Bad Stereotypes - 26. Saturday 3rd August 2013

I didn’t like myself.

It was not an easy sentence to say, so I stole a beer mat from the South Alaska and wrote it with a ball point pen.

I don’t like myself.

I sighed and scribbled over it until the short sentence was totally obliterated. Then I wrote another

I love Issac Daneil.

Then I doodled hearts around it for a bit until I ran out of space on the cheap cardboard. It had been a week. A week of working like an automaton, a week of lonely nights where I didn’t sleep much, a week of hanging around outside The Fish and Antlers waiting for Issac to show up. But after that first time he must have told someone because it was either Micky or Mack who would be there first and, if not exactly run me off, then at least make sure I was gone before Issac got there. He didn’t want to see me. I kept telling myself that it was better than not caring at all, but it didn’t stop me from crying at night.

And during what seemed like endless nights and hours of running I pieced together why I’d said what I’d said to Issac the night he’d left. It wasn’t as hard as I thought it would be, an obvious string of shit stuck in my head that had turned me into a homophobic idiot.

I sighed and stretched out with my arms on the bar. It was mid-afternoon, and by some twist of fate it was dead quiet, though I fully expected that to change later on when everyone came in from the beach. Doing research on the internet had been tough going, but reading through the various ‘internalised homophobia’ outlines on the Revel and Riot website I had come across number five, and read a paragraph all about myself.

I had spent my time since I’d come out fighting against being labelled as camp, or flamboyant: and that wasn’t so surprising when I thought of the fact that I’d spent most of my teenagers years actively pretending to be straight when I wasn’t. And why was that? I counted off the list on my fingers; Jim-Boy, Alex, the guy behind the club who nearly raped me, the overwhelming sense of shame when I realised that I wanted my ex-best friend in a way that I’d never wanted anyone else. I shouldn’t want to be anywhere but on top. I shouldn’t, but I did.

“You shouldn’t what?” Zupan’s voice cut through my thoughts like a rusty knife, “Taken to muttering to yourself now have you?”

“Hey Zu.” I sighed, not even bothering to lift myself of the bar.

“What no witty retorts?” Zupan rapped his knuckles on the bar, “No smarmy remarks? Christ Bay…” Zupan touched my outstretched hand with his own and then flicked the beer mat out of my hand, “You like to run right?” He asked with his eyes on my doodle, one brow arched, “Go get changed and come out with me. Zol will cover.”

I stood as Zoltan came around the end of the bar.

“It’s your day off.”

“You need to go running with Zu. Go on.”

I didn’t need telling twice. Two minutes later Zupan and I were hitting the pavement, one set of neon blue and yellow trainers and one pair of wheels. Zupan was as dedicated to his murderball training as any other Olympic athlete was and we kept up a good speed along the bust promenade.

“So?”

“So what?” I spoke between jagging breaths.

“So what is it you shouldn’t want?”

“Fuck Zu. Do you always have to ask the hard questions first?

Silence and the sound of footsteps, the whirr of thin wheels.

“I shouldn’t want the things I want.”

“Why not?” Zupan was ‘running’ level with me, and he didn’t sound out of breath at all. I picked up the pace. I didn’t want to tell him what it was like on the inside of my head. I didn’t even want to tell Issac what was inside my head; not that Issac was talking to me anymore. “Bay? Talk to me kiddo.” He tapped the side of my hip, “If you clam up again I won’t hesitate to bash you with this chair. It’s not as sturdy but…”

“Part of me hates the fact that I’m gay.” A hundred yards jagged by in a few breaths, “I mean, I don’t wish I wasn’t, but I hate that some people think it makes me less of a man.”

“You realise that the only person I know who thinks that way is you right?”

“You never met my friends, or my family.” I shook at my hands as we ran, the city was falling away now, less people, more green, more dogs, easier running, “When I came out everyone but everyone assumed I had changed. They thought I was going to be camp and all of my so-called friends sort of quietly dumped me,” I sniffed, dragged a hand over my eyes and gritted my teeth. Crying in front of Zupan was not a good thing.

“So you figure that bottoming for Issac makes you less of a man and makes all those jerks right?”

I didn’t think when Zupan’s words reached me, just stopped, turned, swung. I missed because his head was about three feet lower than where my run-numb brain had decided it should be and part of my was glad.

“How-?”

“Fuck’s sake Bay, he’s my oldest friend. Exactly how long did you think it was going to take before Zol and I figured out what was the matter between you two?”

I was still sort of nearly wanting to cry, and all the anger that would have been in the punch I’d failed to land, welled up and just piled on top of the other confused emotions in my chest. I wavered.

“Shit. Go and sit on the grass before you collapse boy. Take a breather,” I did as Zupan said, and fell into a little cross legged heap on the short green. Zupan rolled over and latched on his brakes near me, “How much do you run Bay?”

I told him.

“Fucking hell, why?”

“To get away from things.” I exhaled deeply and put my head in my hands, “Trying to get away from the stuff in your own skull is hard though.”

“Jesus…” Zupan sounded about as lost as I felt, and I was crying again. I pushed my fists into my eyes and willed the tears to stop, but they wouldn’t. “Bay…”

“I want him back Zu.”

“I know.”

“You have to fix me somehow.” I picked at the seams of my board shorts with one hand, ran the other through the buzz-cut grass, “Fix me Zu. Please, I need him.”

For what seemed like forever we sat there staring at each other. I had never really looked at Zupan before. I mean, I knew him, recognised him, but I’d never really looked before. Not really. I’d first though that he looked like Zoltan, but if anything, it was the other way around. Zoltan was what you’d get if you fleshed out the bone and sinew sculpture that was Zupan. He had high cheekbones, the squarest jaw I’d ever seen outside of a superhero cartoon, and the kind of skull shape that on a tall man in long robes would have screamed ‘go and be a high priest somewhere.’ And he looked sad, thoughtful and intelligent. And since I’d spent the last four week thinking that he was a dick-head with a bad attitude, I felt like shit. Here he was, trying to help me, and I’d never actually been civil to the guy.

“Look Zu-”

“I forgive you.”

“Fuck. I thought you were going to say that. Can I apologise anyway?” I managed a half grin.

“Nah,” Zupan reached out and rested his hand on my shoulder, “Wait until the next time you fuck up.”

“Oh.”

“You mean what you said?”

“Yes.” I rocked onto my knees, to be more at head height with Zupan again, “I mean it Zu. I need him.”

“Well there’s some stuff about Issac you need to know. You feel up to running again?”

So I got up, Zupan took his brakes off, and we jogged along in the afternoon sun. We made a weird pair I guess, the quadriplegic Olympian and the little guy who ran all the time. All Zu’s ink and facial hair, my obvious lack of either and young years.

“So before the accident Issac was kinda shy. He told you I took him to his first gay club right?”

“Yeah.” The image of Zupan in a gay club was even odder than me in one.

“So he didn’t tell you that I basically dragged him in kicking and screaming and practically had to force him to dance with a guy he thought was hot? Nah, didn’t think so. I ended up doing so much flirting on his behalf that I got handed more phone number than he did.” Zupan must have seen my arched brow, because he added quickly, “And no, I told them all I was straight through and through and didn’t lead them on. I’m not that much of a cock.

“When… when the accident happened Issac was seeing this guy Israel, some Australian surfer dude, they had loads in common. He was teaching Issac to surf and everything. Israel left him before he’d even gotten out of hospital. Such a fucking jerk-off. Found someone able-fucking-bodied to surf and sex it up with.”

I realised that I was practically growling.

“Hold your horses Bay, he’s long gone from these shores. Losing a leg and a boyfriend is a fucking emasculating thing, and while Issac was in recovery he was chair-bound to. He and Zol used to come visit me in rehab. I was in hospital a lot longer than Issac was.

“So he was in a wheelchair, he’d lost a leg because his best friend drove like a douche. You say nothing thank you young one, you were still in school.” I closed my mouth and decided that I would just let Zupan talk, “And his boyfriend left him. Like I said, emasculating. Issac went back to being shy.

“He met Mason when he was in physical therapy: and let me tell you that guy had a fucking complex and a half. Mothered Issac something awful, would never let him do anything for himself. I swear that fucker gave Issac like four months longer in that chair than he should have had. Useless shit.”

“Oh…” I didn’t feel like there was a lot add at this point.

“And this control applied to everything. Even in bed. You might find it weird, but he’s my guy, and we talk about all sorts of shit, so I know he’s a versatile motherfucker, unlike you, and really unlike Mason. Mase had to be in control, and for Issac, who was trying to get back to being normal in every sense of the word, this was not good. When you get injured like we did, I the first question is not ‘will I run?’ or ‘will I walk?’ Oh no, it’s ‘can I still jerk off and have sex?’” Zupan grinned at me, “Surprised?”

“Nope.” I shook my head, “We’re not that different you and I.”

“Glad to hear it. Eventually Issac threw Mason out, and thank god for that. But if affected him you know? He got a bit screwed up after that and it took him a while to get back to being mostly normal. There have been a few guys since, but the whole stump and leg thing either scares them off or they are way too into the whole taking care of him thing. You’ve been really good for him.”

“Been?” the uncertain quaver in my voice made Zupan stop.

“I didn’t mean it like that Bay. I’m not trying to push you out of his life. I said I’d help you.”

“So I need to let him be in control?”

“Amongst many other things. And lots of grovelling.” Zupan turned his chair and started the wheel back in the direction of town. I followed, “You need to be more accepting, more fucking tolerant and less homophobic. You’re already better than you were.”

“Huh?” I looked at him blankly.

“At least six guys you would pin as flamers have checked us out so far and you’ve not said a bloody word. Progress.”

I stopped running and cast about at the people around us.

“Baby steps Bay.” Zupan was starting to roll away, and I jogged to catch up, “Baby steps.”