I ACCEPTED MY FATE IN LOVE
Oscar is a Buffy-enthusiast and gay. Childhood dreams include writing a novel and joining the X-Men.
My life story is as average as can be. No major childhood issues, mom and dad still seem to love each other, and no-one I love has died or been to rehab or something. I managed to obtain a degree in Art History and got a job I somewhat like. I moved into my own place with a boyfriend I love and a cat my landlord can’t know about and together we spend most of our evenings doing dishes and deciding we should work out more and drink less wine. Though we usually end up doing exactly the opposite.
Long story short, I’d say my life is pretty unexciting, quite unremarkable and altogether utterly normal. My boyfriend and I love, fight and forget to put out the garbage just like other people do. However, I’ve come to find that just like beauty, ‘normality’ is in the eye of the beholder.
Being gay, I’ve gotten used to questions like “are you the man or the woman?”, “aren’t you afraid you’ll get AIDS?”, or “would you come on to me if I was gay?”. Those are the kind of annoying questions I usually manage to shrug off with indifference.
However, my construction worker acquaintance wanted to know how me and my boyfriend manage to actually live together. Who does the cooking, the laundry or the dishes? Apparently, you need a woman for those kinds of chores. Real men can only mow the lawn and replace light bulbs or barbecue. Seeing that I was way to baffled to reply, he tried to comfort me: “I don’t really mind gay people, though if you told me a few years ago that one day I’d be talking to a fag, I wouldn’t have believed it”.
There was I time when I actually enjoyed the perceived promiscuity associated with being gay. I used to wear it with pride on my metaphorical Versace sleeve, eager to embrace the Oscar Wilde-ness of it all. Now I look back to those days and realize it was just a phase, just a way to deal with being different than my construction worker friends. It’s tragic that some people will never be able to move passed that point like I did. That some people will never be able to appreciate ‘the new normal’. And the worst part is that this construction guy isn’t even a ‘bad’ guy, just an incredible asshole. He has a wife, a kid and a house to pay off.
Growing up, I’ve convinced myself that I needed to escape this town, run away from people like my construction worker friend and their unaspiring daily struggles. Yet seeing him and his son the other day has made me question things. I used to wear promiscuity as a piece of armor, if only to set me apart from the crowd that had no place for me. Having children was not expected of me and life was complicated enough, so I didn’t even bother considering how I actually felt about the matter.
And the matter is that it breaks my heart. It breaks my heart to see him – of all people – drinking beer and holding his son in his arms as if he deserves that kind of happiness. And it breaks my heart knowing that my boyfriend and I will never have that.
No matter how much more we love each other. Even though I don’t have anything to prove to him, this idiot and his equally stupid wife whom will always get the best of me. No matter how many times I try to explain that a man is, in fact, physically able to peel a potato.