The Inexplicable Logic of My Life

by Benjamin Alire Sáenz

“Yeah,” I said. Sometimes I was full of halfhearted yeahs.

had a theory that everyone has a relationship with words—​whether they know it or not. It’s just that everybody’s relationship with words is different.

Sometimes you have to let people have their own space—​even when you are in the same room with them.

saw this quiet and sad look wash over his face. “But you know we’re always going to have to rely on the goodwill of those of you who are straight for our survival. And that’s the damned truth.”

WHAT DID I know about death? Hell, I didn’t even know very much about life.

“Well, there are a lot of sad stories in the world.” “And you’re going to give it your best shot at telling all of them.” “Nobody wants to read happy stories.” “I do.”

We all started laughing. And who cared if it was just whistling in the dark?

“I don’t know. I don’t know shit about love. And even though I’m gay, I don’t know shit about being gay.”

“You were so serious. I’ll always remember that look on your face. You saw me. You’ve always seen me. And I think that’s all that anyone wants. That’s why Fito loves coming over here. He’s been invisible all his life. And all of a sudden he’s visible. Seeing someone. Really seeing someone. That’s love.”

And then I just pulled him in to me, and I held him and he cried and he cried and he cried. And I couldn’t do anything about all the hurt, but I could hold him.

“Maybe some people aren’t meant to have, you know, a great life. I guess that’s that way it rolls.” “Don’t you ever talk that talk around me. You hear that, Fito? YOU. ARE. GOING. TO. HAVE. A. GREAT. LIFE.” “Never had no friends like you,” he said. “Never had that.” And then he started bawling like a baby, fell to his knees and bowed his head, and just bawled. I picked him up gently, not wanting to hurt his broken hand. He leaned on my shoulder and after a while stopped crying. “Hey,” I whispered, “people are gonna think I’m gay.” He laughed. I’m glad he laughed.

Sam took my hand and looked at it. Then she whispered, “What would I do without this hand?”

was trying to explain to myself why I was so happy. I hadn’t ever felt this happy. I finally understood something about life and its inexplicable logic. I’d wanted to be certain of everything, and life was never going to give me any certitude.

I’d watched them in all their beautiful courage. I’d watched them as they struggled through their hurts and their wounds. And there was one thing I could be certain of: I was loved.