Memoirs of Class 1A: Green Gentleman

1: People in Between

I'm gay.

I prefer guys like him—the guy loudly typing, wearing the pale blue sweater vest—or him—the guy waiting in line and listening to music while tapping on his arm. I also like guys like him—the guy sketching random passing people in his notepad—or him—the guy with his hand over his mouth and laughing and talking into his still-lit phone. The quiet type, the in between type, the passionate type—that's the kind of guy I'm looking for.

I'm gay, but I sure as hell don't look the part. At least, not right now—not when I'm shamelessly playing footsie at an outdoor table with my childhood-friend-turned-girlfriend who looks at least five years older than me. Not when my hands are intertwined with hers; not when my eyes have that sparkle of "love" or whatever everyone around me calls it. I can assure you that this "sparkle" isn't here because of some hidden, unconscious romantic love that I have for her. I do love her—but not in that way. But apparently, it sure as hell looks like it.

"So I've been thinking," she trailed. Her hazel eyes began to glisten. And instantly, I knew what she was going to talk about. "Maybe we can do another boyfriend tag video this week. I've been getting a lot of requests for another one after posting the video of me doing your makeup, and I think it's a great idea. I mean, they love you, I love you; it's perfect! Also, the videos are fun... and it's fun working with you! But we don't have to do it if you don't want to, Brian. Really, it's up to you. Just know I can't do a boyfriend tag video without a boyfriend."

I smiled. "That's fine with me, Marina. That sounds like fun."

At the sound of that, she beamed. "Really? Great! My Marines are going to love it. So I've been thinking, since you're so girly looking..."

Her hands untwined with mine and she became more animated: flailing her arms as she expressed her ideas. The pitch of her voice raised, and the shine in her eyes became even brighter. And those bright eyes passed by me; that energy was directed to something past me, beyond me. But somehow, that was reassuring.

As she went on and on about her ideas and concepts and plans for her YouTube channel, my eyes wandered. They fell back on that guy in the pale blue sweater vest, who was only a few feet away, still typing what could be the next big-shot Broadway show or show-stopper that the world had yet to see. Or, he could be writing a novel—maybe some cheesy yet heart-warming love story with a twist? Or, he could be writing the next Weekend and be picked up by some big-named movie studio.

Suddenly, he looked up. I felt a light, fluttery feeling in my chest. Maybe he's writing a part inspired by me?

Disappointedly, his eyes fell back to his computer screen. There were no signs of them coming back for me, either. Unfortunately, the warm feeling fell away, too.

"Brian?" I heard her call for me.

I looked back at her. "Yeah?"

She looked at me with her all-knowing maternal look. "Do you have something to say?"

"About what?"

She sighed. Hesitantly, she said, "...The video, of course."

I shook my head. "No, no—it all sounds good so far. I'd love to hear more about it."

"I'd love to hear more about it, too," she murmured, resting her head on her hand. Looking into the bakery, she murmured, "You know, I could go for a beignet. I wonder if they still have some left inside."

I stood up. With a thumbs up and cheeky smile, I said, "I'll go get one for you, Mari."

She gave me a forced smile. "Thanks. I'll pay you back for it."