Nathaniel Jean's Senior Year

7: Nathaniel Jean's Struggle Within a Struggle

He opened his laptop, and the first place he went was a website called Tumblr. I knew what it was, sure, but I'd never used it. Tumblr was for a certain group of people, and I'd never thought that I was a part of that group.

Turns out, I was.

He went from blog to blog, and for the first time, I truly understood that I was a part of something big. Pride rallies and parades, speeches, essays, artwork, rants, people—all displayed on the screen before me, showing me what I never knew I needed to see. Gay men and women, holding hands, kissing, putting "boyfriend tags" and "girlfriend tags" on YouTube together. Proposing, getting married. Transgender teenagers and adults, talking about their struggles and triumphs to an audience that wholeheartedly supported them. And whenever there was even a glimmer of hate—a mean comment, a protest, the words and actions of this town and others—they were snuffed out. Attacked with a vengeance.

     We didn't just stay on Tumblr. He took me through social media sites, across support pages, everywhere he thought I needed to go.

This group of people treated each other like family. When someone insulted a brother or sister—or someone who identified as neither—they defended them with all of their might. Complete strangers fought for each other because they—we—were all connected by this invisible cycle of love that tolerated no hate.

As in every family, there were fights. People discrediting others, deciding who is or isn't accepted into the group. Words I'd never even heard before—asexual, demisexual, non-binary—were suddenly written clear as day in front of me. And some people, hypocrites to their own cause, started civil wars that were fought just as fiercely.

We spent so long in front of that computer screen. I couldn't look away. I was captivated and mesmerized and maybe a bit horrified, but I'd get over than soon enough. When three, maybe four hours passed, and I realized that I needed to get home, I had to drag myself away.

Lucas walked me to my car. "So?" He prompted, leaning against the hood. "Did that change your perspective?"

"Like you wouldn't believe," I breathed; I couldn't wipe the smile off my face. Finally, I had something to look forward to. If that was what I would meet when I left Nowhere, Nebraska, then graduation couldn't come fast enough. "Thank you, Lucas. So much."

He smiled, a little bashfully. "Hey, I told you I'd be your link, didn't I?"

He opened his arms, and I was too giddy to be surprised when, for the first time since seventh grade, Lucas Morgan and I hugged.

He was warm, and he smelled nice—kind of fresh.

It became a routine of ours. On Fridays after school I would go to Lucas Morgan's house, eat his leftovers, and he'd show me things that made me smile. Things that made me feel a lot less worthless.

As with everything, there was a downside. It seemed like the more happy I became with myself and my identity, the more that dark, angry part of me tried to rip that away. I found my restless nights matching my peaceful ones in number and tripling them in intensity.

God, it was frustrating. I just wanted to be happy, and yet I couldn't seem to let myself have that. That second part of me screamed that I didn't deserve it, and sometimes, I screamed it too.