Boy Midflight by Charlie David Read Free Book Online

true miracles like love, honesty, and birth, you have to let it all go. Have the courage to not know what will happen tomorrow. That doesn’t mean you don’t make plans and strive for goals. It’s the acceptance of a much bigger plan you don’t have the vision for.”
    “So I’m just supposed to forget about Chris?”
    “You’ve got to just live your life. You can’t force him to love you. When you have the courage to let go, life will start.”
    “What’s that supposed to mean?”
    “You’re a smart boy, you’ll figure it out.”
     
     
    AS IS my custom when hurt or disappointed, I throw myself into work. No time for sulking. Back at it to become better than before. The “you’ll be sorry you lost me” attitude. Wait until I’m immeasurably successful! Then you’ll want me back and I won’t bite! My prayers that Chris and I get a summer contract together change to prayers that Antonio takes me away somewhere warm with palm trees where I can forget I ever fell for him in the first place.
    I’m longing for something else, anything to forget the pain of Chris. Unfortunately, I find myself rehearsing sappy material and music, “Raining in my Heart” from Dames at Sea , “If I Can’t Have You” from Saturday Night Fever . The balcony scene from Romeo and Juliet and the script from Sleepless in Seattle where Sam is talking to the radio therapist about his deceased wife. Thank God for Michelle, my buxom blonde who stays at my side, listens to my problems, and loves me regardless. I’ve always been fortunate to have a group of good friends to share the journey with. The yellow brick road would be a lonely place without the Cowardly Lion, the Scarecrow, and the Fruit Fly. Ode to the fag hag, the fruit fly! She who stood by us and escorted us to prom. She who spent countless nights with us out for coffee, at the movies, and shopping. Oh, yes, shopping. It happens to be my favorite sport. She who posed as our girlfriend when necessary and was always willing to be a “cover girl.” Ode to she who escorted us to gay bars and clubs to ogle cute boys in vain. Ode to she who found her own rides home when we hooked up at the club. Hail she who taught us the intricacies of fashion, shared our love of music, and encouraged our endless train of crushes. Hail she who puts up with our tantrums, feeds our egos, and lifts our spirits! Ode to the fag hag, hail the fruit fly!
    For some reason God gifted gay men the innate ability to communicate with and understand women. It’s like we’ve been given the key to their secret clubhouse and allowed to bear witness to all the ceremonies of womanhood. The door to the male clubhouse was slammed in our face. But for the most part women are more interesting anyway; the conversation is juicier and we empathize easily with each other.
    The relationship between a guy and his best girlfriend or fruit fly is intimate, amazing, and complex. On the surface there are all the benefits and extremities of a boy/girl relationship. There’s the incessant cuddling, the endless dinners, movies, and dates, the tête-à-tête amid bursts of rapturous laughter, and occasionally love notes, gifts, and amorous references. Marriage would be eminent, perfect, a Cinderella dream but for one thing. No Sex. And therein lies the complexity.
    This embodies the relationship between Michelle and myself. I adore her, and as evidenced by the rumors in college, we are perceived as a secret couple. Truth is I love that. She’s my connection to society’s “normal” world. Our relationship stands as a blockade to ward off people’s accusations of my sexual meanderings. The issue within is that I harbor a real, albeit confusing, sexual infatuation for her, and I believe she has reciprocal feelings. Intensely devoted to each other and our friendship with secret sexual agendas to manifest, we define the gayboy/fruit fly relationship.
    Reclining on one of the assemblage of disparate couches in the student