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.

“How long have y’all been together?” I asked.
“Seven months,” Peter replied.
Shawna must have read my confused face. “Oh, I’m from Oklahoma,” Shawna said. “I am a broadcast major and I moved out here six months ago.”
“Well, welcome to L.A.,” I said sincerely.
“Ah, thank you,” she responded. “Actually, I should be going. I need to record a clip of our show this afternoon. I just wanted to stay and meet you before I left.” She looked at Peter, “I’ll catch you two at the restaurant?” This last part she said as if I should know what was happening.
“Yep,” Peter said, “we’ll see you there.” He pecked her goodbye and looked at me. “Hope you like Mexican, stud,” he said patting my back.
Shawna left through the front door, letting a breeze flicker into the room as if to breath life back into the house.
“You wanna beer?” Peter asked, walking into the kitchen.
“Sure,” I said. I sat on the couch and minutes later he joined me.
We both sat and talked. We didn’t enter into any interesting conversation; it felt nothing like the days of high school. Peter was still a handsome man, but his eyes looked tired. As we talked, I’d see glimpses of his smile, but only while reminiscing about high school. Truthfully, our time felt labored, but as if we both felt it had to be done. Even as we drove to the restaurant, our conversation felt forced and shallow.
“Two more, Señor.” Peter said to the waiter while pointing to me. We had only been sitting down for thirty minutes but I was about to have my 2nd shot. Jeezus. The problem with seeing high school friends is that you think you can do what you could in high school. I drank in high school to feel normal and to numb all the drama that was going on in my life. Now, I didn’t drink so much and I could tell.
After we had eaten dinner, Peter excused himself and went to the bathroom. Quickly Shawna, who had not been drinking, saddled up to me.
“Well,” she said. “I finally get to talk to you. Peter just seems to want you all to himself!” For an instant her smile faltered. She brushed aside her hair and her smile resumed its usual charm.
I made a mental note to bookmark the irony, but I was too buzzed to process it now. Still, I had drank enough that my mental filter was “holey” at best. “Well sugar,” I said with a grin. “I’m sure you two get plenty of each other!” I looked at her and Shawna’s demeanor changed.
“Oh no!” She said. “That’s what I love about Peter; he respects me. And believe me I’ve had my moments of physical weakness where I’ve felt tempted, but not Peter. He won’t budge. It’s so honorable of him.”
What she said struck me so much that I almost sobered up. Really? They were still waiting? I mean, I understand people have religious convictions, but Peter was twenty-eight AND Peter has been with women several times. At least that’s what he told me. I hope Shawna at least had a good vibrator. I mean, a girl has needs. I was saved from responding. Thankfully, Peter came back from the bathroom and our shots came from the waiter.
What happened after that next shot is a blur because I proceeded to get drunker than Cooter Brown. It seemed like the next thing I remembered was throwing up in the grass outside of an International House Of Pancakes—yeah, I’m classy. I turned on my back, the cool grass tickling my neck. I sighed and opened my eyes. The night sky prickled with stars flooded my eyesight. Like a cloud, Peter’s head drifted into my vision. He looked at me cautiously. He peered down at me.
“You okay?” he asked.
I nodded. I felt I’d be sick if I opened my mouth.
“Well,” he deliberated. “How about I take you home and Shawna can pick me up later.”
I nodded again. I just wanted to go home.
Thirty minutes later, I walked into my front door as Peter followed. His cell rang.
“It’s Shawna,” he said rolling his eyes. “One sec.”
I walked back to my bathroom and brushed my teeth. Before I was finished, Peter had walked in the doorway.
“Hey,” Peter paused. “Can I stay here? I don’t want to deal with Shawna tonight.”
I spat toothpaste into the sink. “Sure,” I said. “I’ll put some blankets on the couch.”
Peter looked at me incredulously. “Come on, it’s just me. I’ll just share your bed.”
It was unusually hot that night. I opened the window to my room and the air felt like wet lips sticking to my skin. I don’t sleep in much clothes, so I shucked of my garments except for my underwear and crawled into bed. Peter set a trashcan beside my nightstand and crawled over me to the corner part of the bed by the window. He was wearing just his boxers. We mumbled some indiscreet sentences before nodding off…
The first thing I noticed when I woke up was that I was fully erect. I still felt drunk. In fact, I thought I had to pee really bad, but it didn’t feel that way. I was aroused. I had been sleeping on my back with my head tilted to my right. It was then that I noticed something, or someone was touching my leg.
I glanced down. Peter, who slept on my left, had his right leg draped over my left leg, intertwining the two. I could feel my leg hair matted against my skin from the sweat of Peter’s leg. What was happening? It was then that I heard the sighing. Or was it moaning? I couldn’t discern the sound. It seemed to faintly come from a ghost beside me. Suddenly, I began to wake up, my drowsiness draining from me. Then, I noticed the bed swaying back and forth and back and forth. Oh my god. Was this… was Peter jacking off? His sighs began to speed up as if to answer my thought. The faster he moaned, the faster the bed moved. I wanted to look to turn my head and look so badly, but I didn’t dare. I didn’t want it to stop. For as much of me had moved on, I still wanted Peter—a part of me still loved him. His calf muscle flexed harder against mine, foreboding.
He was about to cum now, I could feel and hear it. I felt something on my left hand. I had not realized that Peter was holding it the way a man would his lover’s. It was then that my erotic feelings were overcome by love and sadness. His leg gripped harder around mine and he came, squeezing my hand even harder. I imagined the whites of his knuckles stressed against my own relaxed hand and how different these two hands were. Clutched together—one clutching, one letting go—both separated by an empty void between our palms. Peter sighed and I could feel his body shudder. He moved off of me. Minutes later, he rolled over and went to sleep.
I laid there, the hum of my ceiling fan in my brain. Before, in the oddness of Peter’s masturbation, the room seemed filled with a sexual scream that quivered in the room igniting everything it touched into some spasm of feeling. Now, the room seemed eerily quiet and lonely. I laid there, too numb to move, letting the tear out of my right eye burn down my face and dissolve into my sheets. Forgotten…
The next morning nothing was said. In fact, the only things that were discussed were the good ol’ days again. The night before, Peter and I talked of going to Zuma Beach. He still wanted to go today and I obliged just to not seem suspicious, but I really didn’t want to.
We drove up the coast listening to the Dixie Chicks. The album was almost finished by the time we reached Zuma Beach. Shawna was supposed to meet us later, much to Peter’s chagrin. We parked the car and stepped out onto the grey sand. The sky was overcast, a shroud that covered the ocean giving it a dull color; like liquid steal swaying between the jagged rocks, shooting up from the seal like the tops of steel skyscrapers.
For a bit we talked about how much we both love California, and then we sat in comfortable silence watching the dolphins jump. They were so beautiful and carefree, so easy and innocent. We sat for a while before Peter spoke.
“She’s just not the girl for me,” he sighed. He looked at me. I gave him a knowing look; I didn’t feel any response would suffice. He seemed to appreciate it. Peter gazed out on the water. He wasn’t aware I was watching him. He scanned the sea searchingly. I knew exactly what he was searching for and it broke my heart that he’d never find it.
“You know,” he continued quietly. “It hasn’t been the same since high school, Steve. We had so much fun then. It was just so… easy. But now… now I’ve fucked everything up. My life is a fucking mess and I have nothing to show for it.” He paused before finishing. “I just know there’s that right girl out there, somewhere. I have to believe that God has bigger plans for me, that by following his example, I’m doing the right thing. The thing He wants me to do, the thing my family wants me to do, and the thing I should do.” Peter’s voiced softened, as if he was praying. “I have to believe it. I have to… I have to… I have to.”
Peter’s phone rang. It was Shawna; she was five minutes away. The conversation had ended. As Shawna pulled up, I got my stuff ready to go. I had to be at work that night. I put my beach stuff in my car and walked back to the beach. Shawna said bye and walked over to the water’s edge leaving Peter and I alone.
He looked at me blazingly. He smiled, probably the first true smile I had seen on Peter’s face all weekend. He hugged me and whispered in my ear. “You take care and I’ll talk to you soon.”
“Ok. Call me if you need anything,” I said. “You know I love ya, man”
“I love you too,” he said. Pulling away slowly, I turned to walk away.
“Steve,” He whispered my name but I could still hear the crack in Peter’s voice over the crashing of the waves. I turned to look at him. His eyes brimmed with tears. He hugged me again, tightly, clutching me.
“I love you so much,” Peter rasped, his voice faltering. “Always.”
“Always,” I echoed. I didn’t look at Peter’s face as I left him. I didn’t want to see it; it was too painful. I simply hugged him back with all the love I could, and then, I let go.
To let go is not to deny,
   but to accept.
To let go is not to nag, scold or argue,
   but instead to search out my own shortcomings and correct them.
To let go is not to adjust everything to my desires,
   but to take each day as it comes and cherish myself in it.
To let go is not to criticize or regulate anybody,
   but to try to become what I dream I can be.
To let go is not to regret the past,
   but to grow and live for the future.
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Years after moving from Oklahoma, Steve Prince is still acclimating to the gay scene in Los Angeles—he’s a slow learner. By trial and error and a lot of sex, his mission is to make the uncomfortable, comfortable. Also it should be known that he is gayer than butt sex.
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Previously, on A Gay In The Life:
The Birds and The Birds
Lyin’, & Twinks, & Bears—Oh My!
Going Public
Christmas in July
Luck Be A Lady Tonight
I Left My Heart In Oklahoma
As Luck Would Have It
Shock & Awe
Blame It On Britney
The Unending Journey
Makin’ Copies
Bullets and Bracelets… and Lube
To Tell The Truth…
Stars Aren’t Blind
The Dark Knight
Come As You Are
A Date?
A Happy Ending
Better Than Nothing
A Man With A Slow Hand
Taking The Long Way