desperate to convince me of something, or maybe to convince herself of something.

Mom cares but it isn’t the same. She wants me to be ok. He wanted me to be upright. I think I’m neither.

There’s no possible limit to humiliation.

But maybe I shouldn’t think of it as “being gay,” maybe I should think of it just as doing something.

Sunday morning, Bill let me touch it. That was interesting. He asked if I wanted to and I didn’t know what to say. I’d never put my hands on another guy like that before. So that’s what a real man feels like. Different for sure.

It’s all heavy with me, without being serious.

But maybe I shouldn’t think of it as “being gay,” maybe I should think of it just as doing something.

I don’t know, is my life this way because I want it to be? Is there something I’m supposed to be learning from it?

His death opened a door that I no longer had the energy to walk through.