Flying Without Wings - 1. To Mike... Love, Mike

My mind didn’t quite start working till the 'fasten seat-belts' signs were switched off. Now that they are, and I have my notebook out; it seems sort of unreal: what I am doing, it’s so unlike me.

I’m not your typical Mr. Impulsive. Heck I even considered the weather before I dressed up, just so that I would be comfortable, would hide all that needed to be hidden, rather than fashionable. And that’s just one of the simpler aspects of my life.

Looking back at the past years of my life, it was not really that much of an ‘on the spot’ decision. It took quite a while in coming. Everything around me was suffocating me, for so long that I’d forgotten how it felt like to be breathing freely again.

Honestly I can’t say I’m free yet, but I know I’m going to be, and soon. There’s the feel… a load lifted off of my shoulders. No more listening to the voices, no more crying into the pillow, no more dry heaving into the toilet just because…

Happy, yes… Of course I am happy leaving the dump I was brought up in. The only bit I would miss is Mr. Hunter’s world. He’d made my life worthwhile. Even this notebook that I’m writing in has Ian’s good luck inscribed in it.

Then again, he was the one who always inspired me to take chances. It was him that went to my schools to attend the meetings with my teachers, the one who supported my choice, when I didn’t want to follow in the footsteps of my genius father, or follow the path laid out by my dreamer Ma.

Meh, that’s all water under the bridge now.

God, that phrase reminds me of my Andrew. And that’s reason enough for me to be smiling right now. The lady on the seat beside me just gave me a weird look, wonder what she thinks I’m doing. Does she think I’m crazy? Is that why she unconsciously edged away from me?

Reminds me of a time when Ma had done the same thing. God, that thought is like a stab through the heart. The day I needed her most, she’d taken care of me when I couldn’t, and then edged away, unconsciously. What had caused the most pain was the fact that she didn’t even know what she’d done to hurt me, she hadn’t even realised that she’d rejected me, even without real thought. Was I really that pathetic?

Oh my, the flight attendant is cute. The way he smiled while he handed me the drink made him look positively adorable.

Oh, okay... where was I?

Andrew , oh yeah, I could go on and on about him, but then again, the journal is filled with bits about him. How he brought me back to the world again, how he made me dream again, how he’d made me realise that the fake persona I’d present to the world, while fooling everyone was hurting me the most. He truly is my guiding light. Somewhat like a lighthouse that you use to determine the position you’re in, something that prevents you from getting lost in the endless sea around you.

Just earlier today, when I was entering the airport, the tickets and the documents in my hand were almost soggy. My palms were sweating so much. The bottle of water had slipped from my hands twice already. It didn’t help that I looked like a teenager trying to run away from home; I was attracting too much unwanted attention.

The guard at the entrance of the airport was the first one to double check my id. Just my passport wasn’t enough for him; he needed to see ‘some other form of identification’ as well. Then there were the people at the baggage checking. Those guys were more curious than my 14 yr old sister. They had so many questions for me.

‘How is it that you have no suitcase?’

‘Is this all your luggage?’

‘Are you running away?’

Somehow the answer, ‘I don’t have enough clothes to carry!’ or ‘does an international trip scream running away to you?’ even if it was, didn’t seem like enough for them. And I was not really in a mood to argue or even smart mouth any of them. I knew they had the power to delay me, and that would mean me not being able to make it on the flight. I knew I had to make it on the flight. I knew I wouldn’t ever be able to afford another ticket. Not to mention, if my parents did ever find the note I left, and decided that they did want me back, they’d try to use every trick in the book to get me back home.

And that, honestly, is something I wanted even less than to miss my flight.

So, I just kept my mind shut, and answered as dumbly as I could. As funny as it sounds in my head right now, it worked. I’m on the plane, aren’t I?

Anywhooo…

Getting back to the original thought: the unnecessary distractions that could be avoided, if we did have a fixed goal in our minds, should be avoided all costs.

And I did. I fixed a destination, and I worked hard to get there. Not deterring from the course even when things seemed so bleak that I didn’t know whether or not I’d be able to go through the charade of the next day.

Why? You may ask. And I do have a reason. Actually, I have more than one reason… maybe even one too many reasons. The voices in my head that didn’t stop screaming, the darkness creeping up and choking me so that I could make no sound while it had its way with me, leaving a shell of a boy, taking with it all the life that he had gathered up since the last encounter.

No, I won’t go down that road again, I spiral down every time. It’s like a whirlpool in a pit of quicksand. Even before I realise, I’m in so, so deep that I’m hyperventilating. And I can’t help it… I can’t help the pictures, the pain, the…

I must have really looked sick for the lady beside me to have called the steward and attend to me. I like her so much more already. She even wiped my face with the cool towel and offered me some of her drink if I wanted it. She too probably thought I wasn’t old enough to order my own.

Little did she know that the first drink I had was when I was 12, and no, it wasn’t while I stole some from my father’s cabinet, or even from Pat’s older brother’s mini-fridge. It was forced down my throat, so that I’d relax and appreciate…. NO… please, not again!

Reading his old messages fills me with an odd sense of calm, every time. Now, I can focus again on what I am doing. I’m trying to figure out why I am doing this. And who I am doing this for?

Simple reason, well, I want to remember how I feel right now, now that I’m off the ground, now that my dreams of flying away from where it was hell on earth was coming true, now that I was finally taking a step that can make or break my future, now, just right now!

The first thought when I even start thinking about what led me here is that fateful day when I discovered the joy of internet. It’s funny how I knew all about it, but never knew the vastness of it, or the reasons that people relied so heavily on it, or why my friends were addicted to it.

My internet access was limited to the school computers, not even the ones in the library, just the ones in the study room. So, for me to have tried to find anything, didn’t really yield any successful results.

It was when Ian bought a new laptop and hooked it up to the internet, because he said he wanted his shop to be up-to-date with the latest trends and what not, that I first got my real taste of the World Wide Web.

I think I created about five email addresses just because I could. Then, the research... of a thousand little things, from finding the name for the goldfish I had in a bowl to the author of my favourite book.

Invariably it came to my feelings... how my feelings made me a freak of nature, how the treatment that my family dealt me was making me feel I couldn’t talk to people. Friends, I made plenty. Confidante, well, how many does a person have anyway...

I’d known I was gay since I managed to Google my feelings one night when I stayed over at the shop. By the time I was fourteen things at home were, let’s say, unbearable enough for me to crawl out of the second story window of my room and find a safe haven. And where did I run to? The porch behind the bookstore, that’s where Ian had found me early next morning. And the next time I came in to work, he had a spare key ready for me for the store.

Ever since then I’ve tried to find a place where I wouldn’t have to hide.

Took me years to find someplace where I could just be ‘me’ and not worry about people around me. That’s when I found the online community that changed my life. Like in schools, I was popular, way too popular. But then again, I was used to that. The apparent loss of anonymity gave me a new persona. I was used to making new friends, new acquaintances. I was used to let people see who I wanted them to see when they looked at me.

Talking to people I would probably never ever met, people who could not see me, call me names I was called all my life, gave me even more confidence to be who I really was. Aimed to make one new friend every day!

How that makes me laugh now, but back then, letting people see the real me, albeit a little veiled, was a scary thought. The worst one being, ‘What if they still think I’m a freak?’

The most treasured friendships in my life, now that I look back on it, are from this particular website. I’ve found people I know I can count on, can trust, and can entrust with my heaviest burden. Not saying that I wouldn’t do it for them, but then again, it isn’t easy being Atlas to the world, but when it’s someone you love and care about, isn’t it exactly what you want to be, though?

I remember voicing out the thought to Pat once. Shaking my head to clear it, I couldn’t understand why I’d thought it was a good idea to confide in him, he was the least sensitive person I knew. But, he’d loved me unconditionally. He didn’t befriend me because I was popular, or because I was the guy who would keep him from being picked on; he just was my friend.

I’d heard about how bad the food on the flight was but I never really expected it to be this bad. Me, who’d eat almost anything, the least picky eater I knew, had a tough time with it. How did the lady beside me manage?

The cute steward took up quite some of my time, he reminds me of Pat. He even apologised to the lady beside me when she gave him a pointed look as he apparently paid ‘far too much’ attention to me, and not the other fliers. We all paid equal fares after all.

I still remember the Saturday when Ian had decided to close shop earlier because he was flying to England to visit his daughter, he’d handed me the keys and the responsibility to deal with his shop however I thought was best. He didn’t even leave me instructions. Boy, did that man trust me or what? Who does that to a sixteen year old? But, he did help me grow up, made me who I am today.

I was in the chat room talking to all the regulars when he came in. I’d known who he was... of course I did! But, he didn’t even know my existence; how could he? We were miles apart, worlds apart and so, so many classes apart too!

I loved his writing, and I’d asked more than one person to go read his work; did I mention it was a story sharing site as well?

When he’d told me he had heard about me, and how he’d hoped to meet me, my heart did a weird flip. Why: I didn’t know! I was ecstatic talking to someone who I felt wrote to me, as if he knew everything about me, and wanted to tell me that he understood. And somehow we ‘clicked’. The pre-planned chatroom visits became more regular, escalating to long and heartfelt emails, eventually onto MSN.

Before I knew it, we were each other’s ‘good night’s to look forward to and the ‘good morning’s that made or ruined our days. It didn’t even take six weeks before we realised we could finish each others’ sentences. We’d both tried, but couldn’t help stepping over the professional lines that we’d both drawn to separate ourselves from the rest of the world. Mainly because we didn’t realise we were doing it. Or... at least, I want to think that’s what had happened. Because I didn’t plan on making Andrew a part of my life: I didn’t want to live, breathe and sleep a certain British boy, who thought I was an angel! Hah! Angel!

If only he knew...

But, he did know, even then... how he managed to see what he saw in me I would never know, but, somehow, he made me feel needed, and for the first time someone truly wanted me to need them and be there when I did. And I held on to him like a sinking man would a piece of driftwood. He became my safe haven, my refuge, and also, he told me I was his.

Took us long... very, very long... but, we made it— together.

Shit that life put us through since, we’d held hands and guided the other, or even if there was just a load to carry, we did just that. Just be there for the other. I would love to believe what I did for him was enough, but... I guess, the ‘worthless’ had been so deeply ingrained in me, it was hard to get out of; to believe even my ‘soul mate’ when he told me that I was worth more than what I was led to believe. But, I guess some things are too hard to get out of, and after almost 17 years worth of memories calling me a ‘waste of space’ it was hard to feel needed.

I learnt very early on that it was easy to not be the parent’s favourite. They tended to ignore me, which usually worked in my favour, as long as they were assured that I was not doing anything to get them into trouble, they’d stay off my back and let me ‘do what the hell ever I wanted’. In return I just had to listen to a few lectures now and again; and had to be in bed at twelve. God, that still sends shudders down my spine!

But, I managed... I did compartmentalise, and manage to get out of it all in one piece. Did what the world wanted me to do, just so that I could leave the hell behind and start my life. Ian helped and so did Andrew . Ian provided a roof over my head, and kept me employed while I ‘figured out’ what I wanted to do with my life.

Took me long, pretty long, two long years, but I managed it: I am on the flight aren’t I? Flying towards my future, hoping for a better life than the one I have left behind.

Leaving behind the rebel child of ten who, when his dad had decided wouldn’t get an allowance because he was being rebellious; went to the one place he felt most at home, the book shop down the road, and asked Mr. Hunter for a job.

Old Mr. Ian Hunter hadn’t even had a ‘Help wanted’ sign posted, but I was confident I’d get a job. And I did. For the first year, it was just taping up and covering the old, torn books. Then I’d moved on to stocking them, and by the time I reached fifteen, I could say I had run the shop for more than a month at a stretch when Mr. Hunter went out of the country to visit relatives, twice.

And in time, he had become so much more than my boss that his relatives are the ones who had promised to keep a look out for me when I reached London.

Although, I do hope they wouldn’t have to; I hoped I would be able to make my dreams reality: make a life with Andrew , my Andrew , just like we’d dreamed, just like we’d planned, for so many nights.

He hadn’t been able to promise me that he’d be there to actually meet me. And, honestly, that hurt. It hurt more than I would ever care to admit; it made me question everything. Everything he told me! Every time he said he closed his eyes and imagined me wrapping my arms around him, and how it helped him escape his personal hell. Every time he’d hug me just because he saw through my smile, the smile that fooled everyone, just because he seemed to know... how much of that was true?

Was I not able to mean enough for him?

What else could I have done?

Was I not a good enough Guardian Angel for him to keep around?

The ‘fasten seat-belts’ signs are on again.

So, here we go... to the next chapter of my life.

I just hope that the next time I open this journal I’m making another life altering journey, and that I’ll have someone sitting beside me who would irritate me trying to peek into what I have to say to the ‘Future Me’, someone who would offer me a shoulder to sleep on when he sees my eye-lids drooping shut. Someone to call me ‘Mikie’.

P.S. Did I mention I’ve never even heard Andrew’s voice? Or that I really, truly, honestly and unconditionally love him!

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