I sat on the roof with that boy. A brother. At least he used to be, as if I didn’t know before. Well, he could have easily transcended into the beaming stereotype of a sex addict of sorts. It didn’t happen. What was more excruciating to hear now. Especially now because he is 19 years old and there is no turning back. He is digging deeper into the dark supple feminine core of his soul. Yes, a transvestite. Not fully operational, but almost getting there — at least this was how the confession sufficed itself.
I didn’t know how to react. I dragged deep into the joint I was passed and tried to linger in a high that was creepily giving way to paranoia. I was just shocked. Flabbergasted to a point that deserves the clinging satisfaction of my bloodshot eyes exposing retinas to a screaming sun. Where the fire cracks the throat open and more light beams shoot out leaving blood trails and the suns mouth — if it had one leaking with excrement.
“So you’re gay?”
“No…a lot more than gay baby.” I passed the joint. “It’s okey I guess. If thats what you really want.” “But you know the shit you gonna have to take right? The lame ass bashing from an immature and pompously ignorant society.”
“Fuck it. Being in the closet is just as bad. I take the bashing myself. Upon myself. Insidious to my homosexual consciousness.” “It’s kinda hard to rectify the forcefulness of it all. I tear myself up inside. And I don’t cry, cause I promise myself I am a man?” “What is that anyway?”"Sometimes it is just better to let it rip you know. I can’t fucking take this shit. Like hiding…not being myself. It’s better I cry than just plain go out….and fucking stab daddy in the gut for example.”
“I think I get you.” “But you know, sometimes….all you need to do is just talk.” “Like you know all the bullshit that happening around us, but occasionally it just gets a little exasperating and its always good to let it out …. prominently to someone who could listen. And not judge or come out with their hideous solutions to problems you know.” “I’ll be like dude. You got your shit and I got my shit you know. Eliminate.”
An airplane — slow. A vestibule to take away. It was always to me some symbol of escape. Serving a better purpose as a coherent and a not so mind boggling metaphor for leaving. This is when beauty extracts itself in forms that are completely unexpected from the stale, ridiculous truths of life. And then memories are lost in there somewhere. As you stare out into the sky. Always when I do this I know one thing is true. That we all share the same sky. Even if we hated it on this side. We would love it elsewhere. Moment of clarity.
I turned to look at my brother. He was lost in his own thought. Not starring at the sky. Just blankly into space. Possibly deep into his thoughts and memory. I wanted to tell him this but chose not to. I looked back at the sky, and squinted for a while until it got used to the sun again. I trailed the stream of fumes from the airplane — it was gone — hidden behind the clouds. And I looked down to the ground and touched my toenails.
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