The Final Act

The Final Act

By Stephen Clark

Ever since I was little I’ve wanted to be an actor up on the stage, more than anything else. What I didn’t count on was being one in my real life as well. Off stage we all have things to hide, skeletons in our closet so to speak. When I am up on the stage, in the spotlight, I am completely naked, every bit of my soul exposed for all to see. When I am a normal person, a student, a son, a friend, I am false and offer no truth whatsoever to myself or anyone else. What I hide is for myself to know, and no one else.
Sometimes I feel like a coward, a weakling at the mercy of others, and of myself as well. It’s strange how we so often let ourselves live in a prison that has no walls or bars keeping us from leaving, but rather within ourselves. The irony is that our minds our supposed to provide us with the freedom and liberty that no other person or thing can give us, but it can also be a place more confining and limiting than anything else on earth; I am a prisoner of this such.
Walking through the halls of our school I can hear the remnants of students leaving school, eager to get home and away from the institution that takes so much of their day away from them. I hear the echoes of commonly used words such as “Queer” and “Faggot” shouted from across the building, whether it’s being used to tease some non-athletic student or just a “playful” little thing used to cajole friends and mess around I’m not sure. I go to Como High, otherwise referred to as Homo High by the homophobic bigots and jocks. I’m used to hearing it by now and it doesn’t really phase me, at least not on the surface.
I drop my backpack on the old wooden floor of the stage inside the High School’s auditorium. It’s after school and all the lights are off. I walk back stage and open the circuit breaker, flicking the lights on one at a time. The stage glows in the different colored lights from above. I come out from the shadows of the back and look up. The mixture of green and red hitting the stage reminds me of Christmas. I look around the wide area of the room, scanning the rows and rows of empty chairs and long aisles in front of me. The curtains are red and dusty, looking like they haven’t been used in years. I take in the musty scent of them, pressing my nose against the smooth felt texture, letting it rub against my skin, embracing its majestic red and yellow trim. Looking back, I see the prop I am to use in the ball room dance scene in the upcoming school play. It’s a mask, painted with fancy designs swirling and whirling about all over; it has two wide, oval-shaped holes in it to see out of and a feather glued to each side, the kind of mask that prince charming wears, and your supposed to think it’s a disguise but the mask is so small it couldn’t disguise a squirrel.
I put it on, reaching around to the back of my head to let the elastic string cling to my hair and feel the firm hold it has on my face. I close my eyes, looking up at the ceiling, recalling the lines I practiced at home the night before. I then pounce up from the floor and begin reciting them, going through the motions.
“Welcome, Miss. I’m pleased you could join me. May I take your coat?” I extend my hand and remove an imaginary coat from an imaginary woman, swiftly and elegantly, not faltering a single move. “My pleasure, Miss. Tea for the lady?” I reach down to a small rickety table beside me on the stage and lift a bulky teapot and a small cup in the air, pouring the invisible tea into the cup. I then hand it to the imaginary woman and bow slightly, looking her in the eyes with every movement of my body.
In the play I am the son of a great and powerful Duke of an old town in England. It takes place in the mid 1800’s and my character is courting a beautiful woman named Ms. Scarlet, a woman of high class and great respect through out the town, but the Duke’s son has a terrible secret. At the same time he is also seeing another woman, Ms. Margus, a peasant woman he met one night while on one of his strolls about the city. He must sneak out at night to see the peasant woman and put on airs in public with Ms. Scarlet to avoid persecution from his devoted public, but remains loyal to Ms. Margus even still. I play it all out so perfectly, covering every lie and deceit with a kind word and a gentlemen-like gesture of the hand. Deception is my game and I play it well.
“Jeff!” The sound of a girl’s feminine cry awakes me from my thespian trance. I see her standing in the doorway on the side of the stage, letting the light from the hallway pour in. It’s Emily, the girl I am supposed to be courting in the play and having tea with and all the other things a gentlemen did with a woman back then. She is also my girlfriend.
“Hi Em,” I put down the teacup and stand there frozen, looking at her from a distance as the door behind her closes, slowly concealing her in shadowy darkness. She looks like an overly exaggerated depiction of a drug dealer, the kind they publish in anti-drug pamphlets and such for children to read. “I was just practicing some of my lines, for the play.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Emily quickly says to me as she steps out from the shadows and quickly comes walking over to me. Her long strawberry blonde hair that reaches her butt sways back and forth as she walks; her walk reminds me of that of a strict business woman, always seeking to accomplish rather than experience.
“How ya doing?”
She stands in front of me then leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek. “Ok, I guess. Listen, there’s someone you have to meet.”
She takes me by the hand, like all good couples must do in school in order to live up to the traditional boyfriend/girlfriend status, and begins dragging me off the stage, bumping the door open with her hip and carrying me off into fluorescent light of the hall. We have been dating for a little over a month and everyone thinks it’s so cute. She is a pretty popular girl in this school and we actually started going out as a result of a couple of girls in her little clique daring her to ask me out, so she did, and I accepted.
My brow furrows in confusion, but I submit, allowing her to drag me from the stage I so desperately need in my non-school hours. She shoves me into a small corner room with no windows and it feels stuffy, sort of hard to breathe. I look over to one of the desks in the empty class room and suddenly I know why. I see a boy, hunched over in a desk in the front row sketching on a pad of paper. For a moment I furiously study his hand which is moving intently, purposefully over the pad, shading and drawing every line so perfectly, and I don’t even know what it is he is drawing, just that it must be perfect.
“This is Jason,” Emily points to the boy, now sitting straight up, pencil still in hand, just looking at us. “And this is Jeff” Emily gestures to me with a royal wave of the hand.
A smile breaks on the boy’s face. “Hi Jeff, nice to meet you.” His eyes are a bright field green that remind me of miles and miles of blades of grass swaying back and forth in some large country clearing.
“Jeff? Yoo-hoo?” Emily waves a hand in from of my face, smiling.
“Oh, sorry” I say, wanting to die for a moment, but this new mystery boy revives my will to live by simply standing up and revealing the rest of himself to me. I let my eyes become fixated with delight, running my eyes over him with obvious attraction in them. He looks about five eight or nine, eye length black hair, and pale skin with a slight darkness to it. I notice how his face is red, like he’s blushing, but I imagine it’s always like that.
“Hey Jason,” I break free of the death grip Emily has on my right hand and extend it out to Jason, somehow forcing back my thoughts of human desire and sexual hunger. He smiles and his hand slips gently into mine. I can feel the soft texture of his skin against mine. I stare him straight in the eye and he returns with unblinking passion.
“He’ll be playing the part of the Duke.” Emily says to me while still looking at Jason.
“Nice to meet you son,” Jason shoots me a smile, so beautiful and glimmering white from cheek to cheek. I return the smile and turn my head down so he doesn’t see that I’m blushing.
“Jason has a lot of catching up to do because he’s missed a lot of the rehearsals because of the flu.”
“Don’t worry, I’m not contagious anymore” Jason says, beaming his radiant smile into my eyes, turning them to puddles of blue and white.
“So I suppose you two will want to get familiar with your lines, yeah? I mean the play is in two weeks.”
“Yeah, I guess.” I say, looking around the room as if I’m talking to no one in particular. “Let’s get back to the stage then, shall we.” I did a half-bow as if I were truly the son of a Duke bowing to his father.
“Can’t, they’re closing the stage up for the night, janitors have full reign of it now and they said we have to go home.”
“Damn,” I say, continuing to stare out into space, fearful of what I might do if I look at him for even a second.
“I know! You two can rehearse at Jeff’s house. You have plenty of room in that big house of yours, don’t ya Jeff?” For a moment I want to smack her across the face as hard I can, but then the realization of the possibilities sinks into my brain and I collect myself as best I can.
“Uh, yeah, we could do that. What time?” I can’t help it, I have to look at him. My head rises up from the ground and my eyes become fixed on his.
He smiles. “Around seven ok?”
“Perfect.” I feel anything but; my hands are shaking, palms sweating, heart on the verge of a massive explosion.

Dinner at home is the usual combination of uninteresting small-talk and bigoted remarks from my stepfather, Joe, followed by reprimands and dirty looks from my mother.
“Someone pass the potatoes” my father sighs at the bottle of beer in front of him and waits impatiently as my mother reaches over the table and hands the hot ceramic container to him.
“How is your play going sweetie?” My mother stares at her food, playing with it like a little kid.
“Ok I guess, we go on in 2 weeks and some kid that has been sick the whole time has just started rehearsing with us.”
“Well that’s no excuse, if you ask me.” My mother glares at my father from across the table, as if to say “And nobody asked you, Joe.” That makes me smile.
“His name is Jason and he’s coming over tonight so we can practice our lines together.”
“You make it sound so queer” my father grunts and takes a swig of his beer.
“Joe, leave him alone. I think it’s great you’re making new friends.”
“He isn’t really a friend, just a fellow thespian.” It’s always risky using theatre terminology around my father who not only can’t stand the fact that I’m in school plays, but also thinks that the whole idea of men in theatre is perfectly “Ladylike” as he puts it.
My father shakes his half-empty bottle in his hand and gets up from the table to get another one, then when he gets back takes his food into the living room to watch the rest of the football game on TV.
“Don’t mind your father, he’s just been under a lot of stress at work lately” my mother leans over the table and whispers to me with a smile upon her marriage-worn face.
“He’s always under stress” I grumble at my plate full of half-eaten food and get up from the table to wash my plate and gulp the last of my glass of milk down.
“How is Emily doing?” My mother loves to bring up Emily when my father is in one of his moods, which is just about all the time. I guess she feels that it reinforces my masculinity so he won’t make fun of me so much.
“Um, she’s doing fine, I guess. She actually introduced me to Jason.” Everything leads back to Jason, I’m obsessed. Just then I hear the doorbell ring and I almost drop the empty glass in my hand, but instead set it on the counter next the sink. My mother winks at me as if telling me “Don’t be nervous”, then picks up her dishes and goes to the sink. This scares the hell out of me. Does she know, about me? But how? My mind wanders elsewhere as I approach the front door and, with a gulp to suppress the huge lump in my throat, I open it to see an angel, piercing through the night’s darkness greeting me on my porch with his usual elegant, blindingly white perfect smile.
“Hey Jeff” he stands only a few feet from me and I feel like taking him into my arms and keeping him for myself, but all the tragedy of reality washes over me as I motion for him to come inside and take his coat and put it in the closet behind me.
“What’s up?” I ask him sheepishly as he takes his shoes off and tosses them next to the door.
“Nothin’. Brought my lines.” I see on his coat a pink triangle patch sewn on with the words “PFLAG” running across it in rainbow-colored letters.
“Huh?” I blankly stare at the patch on his arm, then at the stapled together pieces of paper in his hand and snap out of it before he realizes I’m already desperately in love with him to the point of dementia. “Oh, yeah, cool. Let’s go upstairs to my room.” I almost melt into a muddle on the floor next to him at hearing those words escape my lips. But just then my worst thoughts and fears enter onto the stage as my father comes in with yet another beer in hand, staring at us from the dining room.
“Who the hell’s this?” His body is swaying back and forth like a blow-up punch doll, and I feel like putting him to good use. He leans against the wall for support, still taking large swigs of his bottle.
“Go upstairs Jason, my room’s at the end of the hall on the left. I’ll meet you up there.” He looks at me with a sort of knowing expression and proceeds up the stairs. I stare at my father with utter contempt.
“Who’s he?” My father squints his eyes and holds the bottle out in front of him, waving it accusingly at me.
“A friend. He came over to practice some lines for the play, remember?”
“Oh not that goddamn play again.”
“Joe” I hear my mother call to him from inside the living room.
“I’ll be there in a minute.” His eyes never leave my sight.
“His name is Jason.”
“Kid looks like a queer. What was that on his jacket I saw?”
“I don’t know. Why don’t you ask him yourself, Joe?”
“Doesn’t he play any sports or anything?” My father, like many of the kids at my school, attributes being gay to a lack of manly extra-curricular activities, namely football.
“I don’t know, I don’t think so.”
Finally realizing the argument was going nowhere, he stumbles back into the living room, grumbling something about queer faggots, heading over to the couch, probably to pass out with his best friend in hand as per usual.
I run upstairs as fast as I can, fearful that Jason has already discovered something horribly embarrassing in my room that I forgot to tuck away, like my stuffed elephant that resides on my bed every day, or the pack of condoms I once thieved from a drug store. The door to my room is cracked open a bit, and I can see him looking at the top of my dresser where all of my metal army soldiers are displayed. I open it the rest of the way and walk in, looking at him staring so intently at the metal figurines.
“Nice collection” he says. His index finger is brushing his chin and his thumb is placed thoughtfully on his jaw, carefully deciphering which are the ground soldiers and which are the higher-ranking officers.
“Thanks, they’re my dad’s, my real dad’s that is. They used to be his before he died, then he left them to me.”
“Oh, sorry man. Didn’t know.”
“It’s cool.” I force back the beginnings of a tear and focus on the play. “So, you all set?”
“Yeah” he holds up the piece of paper in the air, then sits down on my bed. I feel strange standing up alone, so I sit down next to him, about a foot away. I begin to feel my insides tingle and scramble with confusion, so I distract it by beginning to read my lines. I almost have the first word out of my mouth when he starts in.
“You know, my dad left me and my mom when I was little. It wasn’t easy, so I know what it’s like sort of.”
I stare back at the army men on my dresser, trying my best not to look at him.
“Like I said, it’s fine.” I think I sound rude so I add, “But thanks”.
“No problem. Sorry, you can go now.”
“Thanks,” I look at him and he’s staring down at his paper, waiting for me to begin with my line. I take a deep breath and begin to read from the paper in front of me.
“Father, I think I should not be courting this woman. It would not serve my conscience kindly if I continued.” We’re at the part where the Duke’s son is trying to tell his father that the woman he is courting, Ms. Scarlet, is not the woman he wants to be dating, but he still can’t bear to reveal his secret lover, Ms. Margus, to his father yet.
“My son,” Jason holds the script up high, reading from it closely, squinting his eyes a bit, “What is it this woman does not offer you? Riches? She has a plentiful amount of wealth. Social status? Of course you know she is among the most elite of high society.”
“I know all of this father, it’s simply that…well…” I lose all ability to see for a moment, my eyes blending the words on the paper into one gigantic heap of black ink. It morphs to take the shape of a heart then an arrow pierces through it. Luckily it’s his line.
“Then what is the problem, then? I say, there isn’t one thing in this world that makes you happy, boy.” I see Jason smile and look at me, like he’s embarrassed. I’m embarrassed too, but I don’t know why. I smile back at him and I put down my paper, letting it fall gently from my hand onto the thick comforter that’s spread across my bed.
“Take a break?” I don’t look up at him, just keep staring at the piece of paper.
“Sure,” he looks at me with gentler eyes than I’ve ever seen on another human and I’m forced to look at him.
“But we haven’t been practicing for very long”
“Doesn’t matter, we have plenty of time.” His smile reassures me that we do and I ease myself into a more comfortable position on the bed next to him.
He gets up off the bed and looks around my room, like it’s some big spacious palace that encompasses all kinds of interesting art and imported furniture. The extent of the furniture I have in my room is a computer chair, a dresser, a king-sized bed, one small night stand, and a desk where I do my homework on.
I stand up too, looking at him longingly, not realizing the wide-eyed cornball expression that is quickly spreading across my face. He seems so intrigued by my room and all I can think is how intrigued I am by him. He seems like a mysterious and foreign thing to me, too beautiful to touch and best admired from a safe distance, but it is becoming increasingly difficult to maintain that distance.
I stare at the pink triangular patch on the arm of his coat which is laying on the bed, folded neatly. “What is PFLAG?” I look up at him from the bed with a quizzical expression.
He smiles and puts his hands in his pockets. “Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays. It’s an organization that supports gay people and their friends and family.”
I look at the floor, too stunned to know what to say. “Oh, that’s cool.”
“Heh, yeah. Ever hear of it?”
“No, but I have now.”
“Yup” he keeps smiling at me from the bed. He probably knows I am embarrassed as hell and is doing his best not to make me feel any more strange.
“Are you…” The words can’t escape my mouth, so I leave it up to him to fill in the huge gaping blank that is hovering over the room like an ominous storm cloud ready to burst with rain.
“Gay?”
I nod my head.
“No, I’m not.” His expression changes from a crooked grin to more of a melancholy and his voice flattens, filling with seriousness. My expression of course immediately sinks, my eyes too foggy and wet to look up at him and see what he is doing now.
“But my brother is” he continues. That’s why I started going to PFLAG meetings. After he came out to my family, he asked me to come with him, for support, so I did.” He can see that I am a little more than disappointed. I try to hold back the quivering sensation that is filling my body and projecting itself onto my lower lip which is shaking, along with my hands.
“You ok?” He asked gently, putting a hand on my shoulder.
“I’m fine.”
“I’m sorry if you thought I was.”
“What?” I try to play it off like I don’t know what he is talking about, but all the acting skills in the world can’t save me now.
“It was kind of hard not to notice, you know, with the way you look at me and stuff. Ever since my brother told me he is gay I’ve met a lot of his friends and I know when I’m being checked out.” That sparked a faint laugh between the both of us and he let go of my shoulder.
“So when did your brother tell you?” I finally gather the courage to look at him and he seems strong enough for the both of us.
“A couple years ago. He told me first, then the rest of the family. He probably could’ve picked a better time to do it though. Thanksgiving isn’t an ideal time to come out to your entire family.” He cracks a smile and his rosy-cheeked grin makes me smile too.
“So what about this group, PFAG?”
He laughs and corrects me politely. “PFLAG. Yeah, it’s a group I go to with my brother to support him and also to learn more about being gay and stuff.”
“That’s cool”, I nod my head and wonder what going to a group like that would be like and, like he can read my mind, asks me if I wanted to go with him to the next meeting.
“Of course, man. Everyone is welcomed. Even guys with girlfriends.” He winks at me and in a strange way it comforts me.
I walk him downstairs and as he is putting on his jacket I catch a glance of my father walking by, going towards the refrigerator for another beer, sneering, but too hesitant to say anything else for fear of my mother’s wrath.
“See ya” I give one last smile at him and extend my hand. He hugs me for a brief minute and pats my back and suddenly the grief and disappointment I felt is now turning into something else, something more positive, though I’m not sure exactly what yet, so I put my arms around him and we let go and I close the door, my mind bouncing with anticipation of the next series of events to come.

I walk into the church, sopping wet from the pouring rain outside. I take one last quick look back at my car, draw in a deep breath, and step inside. I glance at my watch and it’s exactly eight o’ clock, the time Jason said to be here. Walking toward me I see a tall, balding, grey-haired man with a friendly expression.
“Hi” he smiles at me and extends his hand and we shake for what feels like an eternity before I realize where I am. “I’m Mike” he continues, handing me a black marker and a blank name tag.
“Jeff,” I nod my head, writing my name down on it and stamping it on the right breast of my shirt.
“My wife, Jan, and I run this group.” Come on in.”
Reluctantly I manage to fumble my way inside, like a drunk stumbles inside his house after a night of bar-hopping.
“Is Jason here?” I look around the room for a moment at all the people scattered all over, sitting together at big round tables, some with plastic cups filled with soda and plates with cookies and popcorn on them.
“He’s over there,” Mike points me in the direction of an empty table in the back by a wood altar. “Help yourself to some food and drinks, they’re on the counter.”
I walk over to the table where Jason is sitting at and take a seat.
“Hey, you made it.” He looks happy to see me and his eyes greet mine with a warm, affectionate gaze. How I wish this boy was queer. Even a little.
A thin, somewhat raggedy boy who looks about our age, maybe a little older, walks over to the table we’re sitting at, holding a plate full of popcorn. His eyes are dark, draped under furry brown eyebrows and atop his head is a wavy cascade of curly dark strands of hair going down to his ears. He looks like the human version of a raccoon.
“This is Ashton, my brother. He’s the gay one.” Jason smiles and his brother gives him a playful shove and sits down next to me.
“Hey” is all he says to me and begins eating his popcorn, shoving fistfuls into his mouth.
“Ok everyone, let’s get started.” I see a tall pudgy woman with tied back brown hair and a dark blue sweater stand up from her seat and join Mike at the altar in the back, and everyone turns to face them.
“That’s Mike and Jan. They started this group. They’re married.” Jason whispers to me.
My eyes become fixated on the two of them. I let my hand slip comfortably under my jaw and begin to listen in awe as Jan begins to read from a piece of paper.
“This meeting of Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays will begin. We are all gathered here because we know someone who is gay or are ourselves learning about people who are gay and wish to be enlightened further. Privacy is important to all of us for one reason or another and everyone who wishes to disclose information about them selves may do so, and those who do not wish to will not be required. Everything that is said here stays here and is considered confidential.”
I look around the room at the diverse-looking group of people. The group looks nothing like I expected. They aren’t all short-haired bull dykes and pink-posy faeries and drag queens. These people look pretty normal.
“So let’s go ahead and split up into groups.” The minute Mike says the word “split up” my heart sinks into my stomach and I feel nauseous.
“Don’t worry” Jason puts his hand on my back once again, and I feel a little better from it, but not much. I just give a nervous smile and shrug.
“No problem” I get up from the table, looking at Jason one last time and follow the group I’m supposed to go with into another room in the church.
We all sit together, squished into a tiny little room that looks like it’s used for Sunday School. A few sloppily-colored Jesus sheets hang from the cement wall behind me and I cross my legs, nervous of what to say or do in this small space.
“Well I guess I’ll start.” A plump little red-haired woman who’s nametag says “Fredericka” begins. “I’m a school counselor at a Middle School in Plymouth and I came here to learn more about homosexuality and gather some resources on the topic. I also have many gay students who come to me asking for advice, and many times I don’t know what to tell them.” The group of people surrounding her nod and give low murmured sounds of approval as she continues. She talks about how a student came to her once after a terrible scuffle with a boy who called him a fag and punched him so hard he fell down. I listened carefully so as not to miss a second of this woman’s tale.
Next a man named Jared began speaking. “Hi everyone, I’m Jared. This is my third year coming here now. I’m with my partner of eight years, Blair.” He looks over to a short, somewhat pale man with a goatee and clasps their hands together. “We’ve been together for quite a while and we’re finally going to have a commitment ceremony next week to celebrate our lovem, and also to get a few gifts from friends and family.” The group breaks into a string of laughter that bounces off the walls of the small confine of the room. I look at this man and think about how happy they seem together, despite how socially and politically diseased their relationship is looked at as by the rest of the world. Before I have anymore time to think about that the next person in the group starts.
“My name is Liz. I’m 17 years old and I’m a lesbian.” I’m immediately intrigued by the prospect of someone around my age here, of a different gender and still gay. “I recently broke up with my boyfriend, Dave. He’s on the football team and I told him last week that I’m gay and he totally flipped out. He stopped talking to me and got his football buddies together and they spray-painted the word “Dyke” on my locker and on my car.” A silence falls over the group, but inside my mind is frantic with questions and calculations as to how someone so young can be so forthcoming about them selves, especially like that.
“What did you do?” A middle-aged looking man sitting beside me asked her politely in a low tone.
“I went to the principal and told him. He said that he’d speak to the boys who did and that that’s all he could do since there was no proof it was them.” Her expression withered on her face and in the light of the small little church room she looked like an old woman, worn away by life and its cruel ways.
It was finally my turn. Everyone looks at me and I look back at them, unsure of what to say.
“Just tell us about yourself” one African American woman who obviously senses my unease tells me from the front of the room with a kind smile.
“Well, my name is Jason. I’m eighteen and I have a girlfriend named Emily. We’re in a play together. She’s really nice and I like her a lot, but I’m not sure if I’m, you know, in love with her.”
“Do think you might be gay?” the African American lady asks me with a calm expression.
“Well, I like guys.” This gets a few laughs from the group and when I see Emily smiling I laugh too and begin to relax a bit. “I mean, I don’t really feel physically attracted to her really. She’s pretty popular in our school and that makes me feel good, you know? Like I belong somewhere.” I feel like I’m talking to a therapist when no one responds, just an odd nod of the head and plenty of interested stares all around me.
After I as well as the rest of the group seems satisfied with my rattling on, I become silent once again and begin listening to what the rest of the group has to say.
When the meeting breaks and everyone has gotten up from their chairs and is spewing out into the main room with all the tables, I walk over to the one that Jason and his brother are still sitting at.
“So how did it go? Hope the group didn’t devour you your first time here.” He looks up at me with a grin.
“No, they were great. There’s some pretty interesting people in the group.”
“You definitely meet all kinds of people here. Right, Ash?” He nudges his brother who is still consuming large portions of popcorn.
“Oh, yeah. They’re all cool.”
Jason shakes his head and looks back up at me.
I look over at the refreshments sitting on the counter across the room and spot Emily, the girl in our group that came out to her jock boyfriend. “Listen, I’m going to go over there and get something to drink. I’ll be right back.”
I walk over to where the bottles of Pepsi and Coke are sitting on the counter by the church kitchen and sidle up next to her.
“Hey, Jeff.” She turns over to face me but I sort of hide my face as I take a paper cup and begin to pour myself some soda.
“Hi, what’s up?”
“Nothing much. So you have a girlfriend do you?”
“Yeah, we’ve been together for a while now.”
“Are you thinking of breaking up with her?”
“Uh, why do you say that?”
“Well, you told me you were unsure of your attraction to her, and that you like guys and everything.” This girl seems years beyond her adolescence; she truly has what some people call an “old soul” to her.
“Maybe, I’m not sure. I like being with someone popular. Being a poor and unknown actor gets pretty lonesome sometimes.” I think I hear an ice chip as we begin to laugh and become more comfortable with each other.
“Well Jeff, one thing I’ve learned through all of the shit I’ve been through and am going through right now is that no matter who you want to pretend to be on the outside, what’s on the inside is always going to win, it’s just a matter of time. And I guess now is my time. But it’s my time because I chose it to be.”
“Wasn’t it hard for you?” I scratched the back of my neck and perk my ears for what I am about to hear.
“Probably the hardest thing in my life so far, but I felt that I had to do it, for my own well being. The irony is that while I may be going through a rough time now, I feel better than I ever did being the football star’s girlfriend.”
I spend a moment in silence, taking in what she said, glancing down at my cup.
“Thanks”
“For what?” She looks at me in confusion.
“For what you said. I guess I never really looked at it that way.”
“No problem, just choose who you want to be carefully. It can really make a difference in your life.”
We say our goodbyes to each other, hugging. I hold on a little tighter than she does but she doesn’t seem to mind. I suppose I’m playing it down, but what this girl said to me makes a world of difference. It’s amazing how far a nugget of truth will go in a world of lies and deception. I then walk back over to Jason and Ashton who are putting their coats on and I just go up to Jason and give him a big hug. Jason returns my affection and embraces me completely, not doubting for a moment how grateful I am for what he did for me. I shake Ashton’s hand and tell him I’m glad to have gotten the chance to meet him. I also walk over and talk with Mike for a moment to tell him I’ll definitely be back to the next meeting and I really enjoyed coming. Walking out of the church, I try to take in all that has happened to me in such a short period of time, somewhat unsuccessfully.

The opening night of our play I take the stage. I go out onto the set of the last scene in the play, a ballroom masquerade dance in which the Duke’s son finally reveals that he has been courting another woman other than Ms. Scarlet the entire time. The Duke’s son invites the other woman, Ms. Margus, to the masquerade and openly dances with her in the middle of the floor for all to see, including the furious Duke who wants nothing more than for his son to conform to the ways of traditional high society and court Ms. Scarlet. But the Duke’s son can no longer stand the lie he has carried inside himself all this time and finally decides to no longer see Ms. Scarlet. I’m now on stage dancing with Ms. Margus, the peasant woman I fall in love with. I lean in, pull up the mask on her face, and plant a long and romantic kiss on her lips. It is my final act. The crowd is alive with applause and all of the cast members including myself collectively hold hands in a line on the stage, taking our bows.
Backstage, everyone is taking their masks off and changing into their street clothes. Emily is standing next to me, looking at a mirror, wiping off the layers of makeup required for her part in the play.
“Hey Em’” I say softly to her, looking at her in the mirror rather than the actual person.
“Hey babe. Great job out there.”
“Thanks, you too. Listen we have to talk.” I nervously rub my hands together, creating so much friction between them that it burns.
“What is it?” She continues to try to get the makeup off her face but she just smudges it.
“We have to break up.” The words slide out of my mouth so erratically that I can’t stop them.
“Oh what, do you have some peasant woman on the other side of town you are seeing?” She begins laughing as she rubs the cloth around her eyes.
“I’m serious.” I look down at the floor, not wanting to face even the reflection of her inevitably broken expression.
She stops rubbing furiously at her skin and turns around to look at me. Something decent inside me forces me to at least look at her and her face is a terrifying mix of confusion and betrayal.
“I’m gay” I declare, not proudly, but none the less an unmistakable declaration of my own.
“You’re…what?” She stammers, looking at me straight in the eye, making it hard for me to continue but I press on.
“I’m gay. I’m sorry you have to find out this way. But I can’t keep doing this. I’ve just been pretending, this whole time. This is so hard…”
“Are you kidding?” She continues to stare at me in utter disbelief.
“I sort of wish I was. That would be easier to explain.”
“Jeff, I don’t know what to say. I really loved you. I mean…”
“I know. You trusted me, and I let you down.”
“Jeff, I can’t even talk to you right now. I just can’t.” She puts her hands over her mouth and turns away, dramatically like in the play.
“I understand, completely. I’d probably be the same way. I won’t say anything trite or clichéd like “I hope we can still be friends”. I’ll just leave you with this. I hope you’ll come sometime. I’ll be there if you do.” I hand her a small rectangular business card and she turns around and removes one hand from her mouth to take hold of it. On the front it reads “Parents, Friends, and Family of Lesbians and Gays: You have a home in PFLAG.”