By Mickey M.
© August 2002
Sun's gone down.
The Shack's closed. Everyone you
know is home, either getting ready for bed, or already there.
You're here, alone, on your beloved beach, knees pulled to
your chest, sand gritting beneath your legs. It's comforting, this cool
dampness surrounding you. Familiar. You
don't usually feel lonely here; you can smell the salt in the air and you can
hear the sound of the surf as it washes up against the beach.
Tonight, you're alone and it's…lonely.
I don't understand what you're saying.
Most people don't, you realize. And usually it doesn't
bother you. But you met someone today…and you want him to understand you.
You're not sure why it's important, but it feels like it is. Really important.
Jeff's cousin, Will.
"Will."
You say the name out loud, tasting it, then turn it over
then silently in your mind. In his own way, he's as big a dork as you are. And
you know you are – you're not completely oblivious, contrary to what your
friends might think.
But more than…that. He's. He's--.
You grope around in your mind for the words you want, but
they're not there. And that's *so* not fair; words are always there for
you. They're like your board; always
present, always a part of you. You reach out impulsively, clutch at the smooth,
waxed surface laying next to you, fingers tracing over it slowly, reverently.
As if you didn't know each and every line and curve to it already.
This makes you different from your friends.
But something else makes you different, too. And you…you
sense it in Will, as well.
It's not something anyone can see. Or at least, you don't *think* they can see
it. You wonder sometimes. You've heard people – other people, not your
friends – talk about 'queers' and 'fags' and how they just KNEW that so-and-so
was one. So it makes you wonder. If they really can see it, if it's something
that shines in your eyes, or some aura that hovers around you, or what.
You're not sure. If that's what you are. So many words for
it. Words are your friend…you have to remember that. Even the hateful ones; if
you take them and make them *yours*, they lose power over you. Right? And
you've seen, noticed, talking to Will…he understands the power of words.
Maybe. Maybe you can talk to him some more. And teach him
how to understand you. You want him to. Because he's like you in so many ways.
You can see that. Maybe it IS an aura, of sorts. Or something. You wish you
knew. You wish you understood it all, so you could walk right up to him, feel
confident, say what you need to say.
Maybe you should take small steps at first, though. Walk
slowly.
Baby steps, your mom used to call them. When you need to
approach something slow and easy.
One small step at a time.
Maybe…while you're taking small steps…Will can meet you halfway,
and finish the steps with you.
~finis~