"I could tell by the way you looked at him."
A few weeks ago, Ashley & I saw a new foreign film, Touch, and it got me thinking about the past. The movie centers around an older man, Kristofer, who is making the journey from Iceland to the UK, right as the world is shutting down in March of 2020. He soldiers on, as he is on a major quest. He is on the cusp of being diagnosed with a serious illness and, as he and his medical professionals await confirmation, his doctor advises him to tie up any loose ends and take care of unfinished business.
We follow Kristofer in the 'present day' of 2020, and then approximately 50 years in the past, as a college student studying in London. He is an aspirational youth, determined to buck the system that he has become so disillusioned with. He drops out of school. and takes a job working in a Japanese restaurant. There he falls in love with the owner's daughter, Miko, who is about his same age. Events happen, and they lose contact. Miko meant a lot to Kristofer, hence his attempt, decades later, to travel back to London to try and find her.
And then there's Kyle. I've written about him several times in these pages, so will try not to belabor it any more here. Suffice it to say, I consider him to be the first person I ever really loved. I used to frame it as "in love with," but have some doubts as to whether you can truly be in love with someone if it's not reciprocal, or at least you're not in a relationship with them. I do think we had a bond and, looking back, there were several times when it seemed like there could have been something. Or perhaps that's just my mind playing tricks on me? Probably. I dunno.
So why am I writing about all this? It's because of a reaction I had recently. A few days ago, I was thinking about the night our friendship ended. Whatever we may or may not have thought of each other, Kyle was brought up in a super-conservative religious environment. That much is indisputable. Eventually, he started dating a girl. I learned of this one night while visiting wiyh him at his house. Me being the calm, level-headed mature 17-year-old that I was of course responded with a plaintive, "I don't know why you'd want a girlfriend when you have me!"
I cringe upon remembering those words, spoken aloud along a wave of emotion, but at the time they were coming from a place of complete, angst-ridden sincerity. Goodness knows what was going through his mind upon such a declaration but, after standing there looking at me with what can only be described as an air of contempt, he said, with a measure of control to his voice, "I think you'd better leave." And I did. Actually, I knew the moment those words had left my lips that they shouldn't have been uttered. I'd screwed up whatever friendship we had left, and I went home in a sort of stunned, somber daze.
It should be noted at this point that I'd already had a mutual, consensual, physical experience with another guy my age a few years prior. But, it was the early '90s. Homophobia was very much a reality (not that it isn't now), and I was determined to deny my sexuality. For whatever reason, in my mind, if it was only a physical attraction/interaction, then it wasn't gay. It wasn't something that permeated my soul. It was just the occasional, 'Oh, hey, I like the way that guy looks,' or maybe the occasional intimate encounter.
When the friendship with Kyle ended, it was only then that the walls that had been holding back my denial of the ever-present emotions concerning him were allowed to fall. There was no more pretending, no more pushing the reality of my feelings aside, tamping them down so that I didn't have to face them. I got home that evening, went to my room, and cried. My mom, knowing something was up, came in, sat on the side of the bed, and asked what was wrong. That was the night I came out. That was the night I finally, begrudgingly admitted that I wasn't straight.
Mom calmly said that she knew. I remember stopping with the crying at that point, stunned. The fresh flow of tears suddenly dissipated, flummoxed by the quietude of my mother's response. I looked at her and asked how she'd known and for how long. She said that she'd really gotten the idea since Kyle and I became friends. She'd seen how we were together, how I was when I was with him. And then, dear reader, came the words that, just a few days ago, made me cry upon remembering them. Mom said, "I could tell by the way you looked at him."
At the time, those words almost made my heart stop. A few days ago, they about broke me. Why such a strong reaction for something that happened 30 years ago? Well, a couple of reasons. Part of it was because they laid bare something I'd thought, up to that point, had been an innermost secret. I was absolutely petrified of anyone knowing my deep, strong feelings for another person (especially another guy). And, with that, it was somehow easier to trick myself into not believing the truth. So, to learn that the truth was so obvious, that the feelings I thought were secret, that no one else could have possibly been aware of, were so plain to see -- it stunned me. Then. Now, it made me cry. I cried in sympathy for younger Matt, for the teenager who loved and couldn't initially accept that love, who fought so hard internally to not face the truth.
I also cried now because thinking about that night reminded me of my mom. She's been gone a-year-and-a-half and, thankfully, I'm in a much better place about her death than I was during most of 2023. Grieving is a process, and it's always a good feeling when you feel as though you've dealt with a lot of the worst aspects of it. But, thinking back to that night, when I finally broke down and came out, and mom said those words: "I could tell by the way you looked at him," but had respected me enough not to comment on it or otherwise intrude upon my privacy until that point, reminded me of the bond we'd once had.
And, in that moment of remembrance, I really, really missed my mom. That's why I cried.
So it goes.
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