Meeting Michael

In one of the sections of Sign Language I help Beckie (who is TOTALLY awesome!) teach, I met a kid named Michael. Usually not many guys are enrolled in the class, Michael is one of two in his class of about 25. I saw him at the opening stomp, he dances really well. And he dresses really nice. He also has this fantastic suede satchel that I would kill for if it wasn't faux. Something tells me we are playing for the same team--and I mean that in more than one sense. Ever since that incident at the house in November I've felt like a stranger in the house. All my roommates except Heather and Stephanie walk around tight-lipped, but the knowing glances they give me are almost as excruciating. I trust them. I don't think they'll talk. I pray they won't talk.

But Michael, he seems to be holding something in, too. He has the same look in his eyes when he talks to me as Tommy, JP, and David did before telling me those three little words that change people's lives forever. I helped each of them. I supported each of them. And I remain friends will all of them. I think in time Michael will come around, too. I was David's first. Tommy had only three before me. JP I shared with Savannah. They all still contact me regularly. I swear they make the most loyal friends on the planet. Yes, any person who, in a scared but hopeful voice, has held my hands tenderly, shuffled his feet nervously, cleared his throat several times before hoarsely uttering, "I am gay" will always hold a special place in my heart.

I'll wait. He's dying to talk, and I'll be there to listen.