mo-NEEK-a . . . Luke, Pt. 4

Steven's senior year was pretty demanding, so I, trying hard to be his best friend, made an effort to make it easier on him by spending as much time possible away from the apartment. Basically this meant that I spent most every evening at the library, doing homework and research for personal gain. I became a regular. The librarians knew me, the student workers knew me, the custodial staff knew me. It was almost like a second home, or third, maybe.

There was this girl, Lauren, who worked in the library Wednesdays and Fridays. She was really sweet and kind. Beautiful chestnut-colored hair swirled round her head. She always had a smile for me, and she showed genuine interest in my research. She was a freshman--innocent and naive. Conversations with her were a refreshing change of pace from the sex/drugs/rock 'n' roll talk I got from my friends. It was nice talking with someone who didn't think I was a geek for liking some stupid movie, watching some stupid show, or listening to some stupid music.

We started dating gradually. It was a wholesome relationship of the likes you'd have in a "Father Knows Best" highschool atmosphere. Not so pure, but not deviant, either. We met each others' parents. We went bowling and fishing, watched goofy movies and chatted. We had a great time. I was just adjusting to the idea of having a decent, stereotypical whitebread relationship when she broke up with me.

I was quite startled. Then I was angry. She found out about my bisexuality and was not very tolerating. Turns out she's one of those brainwashed Christians who don't practice, but cling to some of the most inane, and perhaps incorrect, dogma of the faith.

Being with Lauren lifted me out of my melancholy. I was temporarily happy, just peachy. Naturally, when she ditched me I was not ecstatic. I continued to spend my evenings at the library, but I sat in the least trafficked areas. I dove head first into my studies. That semester I got my highest GPA. Loneliness can do wonders for your scholastic endeavors. As long as you don't let it drive you crazy.

I also did quite a bit more research. I read dozens of religious books--scripture and discussion. Surprisingly enough, I could not find conclusive evidence that bisexuality is evil. It is, however, pretty universally accepted that passing judgment on your neighbor while you yourself are not free of sin is not a keen idea.

I don't hold it against Lauren. She was, after all, as I said before, brainwashed. It can take years to deprogram prejudice. I worry about her, though. Sometimes I wonder if she was at all angry at herself for being involved with me. Maybe she felt like I lied to her. Perhaps I've increased her distrust of men. Then again, maybe she found a hot cunt to lick and wanted to pin the break up on me. Water under the bridge.

I didn't date anyone after Lauren that spring and on into the summer. Steven's graduation brought on an interesting turn of events, though.

I don't think I've ever loved someone as much as I love Steven. So then why am I so afraid? And what am I afraid of? I wish I could give a dissertation on the subject. It sure would help me out. As it is, I am totally at a loss.

After Steven's graduation things got a little odd. Not right away. At first it was like any other summer vacation. I had my summer job. Steven put his trust fund to bad use. We tried to have as much fun as humanly possible.

One particularly tun evening Steven had a kitchen accident so I took him to get stitches. Going to an emergency room can be quite an adventure in itself. Ever the optimists, we laughed and giggled our night away. We returned home, stomachs aching and tears in our eyes, and collapsed on my bed for some fairly passionate lovemaking. Laughter can be a powerful aphrodisiac. And so it became a sort of recap of the summer before.

Until one evening, during a commercial break, Steven said quite casually, "You know what we've got here? We've got ourselves a full-blown relationship." I don't think it would have hit me harder if he had sat me down with that all-too-frightening request for a serious talk. He was right, though. And it had just sort of snuck up on us, just like his question and answer had done to me.

It was a good idea, I think. Who better to fuck in an official capacity than your best friend? The person who knows all your ins and outs in the figurative sense should have equal autonomy over your physical ins and outs. It makes perfect sense. Grab a few women's magazines and read their advice for good marriages. They'll all say you've got to be best friends.

So there we were playing grown-up. I had another year to graduate, and Steven started teaching in September. And my two bedroom apartment became a one bedroom with a study. How so very quaint.