I grew up in a small town in Mississippi. As you can expect, the community all knew each other (or at least had heard a few scandalous stories about you, but managed to say, "hi," in a grocery store or a church fellowship hall.)

I'm gay as well. So, as you can also expect, ya boy was closeted.

Yes. Alas, I stifled my fierce.

I wore all of the Southern Marsh, North Face, Polo Ralph Lauren, etc, so that I could seem what would be considered "straight." I did what I had to do to survive a brutal southern culture that was not tolerant of something so "horrid."

I learned my lesson in elementary while being beaten up on the playground several times for wanting to do gymnastics with the girls instead of football with the boys; and again in 7th grade when i was put into detention for a week (which was fine because sitting in a classroom with the teacher saved me from the embarrassment of going outside with the rest of the students and sitting by myself; or having the boys play, "smear the queer," and letting them throw the football at my head 27 times. *rolls eyes* 7th graders are menacing, little creatures.)

I finally got curious as to why the hell I was sitting in detention in the first place and asked. The teachers response,: "Because you have a little sugar in your tank, and some of the parents don't want you around their sons. Now, hush."

That same year, I finally broke down to my mother and told her what had been going on at school. She, of course, was horrified and moved me to a new, much larger school in a new district.

This is when I began taking how I dress, how I speak, how I carry myself, and how I react to things more seriously. I, thankfully, had much better luck with this new school and my abrupt change. I made friends quickly, I had clubs to join to keep myself busy, and I spent my next few years growing into a young adult.

Lets be realistic though, guys...Of course my ass kept the whole "homo thing" quiet. As every other teenage gay boy/girl did to avoid southern society's punishments.

This, as you can imagine, made it literally impossible to date.

That was until mysenioryear..

ENTRANCE TO CHAPTER 2 OF THIS SOUTHERN NOVELLA: THE RICKY MARTIN VERSION

Through the next few years, I auditioned for the Mississippi School of the Arts and was accepted for both Theatre and Writing. The school, located 4 hours away from my new hometown was a boarding school so that students from all over the state could attend. I completed my years there, and on my last semester, I came back to graduate at my original high school with my friends and to be closer to family.

I remember that I was excited for my first day back at my old stomping grounds. I had grown a lot more mature, I had discovered my Inner Dope, and I was coming off of a high after being accepted to the college that I was aiming for.

Shit was good.

That first day went, for the most part, as expected. Full of hugs and excitement from old friends and 10 million questions about if the guys had to wear tights at the art school and if everyone's hair was purple.

(No. And it was not.)

______________________________________________________________________________________________________

.

I, sincerely, remember the first time I ever ran into him. Hmmm...We're gonna refer to him as simply, "He," or "Him,"(Disclosure: Not his real name.)

I was walking from my 4th period class to my 5th. He was running down the stairs with his teammates, and we made eye contact.

I know, I know. "Liar. Why would you remember something like that?" Well, you ask? I specifically remember this because the eye contact locked, turned into a gaze, and said gaze lasted much longer than a "normal" gaze.

Gazes have a time limit. We all know this.

I'm not entirely even sure why I stared so hard. I would have never done that normally. (Are you kidding me? Staring at a straight, cisgender male in a southern school is signing registration for an "ass whoopin' from just some good ole' boys.) I'm still not sure what caught my attention that day. It was like something locked between the two of us. (Ew. Cheesy, but its the best way that I can genuinely describe it.) His reasoning for the lock? I couldn't figure out. He was clearly not one of my "teammates," if you get what I mean. But his stare wasn't judging, it was more confused with a hint of, curiosity, if that makes sense. But not the kind of curiosity that warrants a number exchange. The kind that is more like a discussion. i just couldn't figure out what the discussion was about.

I swear to this day that it shot right through my soul.

For the rest of that day, I couldn't shake it out of my head.

I saw him a few more times in the hallway; never sure if he saw me. Life carried on as usual, and the gaze was never reintroduced in the following months. So, I carried on and slowly lost interest in whatever was exchanged that day.

WE'LL SAY THAT THIS IS OFFICIALLY CHAPTER 2,AND WE'LL CALL IT:

"THE FIRST INTRODUCTION TO WHAT I DIDN'T UNDERSTAND WOULD BE ONE OF THE MOST PROFOUND MOMENTS OF MY ENTIRE LIFE: A SWEATY, AWKWARD RUN IN"

The school's "Spring Fling" was coming up, and I remember I was sitting in the library with my friend, Jada. (I think she's married to a Marine now and lives in Michigan or something.) Nevertheless, i was sitting with her.

We were on the computers writing a paper for our history class, talking about i'm sure some sort of end of the world drama that would shake up any thriving Almost Adult's life.

*rolls eyes again* Pathetic.

Doesn't matter because during this conversation, two hands wrapped around Jada's eyes, and she jumped. Alarmed, we both turned around, and there stood my own, personal Kryptonite (whom we will now refer to as, "GSBFBB: Gorgeous Southern Boy ft. Baseball Booty." ) P.S. Sorry, mom.

Jada popped him on his chest and laughed, "Oh my god! I hate you ******."

Now, I knew his name.

He laughed back and before he responded, he looked over at me casually. He stopped himself and gave me that same, weird look. This time it was shorter and with a warm smile. You could tell that he was equally as shocked that I was standing there as I was of his existence.

He stuck out his hand, smirked, and said, "Aye! I'm ******."

I immediately deepened my voice, broadened my shoulders, and introduced myself back.

I'm not typically a shy person, by any means. I'm actually extremely social. But the heaviness on my chest and awkward silence that I portrayed while watching he and Jada talk said differently.

I learned from listening that the two:

1. Go to church together.
2. Have been friends since they were in diapers.
3. &
4. Most importantly, that he would be a part of our group going to the Spring Fling as a mutual friend's date.

--Later that night, three days before the Spring Fling, I received the groups meetup location via group text from our friend Leah.

We joked about different things, talked about where we would go out for dinner before the dance, what we were going to wear, etc. There were 2 or 3 numbers that I didn't recognize who were dates of my friends. I'm not sure why it didn't occur to me that one of them would be him, but it didn't. (Not that I would have ever messaged him seeing as i'm not trying to be outed and have everyone crucify me in our new, bigger small town.)

But about an hour or two later, I had taken a shower, and was drying off, and my phone dinged.

XXX-XXX-XXXX: Hey! This is ******! I have a question!

I stopped and stared at the screen with a rush of anxiety. I didn't know what to type back. Do I put a smiley face? Has he figured out that I'm gay and hes going to be an ass about it? What the hell kind of question would I know that he couldn't ask someone else? What's a good way to message him back without sounding like a weirdo?

(I know that anyone reading this thinks that they know exactly where this teenage drama is going at this point. But you have to understand that GSBFBB was a southern gentleman who had a sincere love for sports, horses, and physical labor. He was also extremely, extremely masculine. Yes, yes. I hate when people assign gender roles or put gay people into one stereotyped box of an ignorant connotation too. But this was before I matured and learned these things.)

Trust, GSBFBB was a regular, senior year, high school jock stereotype with country flair. The boy did rodeos, for god sake.

After 5 long, strenuous minutes, I eventually decided that

XXX-XXX-XXXX: Hey! Sure! What's up??

would suffice.

GSBFBB: Cool! Dude, I don't know where to get my tux. Kimberly is wearing green, but I already got my tux in blue. But the place where I got my tux doesn't have the green that she wants. Idk where else to go? Where'd you get yours?

I definitely rolled my eyes. Straight boys.

Yours Truly: Yeh! I got mine at Faulkenberry's! Its pretty huge, so i'm sure they have whatever color you need.

GSBFBB: Great! I'll check tomorrow! Thanks!

A Mildly, Disappointed 18 year old: Sure Thing!

After a few minutes, I was fully dressed when my phone dinged again. I looked down and it was him again. (We will now refer to him as DT: Double Texter.)

DT: Did you just move here or something? I've been friends with Kimberly & Leah for years and have never seen you.

RCJ: Yeah! I mean, I used to go here, but moved a couple of years ago for an art school. But i'm back! Cheers, I guess. Lol.

(i was proud at how suave I thought that that sounded.)

DT: Art school?? What was that like?

And there it was. That was the beginning. Just like that, we texted for the next 9 hours. I learned that his favorite animal was a dog, his favorite movie was, "Breakfast Club," his favorite food was Mexican. I learned what he wanted to do in college, that his father had left the picture when he was 8. We talked about how much his family dynamic had changed because of his father leaving. I shared similar stories with him about my own, personal family experiences. We told embarrassing stories about our friends, we talked about how extremely religious his family was. The conversation continued and continued and continued until I stopped receiving replies around 5 am.

Once I noticed the time and realized that he had fallen asleep, I rolled over and just stared at my bedroom wall. I just remember that i couldn't stop smiling. I knew so much about him, but barely knew him at all. I literally only met him yesterday. I'm not sure why I knew all of this about him or why he chose to continue and be so open with me.

But we had so much in common and similar views about life. (i also was pleasantly surprised and excited that he actually could hold a conversation with substance about really impressive subjects.)

I'll stop rambling. You're welcome.

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We never flirted. I knew that he was heterosexual, and I respected that. (Not that I would've risked being outed anyway.)

He was just sweet. There were never any strange questions. It was never sexualized. It was just two humans who for some reason were drawn to each other (apparently mutually) and didn't question it.

This was the second time that I had had a discussion with this man, and this time, I knew what it was about.

I don't even know if I knew or understood. I just remember that I couldn't. stop. smiling.

-----THE NEXT MORNING

I woke up groggy, of course. But immediately freaked out and checked my phone to see if DT (whom we will now call, "WTHJH: What The Hell Just Happened?") had responded. He hadn't. He wouldn't.

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WTHJH: Blue.

I received the text in my 2nd period math class while casually checking the time in my phone.

WTHJH: Blue.

What the hell? So, I appropriately responded,

RCJ: Huh??

A few moments later...

WWTHJH: Thats my favorite color. Thats the last thing we were talking about. I never answered. So, blue. :)

I let out a literal, "lol."

RCJ: Oh my gosh! *laughing emoticons* Good to know! And coincidentally, mine too! :)

The messages had taken a turn at this point to an almost unsaid game of, "20 Questions." I would tell him my most embarrassing moment, and he would respond with his. He would ask who my favorite band is, and I would ask what his least favorite subject in school was.

This went on for a few more hours. The questions slowly turned into full blown heart to hearts about our views on the south, our hopes and goals for our future, our least favorite things about ourselves, and what we are most afraid of.

The more I learned about him, the more I couldn't stop thinking about him. I checked my phone every few seconds, and surely enough...I would have a response from him.

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Thankfully, that night was the Spring Fling, so I would be able to see him in person instead of constantly worrying if I should ",end the conversation on this note?"

I wasn't sure if things would be awkward since we hadn't really been around each other in person since we had created this strange, non-judgmental, and apparently excessively open and understanding, therapeutic little world of ours. But I honestly didn't care. I just wanted to see him.

We'll conclude Part 1 with the beginning of Chapter 3.

CHAPTER 3:

"SPRING FLING: A SCHOOL DANCE THAT I NEVER GOT TO LIVE MY FULL CHOREOGRAPHED, "CRAZY IN LOVE" DANCE FANTASY THAT MY GAY ASS HAD CONSTRUCTED BECAUSE I HAD TO PRETEND I LIKED GARTH BROOKS. AKA: A REGRETTABLE SURVIVAL EVENT