Something Like Lightning

by Jay Bell

Burning in anger’s inferno was always better than drowning in sorrow’s dark sea.

Of all the organs in the human body, the heart is by far the most treacherous. For centuries poets have claimed that love originates in the heart, radiating forth from this most special of places. But like most factories, the heart pumps out more than one product. Desire and desperation are two of its most popular exports, but most notorious of all—and perhaps the most damaging—is false hope.

“I built that in shop class,” Bonnie said. “You’d think a lesbian would be good at carpentry, but no.” “You’re battling stereotypes,” Kelly said. “I’m proud of you.”

In the hallway that day, two guys took hold of each other’s hands. They didn’t shake them or arm wrestle or anything else that young men are expected to do. Instead they simply intertwined their fingers and looked into each other’s eyes, the level of emotion apparent to every witness there. In this way, they came out to the entire school without uttering a single word.