY magazine outlook or appearance, that wild hair, those metallic clothes, that 112lb. body, and you find that you're just one of those boys trapped in the Midwest, who know better than to fall for the big societal lisp and tight Raver clothes, but for some reason you've come out of the closet and realize that you can't find who you're looking for because everyone like you isn't stupid enough to exploit themselves and out themselves just to be ridiculed because you're not the normal status-quo lisping homosexual!
You have been going to a youth-group for gay teens for almost two years now, originally under the expectation that you'd find someone that you could click with, someone that you would want to spend time with, someone who was a guy, who knew what it was like to be a non-queer queer. Whenever you learned of a new possibility you jumped to the conclusion that this was probably the one, and that you've waited so long, and you found him, and then you got to know him, but he was as narcissistic and lispy and as flamboyantly queer as every other one you've met.
You watch friends of yours leap from boyfriend to boyfriend, and girlfriend to girlfriend, and no one has really ever asked why you have been single for so long. You watched the boys at the clubs dance together and be together, and go home together too many times, and wondered if you should just change what you thought you were looking for to what you can find. But that's really not what you wanted, that's not really what you've been looking for all this time. Maybe if you were just a little more shallow, a little more conceited, maybe if you didn't have such a butch voice, and didn't stand with masculine qualities, maybe if everyone didn't think you were really heterosexual, you'd get a little closer to where you wanted to be.
Maybe if the leader of the local queer teen clan didn't have a problem with you because you didn't sleep with everyone, maybe if you were a little more of a slut, maybe if you got stoned more often, maybe if you listened to more Gothic music, maybe if you changed everything things would get better.
But they won't. What you're looking for isn't there. You've deduced that. You've decided that you really wish you weren't queer anymore. You really wish that you didn't like guys. You really wish that you could be just a jock who had a cheerleader girlfriend and loved top-40 music, and worshipped the Wu-Tang, but you aren't. You're trapped in Hell.
You've thought about killing yourself so many times, ending the annoyance, and the frustration, and possibly starting all over again in the next life, maybe you'll be straight the next time. But you won't kill yourself; you're too scared, or too curious of what may happen; what you may find tomorrow. You're too motivated to be optimistic because YOU exist, and there must be others like you.
You wear pride rings all the time, but people ask you why you're so supportive of the Olympics. You feel trapped in Hell. In a Hell that Christians speak of that God created because you're into other guys, but you don't really believe that... you just think it; it's just easier. That's not your way.
But he's out there. You know he is. Out there and looking for you. And that's what keeps you going. That's what keeps you looking and searching and putting yourself through misery and torment every waking hour of the day. That's what keeps you waiting.
This was written for you.
I'm there too.
Aztec Yhessin, is a pseudonym for this bisexual eighteen-year-old Midwestern farm-boy-who loves the city, Tori Amos, Liz Phair, and anything MYST or NARNIA related. He's gotten really sick of his old By-line, and has decided to change it around a bit. If you're someone who exists who agrees with him, disagrees with him, or has anything to say, he'd loved to hear from you, and can be reached at firstname.lastname@example.org, ICQ# 6321498, homepage http://www.geocities.com/WestHollywood/Village/6929.