Small Joys

by Elvin James Mensah

I often felt as if I was contorting myself into all these impossible positions for the sake of making sense to people. Handing over these little pieces of myself, taking them back, flipping them over, and handing them to someone else.

“Well, that’s the thing about us gays,” I said, “we do tend to vary in our respective gayness.”

There was a familiar darkness attaching itself to my thoughts like a graft of skin, a bleakness I believed would simply unpeel itself if I let enough time pass. But these thoughts were becoming more intense, as if my usual mental narration had been replaced with its evil twin. This character had been so active in its fight against me that I couldn’t sleep even when I’d decided to.

“What have you plebs done?”

what’s wrong with feeling up my balls? Thought we were mates, Finn? If you’d ask me to feel your balls, I’d be right in there.”

Noria put her hands on Chelsea’s shoulders. “Chels, babe, look at me—what am I always telling you?” “Um…don’t be out here fuckin’ for free?” “No, not that.” “If he doesn’t act right, fuck his dad?” “No.” “If his dad won’t go for it, try his mum?” “Chels, no—” “Well, hon, you say a lot of stuff, okay?” Chelsea said, “I can’t always keep everything straight.”

Why did the simple fact of my existence demand so much from my friends? None of them seemed to need as much as I did. None of them seemed dependent on anyone else. None of them seemed to require as much kindness and generosity and forgiveness. Instead, they offered these things to me.