Date: Wed, 24 Oct 2001 00:27:35 EDT
From: SmTwnBoi@aol.com
Subject: Truth and Luke

	Truth is a funny thing. What you perceive as true is not always
what really is. I constantly double guess myself about how other people
react to me. "Did he act that way because he likes me? Or is he just being
nice?" It is a constant struggle to see the truth of what I see.

Chapter 1, "A Friend from Pain"

	I had a crush on this extremely cute guy. He was 5'10", had brown
hair with blonde streaks, had the most beautiful icy blue eyes, and his
smile; it made me melt. The braces on his teeth only made him that much
cuter. The only problem was that he was a jock, and in my school, no jocks
could be gay. It just was not possible.

	We had the same P.E. class, and therefore had the same study. In
P.E., I did not look at him too much. I was not perverted. Do not get me
wrong, I glanced at him once or twice in the shower, but dignity (and
possibly fear) kept me from gawking. I would stare at him longingly in
study. I would study his beauty. I would catch glimpses of his eyes (such
deep pools) and his stunning smile.

	Occasionally, I would get up the courage to talk to him. He was
friendly to me. He chatted and included me in his circle of friends. I just
thought the world of him. He was great. I started hanging out with him. He
would invite me over for a party he was throwing, and he threw them often
because that was "the jock thing to do". Overall, I really had fun with
him.

	Eventually, I told him. We were alone, and I just came out to
him. What came next was not at all what I expected. I expected one of two
things: either he would reject me, throw me out, and never speak with me
again, or we would embrace and share our mutual "gayness".

However, neither of these happened. Instead, he asked me to come nearer to
him (I had been standing some distance away). I slowly, step by agonizing
step, walked closer. His face had never changed its appearance until I came
close. Just then, when I was within reach, his usually happy demeanor
changed into utter rage. He grabbed hold of me and started pounding me all
the while screaming obscenities.

How could I have been so stupid? How could anyone that I have longed for
like me, as I like them? How could anyone even accept me as I am? I felt
worthless then. I felt I should be beaten for presuming too much. I even
beat myself mentally for such a mistake.

I had phased out all the pain. I could not tell if he was still hitting me
or not, or even if I was still in the same place. My eyes were closed and I
was lost in my own thoughts. I was in a place where only I could cause harm
to myself. I was my only enemy. Danny (the boy) was not at fault. It was
all me. I deserved it.


I awoke later. I had no idea what time it was or where I was. I was
lost. This guy, who I could only vaguely recall at the time as one of
Danny's friends, was approaching me. I could not think. I could not
act. The kid, once he spotted me, walked quickly over to me. He asked what
had happened. He asked if I was ok. I could not answer. I did not want to.

I guess I blacked out again because when I woke up, I was on someone's
couch and was still feeling as lost.

I slowly sat up. Just then the pain that was there all along, I guess, hit
me. I groaned, but I continued to sit up. When I was upright, the pain
lessened a little, but was still there.

I looked around slowly, as not to aggravate my condition. I noticed it was
a nice living room, but I did not notice anything else, until the same boy
that I had seen earlier walked over to me from another room. He was
carrying a washcloth and bowl. He sat down next to me, and I just stared at
him puzzled. I still could not place his face with a name. I guess my mind
was still in the blender. He started talking again.

He asked me if I knew what had happened to me. I nodded. He asked me if
Danny had done this. I nodded again. He continued to just talk to me. He
was worried that I might have a concussion. He talked about this and that,
much of which just passed right over me. All I could tell from him, was
that he was caring about me.

He proceeded to wipe away the corners of my mouth with the washcloth. I was
surprised about the redness on the cloth when he dipped it into the bowl of
water. I did not know that I had bled at all. I hurt all over, but it did
not occur to me that I might be bleeding. He wiped my mouth, and then my
entire face. He went to what I assumed to be the kitchen, and freshened the
water, as it was completely red by now.

The bleeding had stopped a while ago, but he had wiped away my dried
blood. I was finally beginning to hear, understand, and respond to what he
was saying. We started talking about what happened. I started right away by
telling him it was my fault; that I should not have told Danny that I was
gay; that I would not blame him for doing the same thing as Danny.

He was appalled at this. He scorned me for blaming myself. He told me that
it was in no way, shape, or form my fault. That Danny was just and asshole
stuck in the stone ages, and that people like him and I did not deserve
such treatment. I was definitely not expecting this. I was confused. Did he
just say what I think he said? I doubted my own hearing. He giggled at my
puzzlement. "What? You don't think one of Danny's jock friends can't be
gay?" This was definitely not expected.

We talked about everything that night (I finally figured out what time it
was). We talked about how we knew we were gay, when we knew definitely that
we were, and if we told anyone. We both had pretty much the same
stories. We always knew we were different, we just accepted it when we
started dreaming and thinking about guys instead of girls, and we had not
told anyone (except each other, and Danny knew about me).

I felt luck then. I felt lucky to finally have someone to talk to about all
the stuff I wanted to talk about every day. I had forgotten about what
happened earlier. I had forgotten about the pain, which had actually died
to a dull ache. I felt happier than I had in a long time. Who would have
thought that getting the, for lack of a better word, crap beaten out of you
could leave you with a new friend, a new ally.

I noticed it was late. I said that I would have to get going. He said his
name was Taylor. I told him my name was Luke. He said he knew.

	That night, I slept better than I had in a long while, and, except
for the slight soreness, awoke happy and beaming. I got ready for school in
a sort of a happy daze. I floated to the bathroom, showered, and looked in
the mirror. If it were not for my reflection, I would have just put off my
remembrance of the other day as a dream.

I had bruises all over my face. I dared not look at the rest of me, as I
knew it would appear the same. It seemed Dan had great aim when it came to
landing punches. With the memory of Dan, came the memory of Taylor, and
none of the bruises seemed to matter. I would just tell people I got jumped
or something and just deal with the stares. I could go on living,
especially since I had a friend now.


Please give me some feedback on this. I have received some on my other
story: "Luke, Unrequited", but I have not received much. E-Mail me at
SmTwnBoi@aol.com. Later all.