Like a Love Story

by Abdi Nazemian

I do this sometimes. I’m afraid of speaking, of saying the wrong thing, of revealing something about myself I shouldn’t. So I listen. And if I listen too long, the voices become hazy, like I’m hearing them through an ocean.

I wish the whole world could wear a giant latex glove around itself, like a shield of armor. It would not be so different than Iran was, with women in their chadors. They thought those chadors were protecting men from their impure thoughts. Maybe latex around everyone would protect me from mine.

“Is that too much to ask, to be able to smile without scaring people? To be able to start at a new school without being the four-eyed, metal-mouthed kid everyone makes fun of? To actually have someone . . . like me?” I can feel my face burning.

“It’s the parents who have to change first. Because so long as parents are telling their kids that being gay is a sin, or that this disease is God’s way of killing gay people, or that celibacy is the only way not to die, or that they can get it from sitting on the wrong toilet seat, then nothing else matters.

“I guess I’m just saying that I think someone should protest parents. Or maybe not, like, all parents. But someone should protest my parents.”

As I listen, it suddenly hits me how hard being eloquent is, how angry I am, and how I have no idea how to be an activist. That’s when I raise my hand and stand up again. All I say is “I want to help.”

This is me and Art. This is what we’re like when we’re at our best. Like two puzzle pieces that decided to escape the rest of the puzzle because we fit so good.

Love might just happen to them, but for us, it’s not as easy. For us, it’s a fight. Maybe someday it won’t be. Maybe someday love will just be . . . love.

The most important four-letter word in our history will always be LOVE. That’s what we are fighting for. That’s who we are. Love is our legacy.

For the first time in my life, I know what being gay is all about. It’s not about the wet dreams, or the jerking off, or the ability to impersonate your diva of choice. It’s about the feeling you get when you look into another person’s eyes and have an out-of-body experience. It’s about whatever the hell I was feeling when I really saw Reza for the first time. It’s about love. How can I not keep fighting for that?

Look around, this world isn’t pleasant. Why do you have to act so pleasant?

I wonder if all children want to be the opposite of their parents. Art does. I do. I guess if you had a really cool parent, maybe you’d want to be just like them. But the thing is, most parents are uncool.

“People can smell inauthenticity,” he said. “Better to just be yourself, and easier.

It’s almost like this country has just lost it when it comes to raising decent guys. They’re either homophobic or self-involved or they suck on cans.

I have this constant fear that each time I see him will be the last, and that I won’t tell him all the things I need to tell him. That I won’t get to say goodbye.

“Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else.” —Judy Garland

“All we do is take other cultures, steal their treasures, and take the credit. We have no culture of our own.”

That’s what money buys you, access to any corner of the world you want to explore and the safety to return home.

“It’s like sometimes I think that deep down, everyone is an asshole, and nice people are just hiding their true selves. Does that make me horrible?”

We know that the answer will always be yes, but that the truth will always be no, so what’s the point in asking the question?