Date: Tue, 18 Feb 2003 18:31:22 -0800 (PST) From: Thomas-Andre Bardwell Subject: The Courtship - Part Three The Courtship 3 Sorry these chapters are taking so long. I am a college student with schoolwork and drink to focus onto first. I woke up the next day with a headache and the near naked vision of Tim. Jesus, I thought to myself, what have I done to deserve this gift? I mustered a wave at him as I sauntered to the sink but the response was rather cold. "Hey." He said blankly. It wasn't the perky annoying response that I had grown to both love and expect. Then like a flush, I remembered our exchange last night -- I had touched him. I probably stepped over the line. Damn. I always seem to twist the signals. Sometimes I perceive attention as a sign of attraction. I always tend to fuck my relationship's up with straight boys that way. I like having straight male friends too. It's a nice relief from the pressure and bitchiness of other gay men. I never feel like I have to look, act or say my best when I'm a friend with straight men; they don't care. But every time I start having feelings for a straight man I begin twisting our interaction as the mere steps closer to a romantic relationship thereby ruining the friendship. Then I get labeled as a gay-predator and that's a label I've been trying to move away from. I thought I had it all under control. I quickly tossed water on my face and left the bathroom without saying goodbye. I had Tim on my mind throughout the entire day. Calculating what I could do to salvage the relationship. I really liked the way things were going, you know. We had just opened up to each other albeit not intensely. I really liked his earnest, confident nature. It was a nice way to start my mornings. But then I thought about it...what did he get from me? Nothing but unwanted advances. I had to set things right. I sketched out a plan during my sociology class late that afternoon: I would find him, and proceed to tell him a boldface lie blaming the whole thing on alcohol. It'll make him feel better. I would confront him at dinner that night in the cafeteria. Confront. Sounds too harsh. Explain. That's it. I will explain to him that the alcohol clouded my judgment and whatever he perceived was wrong. We could then resume to our routine once again. But he wasn't at dinner that night. At least I didn't see him. And I was looking. I'll just confront him on the floor... Hmm, maybe that's not too good of an idea, I thought to myself. I'd be going into his space with all my I-know-you're-not-queer ramblings; I'm not comfortable with that. Maybe I'll confront him in the bathroom on Thursday... Hmmm, maybe that's not too good of an idea either. It'd be a little weird trying to assure him that I'm not attracted to him, as he stood in front of me in a little maroon towel. It wouldn't come off believable at all; in fact, it would become more OBVIOUS. Oh my god, why is this so difficult. "Fuck it." My best friend Anthony said. "Don't fucking worry about it. As long as he's not being violent or anything then you have nothing to apologize for. He's probably overreacting to what happened. Hell, he might not even remember it." This is why I love guys like Anthony. Direct. Remorseless. The way I wish I could be. But hell, if I couldn't find him and I'm not comfortable searching him out then why shouldn't it be easy to just not "fucking worry about it." I resigned myself to this decision and went to the computer lab to finish a paper that I had been avoiding. Tim was sitting at one of the computer stations. "Hey." I uttered sheepishly. "Hey." He responded staring into the computer screen. I felt every muscle in my body tense; I must have really offended him. My measly lie is not going to help matters so why not just move on. But I couldn't resist figuring out what the hell was wrong. So I asked. "What's up with you, Tim? Was it something I'd done?" He stopped what he was doing, looked down at his hands and took a deep breath. "Oh shit, here it comes" I shuddered. "It's not you. It's me." Jesus, what a cliche first opener. He told me somberly that he just broke up with his girlfriend. "We had been together for five years." "Oh." It was all I could say. What a self-centered bitch, I was. Thinking that I had anything to do with his mood. All we did was touch our fucking knees! What was I overreacting for? I couldn't help but feel sorry for him; he looked so broken-up about it. It was really the first time I had ever seen him show an emotion other than perky. As much as I wanted to rejoice for his new single-status, I realized that the breakup didn't really make him any more available to me. It's not like I had now had this opportunity to move in for the kill -- the man was still straight to the best of my knowledge. "I hope you feel better." Even as I was saying it, I realized how cliche and distant the phrase sounded but there was nothing else for me to say. I wasn't going to say "sorry" for God's sake. Maybe he couldn't wait to break up with the bitch. Maybe. He nodded and smiled weakly then turned back to his computer. I felt so small and ridiculous.