Something's Wrong With the Different Realms

One: Writing Project

"Go on."

"And you'll get to write about an aro ace main character who's half-Black and half-Chinese like you. How does that sound?"

Isla paused to think, putting her hand on her chin. "That's not a bad idea. Besides, it'll be pretty easy because we don't have to creatively imagine too many scenarios."

"Exactly!"

"Now... what's that secret you wanted to tell me about?" Isla lowered her voice again.

"Okay..." I took a deep breath. I could do this. "Keep in mind that I've only told this to my best friend Caleb."

Isla raised an eyebrow. "Uh-huh?"

"I... I am gay."

"Okay," said Isla. "If you weren't comfortable with it, you didn't have to tell me. Besides, I'm practically a stranger."

I clenched my fists, whispering, "no, I want to. We're basing our book characters on ourselves so you probably would've figured it out eventually. Besides, I could probably use my character as an outlet for my frustrations and uh... gay panic, I guess."

Isla nodded understandingly. "Whatever suits you."

"Besides, I uh, I want to tell my other straight friends eventually. Might as well start with a cool aro ace girl."

Isla smiled. "Whatever makes you feel comfortable. Your coming out is your coming out. You're allowed to take it at your own pace."

"Thanks."

Isla glanced at the clock. "So... do you want to create the document or do you want me to create it?"

"You can create the document."

A weight lifted from my chest. Maybe this writing project wouldn't be so terrible after all.

I glanced at myself in the mirror and found a plain face staring back at me. Plain medium-to-dark brown hair. Plain, saturated medium-brown eyes. A pale face devoid of any color with red acne that was most prominent on my cheeks. A body that was of an average height of 5'8" and had an average shape, slightly lanky with some pudge in the middle. I looked like your average white teenage American boy.

I gave my hair a toss and pulled up my computer. It was probably best to start tapping out words. With no idea of what to write, I recalled my and Isla's conversation when the project was introduced and started writing about it.

I was just about finished when my mom called me down for dinner. So I closed my laptop and headed downstairs. I surveyed my family. My mom was a middle-aged woman with medium-brown hair which was usually styled in waves. Although she appeared smiley, she had the presence of a commander. If mom said something, you did it, no questions asked. Today she wore a dress. My dad usually had his lips turned down, unlike my mom's smiling face. He had dark chocolate brown hair and usually wore a dress shirt for his gold-collared job. He was usually quiet. They were your average parents. My little sister, Miley, on the other hand, was annoying as hell. Her hair was a fiery auburn shade that I wish I had. She was always bouncing around talking about the latest TV show that she watched.

When everyone got to the table, we said grace before digging into the food. My parents were devout Christians. I was a Christian too. I formed my own relationship with God and sought him for guidance but I wasn't as devout as my parents were. That was okay though, everyone had their own relationship with God.

As usual, dinner was quiet except for Miley's chatter. Miley ranted on and on about whatever show she was watching. My mom and dad whispered to each other about their jobs briefly and I mentioned my new writing project in the beginning. But that was that. Otherwise, I kept my thoughts to myself. That was how every dinner went. Say grace. Mumble a sentence about school. Think. And eat.

It was just the way it was. My parents rarely talked about anything. I'd only ever heard them talking about the weather, their jobs, church, finances, and food. Sometimes our grades. I'd tried to bring up politics once at the dinner table but my parents just shrugged it off and said "whatever." They probably never voted.

That was why I was afraid of telling my parents. They were just too neutral. I had no idea how they'd react to their kid being gay when they didn't even have an opinion on simple political matters. It was better to just play it safe and wait until I was leaving for college to tell them. Even if I'd known for quite some time now.

I'd first known when I felt some heat crawl up my skin after I'd glanced at a boy in my class when I was 11.

"Why do I feel hot all of a sudden?" I asked, glancing at my best friend Caleb.

Caleb surveyed me for a moment, taking in my red face and said: "sounds like you have a crush man."

I gasped. "How can you be so sure?"

"Dude," Caleb stated matter-of-factly looking at me like I had two heads. "Blushing is the first and most obvious sign."

"I guess that makes sense, I... have a crush." I sunk down in my seat. "This is scary."

"Obviously, otherwise it wouldn't be called a crush."

"Wait..." I snuck a glance at the boy. "Does that mean I'm gay?"

"Not necessarily," Caleb shrugged. "Have you liked any girls before? Are you attracted to him based on his personality?"

I looked at Caleb strangely. "No and no?"

Caleb waved a hand. "Then you might be if that's what you choose to label yourself as. Anyway, being gay is totally normal. I'm pretty sure 5% of the US population is LGBTQ+ or something."

"Okay..." I mumbled testing the label for myself. "I think the label fits me. I'd never had a crush on anyone until now..."

"Cool," Caleb smiled. "If it makes you feel comfortable."

"Do I have to tell anyone?"

"Not if you don't want to."

"Okay."

"But don't worry, if you want to rant about boys to me or something, I don't know, you can always turn to me even though I'm straight."

"Thanks."

I smiled at that memory. Caleb had been supportive of me since I'd first figured out I was gay when I was 11. He had never forced me to tell anyone else. Even our other friends. I still wasn't sure how they'd react if I told them. It was better to play it safe. And he listened intently when I complained about my crushes. To be fair, I also listened to him complain about his crushes.

I thought about my parents again. I couldn't tell them because of their always neutral opinions. Though, the good thing about their no-opinion was that they never talked about love, marriage, and dating to me. The one time I asked them about how they met my mom had said: "We met in university, we were in the same class," and my dad had supplied "you shouldn't worry about love, it'll come when the time is right." And that was that.

Suddenly, I felt my phone vibrate on the table breaking me from my train of thought. I dropped my soup spoon and excused myself to check whatever message it was. It was a Gmail from Isla.

I clicked it open. It read: "I know this is weird but it's probably better if we have each other's phone numbers or something. We'll probably need to work on this project sometime after school. It might be easier to communicate."

I replied: "sure thing!" and gave Isla my number.

As I returned to the dinner table to finish my meal, I thought: at least this book writing project would distract me from my inscrutable parents.