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QColumn: A Gay In The Life: Everybody Knows

For those of you who missed out, here’s last week’s column about Steve’s high school friend, Peter.
Everybody Knows
By Steve Prince
To let go does not mean to stop caring,
   it means I can’t do it for someone else.
To let go is not to cut myself off,
   it’s the realization I can’t control another.
To let go is not to enable,
   but allow learning from natural consequences.
To let go is to admit powerlessness, which means
   the outcome is not in my hands.
To let go is not to try to change or blame another,
   it’s to make the most of myself.
To let go is not to care for,
   but to care about.
To let go is not to fix,
   but to be supportive.
To let go is not to judge,
   but to allow another to be a human being.
                                                            -Author Unknown
I knocked at the door. While I waited, the California sun warmed my back. Seconds later, the door swung open and a small mutt bounded at my feet.
“Well, hey you!” I squealed looking down at the puppy. The dog lapped at my fingers.
“You must be Steve!” I looked up to see who knew my name.
In the entrance leaning purposefully on the door, stood a girl not much older than twenty-five. Her brown bob glistened with strategic highlights, accentuating her hazel eyes. Her thin camel sweater fit her thin but curvy body. It was hard not to notice her beauty.
“Oh!” I said in surprise. “Hi, I’m Steve,” I said extending my hand. She brushed aside my palm and gave me a hug. She patted my back as we connected. My nose took in the faint smell of gardenia.
“So nice to finally meet you. I’m Shawna,” She said excitedly as we pulled away. “Peter has told me so much about you.”
Funny, he didn’t tell me dick-shit about you sugar. “Did he?” I said with a false grin.
I should have known. Why had I actually expected Peter to tell me he came to Los Angeles to see his girlfriend? Ugh. Could he be in any more denial? Yet as soon as the question popped in my head I pushed it aside. Try not to be so judgmental, Steve. Everyone goes there own way. I was Peter’s friend; I wasn’t here to out him.
“Well how could Peter not talk about you?” she said. “You’re like a brother to him.” She peered at me as if looking into a unlit room, searching me.
From the back of the house came a yell that interrupted the awkwardness.
“Heeeeey!!” Peter trotted towards me. In one graceful yet strong movement, he swept me up and lifted me up in the air. “I can’t believe I’m finally seeing you IN L.A.!” He bounced me up and down to the rhythm of his last three syllables.
Peter put me down but still hugged me. “It’s so good to see ya, brother.”
“You too,” I said. “You look good.” He let go.
“You know it,” Peter said, cuffing his left arm around Shawna. “Gotta look good for this one.” He smiled. Shawna, almost a foot shorter than Peter, looked up at him but Peter kept his gaze towards me.

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