Dear YOU,
Yeah, you. Top dog, alpha male—the very image of masculinity. I’ve moved on.
Times have changed, and you just aren’t cutting it anymore. You think I haven’t noticed that little bit of gut that’s starting to show? The bald patch on the crown of your head, moving outwards with each passing day like the aftermath of some great bombing?
It’s true; you used to be one fine specimen. The way your golden hair would bounce in the sun as you projectile vomited into the trees at Tailgate, barely missing me. I saw that look in your eyes then—how you so kindly made sure not to hit me with pieces of last night’s Cinelli’s. And I loved you for it.
Oh, the things I did for you. I would go to Shooters and wait, wait all night if I heard even just a whisper that you would be there. Do you know how many Apple Martinis that is, how many I had to drink just to pass the time? Do you know the looks I’d get when I ordered an Apple Martini at Shooters? And I did it for you!
But when you did show, man you’d look great. And I know you loved it when I told you so. You might grin, or you might even laugh, but either way, you could never resist a compliment. You know you’re beautiful, so why shouldn’t everyone else? I appreciated you, and then what? You’d go after one of my friends. Always one of my friends. What did they have that I didn’t?
Other than THAT. Oh, and I guess THOSE.
So maybe I could have gone after a more reachable target. My friends certainly thought so. They’d say, why not go after someone who’s gay? What are you afraid of? But we both know what they were after. They were after you. They thought I couldn’t see through their “caring” and their “concern over my mental and emotional stability,” but really they were just trying to get me out of the way. I can’t say I really blame them. I mean, just look at how you rock those Nike Limited Editions, or your neon wayfarers. That musk of machismo that follows you wherever you go.
Sure, I might have missed out on a few good men. My girlfriends would tell me, hey, I think we might have found the perfect guy for you. But you know how it is. What would happen if I actually went on a date with him? What if I wasn’t his type? That’s no fun. You see, it’s not so easy being green—er, gay. You look at a guy and you smile. He smiles back, but keeps on walking. Or worse, he might not even smile back at all.
It’s not like I haven’t tried. I’ve been out to a few clubs in my day, and honestly, it feels like you’re at the MOMA and you’re the latest exhibit. And, yeah, I’ll admit. I do it too. His lips are too big, his eyes are too small, he acts like too much of a girl, he has no personality. It can feel like you’re getting dissected, pulled apart like a puzzle, and who wants that.
With you it’s different. You don’t judge me. If I’m being honest (and who doesn’t like honesty), with you, there’s nothing much to lose. It’s a win-win. You get your compliments, and my feelings stay intact. And don’t even try to say I’m insecure. I just know what I want, and what I don’t, you know?
So maybe we can never be more than friends, but I’m fine with that. Trust me. I’m a big boy, I can handle it. But that doesn’t mean we can’t crack a beer on the quad at two in the afternoon. We both like to drink, right? And I mean, we can still rage at Tailgate and shower chicks in beer (chicks love us for entirely different reasons, of course) because we both like to drink, right? I guess what I’m trying to say is, we both like to drink. You like the attention, and I don’t like rejection. It’s symbiosis, man. We both benefit. It’s a part of nature.
So yeah, we can be friends, but nothing else—you hear? I’m just not that into you.
Thomas Gebremedhin is a Trinity senior. His column runs every other Thursday.
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