I awoke from my nap with Marcus to find that he had rolled over onto his back. Our legs were intertwined, and my arm was still resting on his chest, which was now in full view. Knowing that I am a very heavy sleeper, this change in our position didn't phase me in the slightest. His eyes were barely open, though he was staring at me carefully.
"You look so peaceful when you sleep," he said softly.
I gently craned my neck forward and rubbed my nose lovingly against his. Our lips met in a delicate kiss as he turned his head slightly to meet me. I sighed contently and gently slid down the bed to rest my head on his chest; I began tracing delicate patterns of nothingness across his smooth skin with my fingertips. We spoke softly to each other.
"Cieran?"
"Yes?"
"Are you out? You know, have you told anybody you're gay?"
"Other than you, no."
We found ourselves lying in silence for several more minutes, or at least it felt like several minutes. Then Marcus spoke again.
"How long have you known you were gay?"
"Well, since high school, I guess."
"And you never told your parents?" he asked with just a hint of surprise.
"Hell no! I never told my parents. My mom might not care, but my dad would freak out."
My parents had been divorced since before I could remember. My father is a very conservative man, and a firm (albeit misguided) Christian. My mother, on the other hand, is a relatively liberal person. I'd guess that their different ideologies played some part in their divorce, but they certainly played a role in shaping me. I knew I was gay by the time I reached my sophomore year of high school. I had suspected it for years before, but it wasn't until then that I admitted it to myself. Inwardly, I bucked religion and accepted the fact that I was gay, but I never came out.
As many of you readers no-doubt noticed in the early chapters of this story, I am rather exceptionally talented when it comes to compartmentalizing my feelings. Growing up decidedly gay whilst remaining in the closet was relatively easy for me to do. And I only got better at it as I grew up; during my freshman year of college, I didn't think twice about setting off to one of Boston's gay clubs alone, without telling anyone.
All that said, you could imagine my complete and utter discomfort about the prospect of revealing my secret to my parents. I could imagine the scene in my head:
"Dad, I'm gay and secretly have been for years. Surprise!"
Yeah, right!
Nevertheless, Marcus persisted with his questions, completely unaware of my internal struggle.
"Why would your dad freak out?"
"Well, he doesn't exactly condone the whole guys-who-have-sex-with-guys thing. Actually, that is a gross understatement. If he knew that I was gay, I don't think he'd hesitate to tell me I'm going straight to hell."
"Oh, I see. I'm sorry."
He was starting to understand. As close as I was with Marcus, this was unfamiliar territory for us. We'd certainly talked about my parents before, but never in the context of being gay. Marcus had just discovered I was gay a day ago, after all.
"You haven't told your parents, have you?"
"No," he replied.
"I didn't think so. I'd have been really surprised if you had. I mean, you just realized it yourself a few weeks ago."
"True."
I continued to trace my fingertips across his smooth skin. He seemed to be thinking carefully.
"I actually don't think my parents would care that I'm gay," he said.
"Really?"
"Yeah. I mean, they always taught me growing up that people were people; that it didn't matter if they were gay or straight, black or white, man or woman. My dad would always say, 'Everybody deserves to live their life the way they want.' And besides, I have an aunt who's a lesbian and she's always been accepted in the family."
He genuinely believed what he was saying; I could tell that by his tone. This was one time when Marcus being naïve wasn't attractive. I found myself more than a little annoyed.
"Yeah," he continued, "I think they'd be okay with it."
"Well, that's great," I said, cynically, "but not everybody is lucky enough to have parents like that."
He gently turned my head so that I was looking directly into his eyes. He stared at me with such focus and intensity. I knew what was coming; I wish I could've taken back those words. When he spoke, though, it was with tenderness in his voice.
"Hey," he said, "I'm sorry. I can tell talking about this is hard for you. Please don't be angry with me."
Marcus' soft, tender words seemed to sweep aside my defenses. He was right; I had no place being angry with him. After all, none of my bad experiences with my parents were his fault. Suddenly, I felt very small.
"No, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have gotten angry. It's great that you have such a good relationship with your parents. I wish I could have that with mine."
Silence, once again, crept upon the room. It was uncomfortable to talk about my parents, but being with Marc, lying there with his arms around me, made me feel safe.
After a while, Marcus spoke again.
"Do you want to tell your parents?"
I thought about it.
"Yes," I said, "but when I'm ready."
He paused. I could tell he was choosing his next words carefully.
"Please, don't get upset, but do you think you'll ever be ready?"
"No," I said, "probably not."
It was true. I could admit that to myself, at least.
"What if you just did it? You know, got it out of the way?"
"What?!"
"Well, it's your decision to make, not mine. I want you to do what you want. Just know that, whenever or whatever you decide, I'll be there for you."
I rested my head on his chest once again. I didn't say anything. I couldn't say anything. For the second time since I had met him, Marcus Calvani had managed to sweep aside all of my internal resolve. I would never be ready to tell anyone, the time would never be right to come out. But what if I did it? What if -- could I even let myself think it -- what if Marcus was right? What if I just said it and got it over with? What would happen if I came out? Would I lose my parents over this? My friends? Tears began to form in my eyes as the frightening possibilities raced through my mind.
But then, this could be my chance to start being honest with the people I knew. This could be my chance to stop compartmentalizing; I wouldn't have to constantly calculate everything I did or said around other people. Skilled though I was at juggling conflicting feelings and expectations, doing so exacted a heavy price. Maybe I could stop all that and be true to myself inside and outside. I could just be.
"Marcus."
"Yes?"
"Please hand me my phone."