She of the Mountains by Vivek Shraya Read Free Book Online Page A

expected, when I’m gay didn’t mean he was somehow lacking or inferior in her esteem, he was forced to revert his inspection back to himself.
    In his stomach, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was maybe a fraud, lying to her and lying to himself, despite his honesty. After all, how could he know if his feelings were in fact genuine and not just some part of him still resisting I’m gay ?
    He had also never kissed a boy, let alone dated one, and while he couldn’t imagine what could feel better than her lips and his lips, he didn’t feel informed enough to dismiss the potential of his lips and another his lips. I’m gay meant that a part of him felt that there must be a better, truer kiss waiting for him, somewhere.
    So how could he keep kissing her?

The next three minutes would determine the course of the rest of his day. One hundred and eighty seconds turned into dots that needed to be connected and interpreted, a task he would commit himself to during sociology, on the forty-minute bus ride home, and probably while he watched Party of Five . He would call her, and together they would discuss what the final result of his day’s analysis meant and how best to prepare for next week.
    Post-breakup, they were slowly transitioning into friendship. They still weren’t able to prevent their hands and mouths from fastening onto each other, but they independently and unusually decided not to talk about it. Instead, they interpreted talking about other romantic interests as an adequate indication that they were moving on.
    He stopped on the side of the corridor that bridged the law building to the university mall and pretended to look for something inside his bag, but what he was looking for was up ahead. Any second now, That Guy was going to walk by.
    They would do the gay dance with their eyes—stare, look away, stare, look away—each modelling for the other’s hidden camera. No smile, in case the other wasn’t gay or wasn’t interested. In Alberta, the combination of a stare and a smile, from one man to another, however brief, could be dangerous. He couldn’t allow himself to forget this.
    That Guy’s unpredictability only heightened his attraction. Last week, That Guy had barely made eye contact, mostly lookingat his phone. The week before, That Guy had slowed down and licked his lips as though he was getting ready to say something. What was That Guy going to say? How would he respond? He would probably first pat the back of his head to make sure his cowlick was not too visible and shake his bangs to make sure his new pimple was properly concealed.
    What he wanted was more than a stare, more than an exchange of words, more than to see or touch what was beneath the cotton and denim.
    He wanted to feel the validation of a man’s desire. And not just any man’s. He wanted to be desired by The Man He Deemed Desirable. When distracted in Shakespeare 101, he scribbled in his notebook:
    If I made you King
    and you named me your Prince—
    Then who is King
    and who is Prince?
    If That Guy, whom he had chosen, liked him, thought he was good and worthy and beautiful, perhaps he too could think he possessed these qualities. Perhaps he could even like himself.
    Or better, he could forget about himself completely. If only the connected dots materialized into a mask and cape that allowed him to transform into That Guy. To be able to fill out his clothing like That Guy, instead of having fabric gliding down his bony build like oversized drapes. To be able to walk with a sway-free,heterosexual coordination, in full military control of his shoulders, arms, hips, quads, and heels. To have a slim but elegant nose, one that conveyed confidence, instead of the gluttonous mound with two giant open windows for nostrils he had inherited via his dad from the motherland. To be learning the secret language of Law, which would lead to a model future championing justice by day