I was with my parents in the car, heading to the mall, tossing my phone between my palms, slowly and slowly growing ignorant to the commotion around me, to the words my parents were speaking as they were conversing, to the cars as they were swooshing by, to everything – I was thinking.
“Have I accepted it?”
“Am I gonna do it?”
“Maybe I can change?”
“Should I just do it?”
I ceased the playful tossing of my phone, unlocked it, opened ‘Messages’ and began writing: “There’s something I want to tell you. I am gay.” Then I filled in my then-best friend’s contact as the recipient and hit ‘Send’.
The thinking didn’t stop. It never did. It would pause but never cease.
“Did I just make a mistake?”
“How will he react?”
“He’ll be accepting.”
“He’s not gonna accept it.”
“I made a mistake.”
And then the dreadful began to show its face. He called me.
“Why is he calling?! I texted you. You text, you don’t call!”
I swiped toward the red side. Partly metaphorically, partly realistically, the red made me feel like I’d made a mistake. Not on not receiving the call but sending him that text-message.
I was inside a shop with my parents, looking through things – they were observing, I was aimlessly staring into the void. Making my way outside, I stood suspended in the leap I’d taken.
Once again opening ‘Messages’, I began frantically writing: “Got you! I was joking! Hahaha!”
He replied: “I knew it. I was like, ‘What?!’”
There was no flamboyance of any “Hahaha!” my visage held, but conscientiously, I grew grey. I couldn’t contemplate what was right and what was wrong in that moment. It was like my rational thinking had been interrupted by this huge cloud of confusion and uncertainty.
“What did I just do? What did I just do?”
I went back in.