The Hound of God By: Edwin e.
Disclaimer: Do not read this if you are offended by stories involving male/male relationships, or in an area that prohibits your viewing of such material. This story is copyrighted to me, Edwin e, so don't reproduce it without my permission.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to anyone (other than myself) is entirely coincidental.
EPILOGUE
Gabriel and I remained astonishingly close after high school. With him at Berkeley and me at Stanford, the San Francisco Bay was all that separated us. Of course, such a relatively small distance, especially during college, is enough to create a significant gulf in any relationship; it's hard to juggle classes, extracurricular activities, and new college friends with a life outside each campus bubble. But neither of us was willing to allow that to happen - it turns out determination is pretty good at overcoming some obstacles. As time ran forward we made it a point to hang out whenever one was in the area of the other (which was quite often seeing as how we were both rabid supporters of our respective sports teams).
Whatever we felt in high school remained in the past. There were times when I got the sense that he still harbored strong feelings for me: I noticed the peculiar glances he gave me at parties or at dinner. But our friendship, as strong as it was, always snuffed any threat - even the noblest of threats. And things were okay. Eventually Gabriel found himself a boyfriend - a cute guy who seemed perfect for him. In fact, whenever I visited, the three of us would often hang out and have a great time.
But every once in a while, Gabriel and I would reminisce about our old lives: about teachers, old friends, and Dominic...
As it turned out, Dominic and I didn't have as great a luck in continuing much of a post-high-school friendship as Gabriel and me. Things had started off well: we talked on the phone weekly and frequently emailed each other with the details of all the new things we were experiencing. We tried getting together for dinner and the like but he was always pretty busy: unlike Gabriel or me, he had a real extracurricular - playing soccer (on scholarship) for Santa Clara University.
After about four months, the emails and calls became less and less frequent. The days without communication turned into weeks and then months. See? Small distances can be exacerbated into prolonged gulfs. After all, Santa Clara is a mere twenty miles south of Stanford! But by the middle of sophomore year, the only times we saw each other was for the yearly soccer game when our teams played against one other. We no longer said hi after matches or talked anymore - I just watched him from afar. Contrary to popular belief, it did bother me that he and I had become strangers again. After all, I had loved him so very much.
However, Dominic and I were not soul mates - we never were. There are no such things as soul mates. I can see why people want to believe so badly in that idyllic notion; that a perfect match exists for each of us - a person who brings an almost destined sense of belonging into our lives. But the whole idea seems so absurd to me: absurd and lonely. Life is hard and cruel and often unfair, but it's not lonely to that extent. I choose to believe in the opposite extreme: there isn't just one person placed on this earth for me, there are six billion people placed on this earth for me. Human nature supplies an innate mechanism for an astonishing interconnectedness with one another, while love-as-conversion provides the means to use it with everyone around us. In other words: our very humanity enables us to find deep, meaningful love wherever we turn. Move from a bucolic town to a University setting and then to a big city, and with enough time and patience you can find true love in
each. That is the underlying justice of reality - the reason why it will continue to remain a beautiful world.
But Dominic was my first real love - doesn't take much reflection to understand the gravity of that fact. I missed him in those beginning college years, just as I did in the latter half of senior year. When we left high school, though I never spoke it aloud, a part of me had faith (Kierkegaard's definition of faith) that somehow he and I would end up together. But the simple truth was that I hadn't been ready for something so serious: a relationship rife with new variables while still enclosed by the same amorphous boundary of my hesitancy. I just wasn't ready.
Well, I wasn't ready back then.
For the longest time I felt like such a "bad" gay boy because coming out of the closet was never high on my list of priorities, and I suspect in the opinions of many, was thereby inhibiting me from doing all I could for the sake of Love. Then one day, in the beginning of Winter Quarter Sophomore Year, a new realization dawned on me. Actually, many "little realizations" is probably better put. In a way, the precepts of these realizations were not entirely new: I had a terribly vague conception of them in high school. But the great thing about college is that it gives you the words and training to better express yourself, and to better understand the world around you.
There is no shortage of people willing to give well-intentioned advice to others, especially amongst the queer community. Such a desire to help is truly inspiring and noble, though sometimes flawed. I realized that 95% of the advice ever given to me (whether by the media, good friends, or the student leaders/members of the queer community) was anecdotal in nature. This, in and of itself, wasn't the problem. When people would say, "for me, being gay means..." or "in my experience, to be in the closet meant, etc," I knew they were acknowledging the limited sphere in which their advice could be of use: only in situations that mirrored their own circumstances. And I understood and smiled. But the danger I finally came to realize was that many people were taking their own experiences - their own trials and tribulations - and forming sweeping normative claims. Somewhere along the way, people abandoned the qualifying words, "for me," or "in my experience," and settled for saying, "b
eing gay means..." and "to be in the closet meant..." As if only one set of experiences and beliefs could somehow be applicable to all.
So when I heard anyone say that being in the closet is a mark of self-loathing, I questioned why. When someone says that happiness comes with being out of the closet and completely open to those around you, I question why. When someone claims that relationships are worth the troubles inherent in coming out, I question why. Despite the noble sentiments, these statements turn into hopeless existential non-sequiturs when placed outside the realm of personal history. So many people were basing their thoughts and advice on such a flimsy assumption: that others' experience of the world was somehow similar to their own. That's not to say that all these voices providing guidance were completely off base. If their words fell on the ears of those with similar backgrounds, then I'm sure they made a world of difference. Though when they fell on my ears, I had no responsible choice but to ignore them, because nothing had ever resonated with me.
That was until my sense of agency got me off my lazy ass to actually search for what I needed. So while at Stanford I made sure to mine the troves of resources available to me. I received advice free from the confines of what I like to call, The Unrecognizable Anecdotal by making amazing friends and discovering life-changing mentors who understood me: who understood the nuances of viewing sexuality through the prism of culture, faith, race and even socioeconomics, as well as paying necessary attention to the rotating spheres of priorities inherent therein. For those with a background in Queer Theory, Racial Formation Theory, and Cultural and Social Anthropology, in my humble opinion, are the most fit to provide guidance that can cross the treacherous prismatic boundaries of gay personal experiences. Or at the very least, they helped me understand myself... Go d! I wish I had that background...
Once I realized the source of the constant dissonance I had felt growing up, I was able to tread my own path: a path lit by the traditional influences of my life, yet dictated by conscious choices. I still maintained the persona my parents and friends expected me to be, while simultaneously taking part (albeit responsibly) in the joys of my sexuality. I finally found a balance in having one foot in the closet and one foot out. But more importantly, I could do so with a smile on my face and a song in my heart, because my own personal happiness was a lattice of goals stemming from a respect for personal enlightenment and common good.
It may have taken some time, but everything was finally looking up. The following year and a half was fabulous, with a whole host of opportunities open to me. Hell, I even dabbled in some minor relationships, which though fun, hadn't compared to what I had felt for Dominic. Though I'm not capable of regret, I do sometimes wish that circumstances could have allowed us to take a different course. But the future seemed pretty set - a future devoid of a past love.
"The future can be changed, but only if Fate allows it."
"Hey, let's stop by the post office before going back to the dorm," I said to my close friend Adrian.
"But it's so far!" He playfully whined. I couldn't help but laugh.
"What would you do if the post office was actually off campus?" I teased.
"I don't know... die? Besides, I don't get anything except bills and junk mail," he continued as we veered toward White Plaza.
"That's all I get too, but I haven't checked it at all this summer so it's probably full," I said.
"Oh Mr. Bigshot!" He stated with sarcastic humor. "I guess you've been too busy with all those Public Service Fellowships you've been collecting."
"I try, I try," I answered in a comically pseudo-patronizing voice. He spent most of the summer busting my balls because more fellowship programs accepted me than him this year. Just to piss him off I kept telling him that next summer, after graduation, I'd turn down a few so that he could have some of my sloppy seconds. We were both cracking up at that point. As we continued walking, we talked about random shit: our respective fellowship programs, the weather, how exciting senior year was going to be, etc, etc. We eventually took our mail from our P.O boxes and walked back to the dorm in silence as we sifted through all the envelopes.
"Hey what's that?" He asked me halfway to the dorm. He was referring to an envelope I was holding.
"I'm not sure. It looks like a card or invitation, but there's no return address," I said somewhat confused. I just held it in my hand hoping to magically gather an impression of its sender.
"Aren't you going to open it?"
"Eh. I'll open it later," I said as I put it at the back of the stack and walked into our dorm.
I didn't take a good look at my mail until a couple of days later. After throwing away all the garbage and paying all my bills, my eyes focused on that mysterious envelope. I took it, opened it up, and found a simple card with a somewhat sloppy (though lengthy) handwritten message inside. It read:
"Hey. I've been putting off writing you for so long, but figured today seemed a rather fitting day to do it. I was going to email you instead, but snail mail still has its perks. It's more personal, ya know? I've tried writing so many drafts of this thing and I still don't have the right words. I just wanted to see how you're doing. We've spent so much time apart, and though I find myself happy, I can't help but think about you. I don't know how things are going in your life, but I'd really like to find out again. After all these years, you've remained the litmus test. You're still the one I compare everyone to. I guess I wanted to tell you that before our last year in college starts. Please give me a call; it'd be nice to talk. (408) XXX-XXXX. Sincerely, Your Hound."
I read the card over and over. After the initial shock wore off, I smiled at the date written at the end of the message: August 8th. That's the Feast Day for St. Dominic. My own hang-ups didn't allow things between us to work out before, but what about now? My heart began to beat faster at just the thought of the possibility. With no hesitation (though a fair amount of nerves) I picked up the phone and dialed the numbers.
"Hello?" A familiar voice said on the other line. I took a deep breath.
"Dominic? It's me, Edwin..."
THE END.
Author's Notes: Well that's it everyone. I hope those who've stuck around have enjoyed my little foray into fiction writing. I'm still not convinced writing's for me, but who knows? I do have a seed for another story in my head: something much more lighthearted and satirical. Anyways, if you liked this story, it'd be nice to hear from you. But remember: put some sort of reference in the subject line cuz I don't bother opening mail from people I don't know or don't like (and I'm assuming most of you will fall in the former category, not the latter).
edtimoria@hotmail.com ; AIM: edtimoria
About me: I'm a 24-year-old California boy, of Mexican descent, gay, and a recent Stanford grad, class of '03. GO CARDINAL!! (Boo Berkeley!!!) :)