ZONE:

As a kid I was bullied every day by this one boy who didn’t know how to show that he liked me. His name was Jerry. At the time, I had no idea he had a crush on me. And he was afraid because I was also a guy and he thought there was something wrong with being gay. He used to tease me and throw stuff at me and he was always touching me on my arms and chest. Every day I was so mad at him. I didn’t understand why he did it.
The last day I ever saw him as a kid was during a class trip. I learned that day that he didn’t really have any friends. And we had a lot in common. We both liked the same type of music, grew our hair long, liked the same shows and everything. We would have became friends if I wasn’t so afraid of him beating me up or hurting my feelings.

Well, we moved on to high school and through my two years of the experience (I’m a drop out) I had no friends. I liked to pick on everyone who showed the slightest bit of weakness.

One day there was a boy I met and he was openly gay and I decided he would be my target for the rest of the year. I didn’t like him or anything, I just decided he would be the easiest. I picked on him every single day and constantly called him a ****** in the halls at school to make him feel uncomfortable. One day, before beating him up, this kid I knew from middle school stopped me and started to get my attention. He told me I was doing it because I was afraid of people knowing who I was. He knew that Jerry and I had fooled around in eighth grade. He knew my girlfriends were only cover ups. He knew I had never kissed a girl. He knew I was gay.

That was the year I dropped out. I was afraid of my emotions entirely and I didn’t want anyone knowing. That’s not the only reason I bullied people, though. I also had no friends and didn’t know how to socially interact with people, because my only friend in the past was my bully.

Me and Jerry did meet again, though.

I work at a huge music store in Boston and he found himself wandering in one day. I was piling up records on a shelf and there he was. He asked me how much one of the t-shirts costs and when I turned around there he was. I dropped everything I was holding and stared at him for a couple of seconds. When he was helping me pick up the vinyls he kept looking at me and eventually asked if we had met.
Then it hit both of us. We HAD met.

About a week after we had caught up. I had learned he was a changed person. The nicest, sweetest guy I had ever spoken to. We were just hanging out as old friends do. Then one night I had accused him for bullying me because he liked me. After denying it at least four times I decided to leave. Then he kissed me right before I walked out the door. I didn’t know what to do. At first I was kissing him back. I refused to accept that I liked it. I pushed him away and then screamed something like “I’m not a f*cking f*ggot like you and I never will be! Never touch me again you freak!” and stormed out.

I really insulted him, of course. And no matter how many times I tried calling him he wouldn’t return my calls. I gave him space for a while, I didn’t want him to think I was stalking him or whatever.

I saw him again after maybe a month. At first he didn’t say anything to me, but then he finally asked if I was free some time soon. That night I bled my heart out to him. I let him know everything. I still haven’t told anyone else. I literally started crying I was so worked up.
But even after I told him I was still afraid of myself and other people finding out about my homosexuality. Nevertheless, Jerry and I had gotten pretty close as friends. I noticed he was often looking at me in ways I had never seen anyone look at me before. And I found him nothing besides alluring. I wanted to get in his pants so badly, but I knew if I even tried that would officially label me as gay. Not that we hadn’t done it before (like I said, we did it in eighth grade). I was just denying that we had ever laid eyes on one another.

Jerry got mad after I was gone for a week without returning his calls. He found out I had attempted to commit suicide (I had issues with depression and anxiety) after we talked in my basement. All he did was hug me for the longest time. We didn’t let go of each other. I didn’t want to leave his arms. Then I started crying. I don’t really know why. I felt like the weight of the world was on my shoulders, and it had just been relieved. And sometimes you just need to cry before you can be happy again.
I looked up at him and he looked down at me in such a way that I couldn’t resist. I just started to kiss him. I didn’t know what else to do.

In instances like these actions speak louder than words. And in my experience nothing spoke louder than his love for me. Even after exploding at him and calling him nasty things he cared about me. And even after he bullied me by hurting me physically and emotionally I still cared about him.

Every story needs a bittersweet ending, and I guess that is that nobody really knows that I’m gay except him. I love him, I really do, I just don’t know how to tell anyone but him. And I don’t really see a need to.