At 11 I Fell in Love with Another Boy

I was Eleven when I Fell in Love with Another Boy

Gracie left like David had before her. It hurt; both times. I got over it; both times. Still the agony left psychological scars. The lose of my friends would eventually instill in me a fear of abandonment and an effective inability to accept the love of others. Eventually. But at that moment I still believed in love. I again longed for someone to appear. Someone to love. Someone to love me. Anyone. Then, as it often happens when one believes in Magic, someone showed up. Came right up to me and with a stunning smile and an ethereal presence changed my life.

Several months after Gracie moved away I turned eleven. One afternoon I was in the park by myself leisurely making large and lonely circles with my bike. Taking a break I sat on a bench and watched as a kid on a bicycle was slowly riding towards me. I thought kid because I couldn’t tell if it was a boy or girl. They had very long hair for 1963. Long, straight, wind-blown White-Blonde hair. The kid came up to where I was sitting and stopped directly in front of me. Before looking at the diminutive rider I stared down at the crossbar to see if it was a boy’s or girl’s bike. The top bar was there so I figured it was a boy maybe my age or younger. I looked up to see his face. He was smiling. A grand glorious smile lighting up the prettiest face I had ever seen. When he sweptback his near-white, ethereal hair I saw that he had sparkling Blue eyes with a narrow jawline and high cheekbones. He looked delicate and fragile and his glowing skin was flawless. I was captivated.

“Hello. I’m Robert,” he said smiling, “who are you?”

I couldn't speak. He was so beautiful. Boy or girl made no difference to me. Right then, right there, right that minute I fell in love. For the first time ever. I fell hard and fast for this gorgeous, androgynous, dreamy, young boy.

“I’m Guy,” I said not aware that I was staring at him. I didn’t know what else to say. But I knew I wanted to be his friend; hopefully more then just friend. I wanted to share with him what I had found with Gracie: a trust, a connection, a safe place just outside the walls of the purgatory that was my real world.

“Do you want to ride with me, Guy?” Robert said. He still radiated that captivating smile.

As I was shaking my head yes Robert was already started to pedal away. I jumped up and fell onto my bike. I didn’t want him to get away. I feared I'd never see him again. At my young age I had not displayed much ability hanging on to friends. I raced after him and breathlessly caught up. He turned his head and smiled at me. I pulled up next to him and matched his speed. I was giddy, flying in measure with him down the paved walkway.

By the time we parted several hours later that day Robert and I had exchanged our limited but colorful life stories. The next month was a dance; a high-speed fantastic whirlwind of a dance. Every day Robert and I would meet in the late morning and ride our bikes together going anywhere we desired. Wherever our ambition and curiosity would take us. Often far beyond the stringent limits set by our parents. We would talk for hours in loud voices with wildly animated motions about anything and everything. I was a smart and well-informed kid for eleven but Robert just seemed to know about everything; comic books, robots, Science Fiction, Outer Space, math, music. All the things I loved to explore.

Gallivanting around our little world for several hours invariably left us tired and thirsty. Robert always had money and he would buy us sodas at our favorite candy store. We would sit and talk as we drank our Pepsi. When he wasn’t looking I would gaze at his face. I truly thought he was gorgeous. I had never felt anything like that attraction to a person before meeting him. Occasionally he would gently touch my arm or shoulder. It would make me tremble from head to toe. I never told him about how his touch affected me. Yet sometimes I would look into his radiant Blue eyes and know that he felt it too. Although I was only eleven I was in love with him. I hoped he felt the same.

Part of my attraction to Robert was very physical. I wanted to touch him, put my arm around his shoulders, hug him. I surprised myself once when I thought about kissing him. He had such beautiful thin lips that seemed to tremble ever so slightly when he spoke. We never went beyond that slight touch. I didn't really know how people had sex. Other than playing Doctor with a female friend several times when we were five and six I didn't know what adults did with each other. I don't think Robert did either. Our relationship was about mutual respect, enjoying each other's company when together, and being mindful of each other when apart. I believe we related on a deeply emotional level.

Some months later three older boys would educated me about both straight and gay sex. They taught me that some guys liked both girls and boys equally. Those boys 'went both ways,' or were AC/DC, and had relationships and sex with either gender. I immediately realized that they were talking about me and defined why I had liked both Gracie and Robert. It filled in some blanks for me. Several years later I learned about Bisexuality and quickly adopted that role for myself. Though I loved both men and women throughout my life it would be fifty-three years before more than three people knew I was Bisexual.

Robert and I spent many hours in his Father’s Floral Shop chasing around the counters in a mad and determined effort to tickle each other. Finally we would both fall to the floor and wrestle about laughing until one of us said he had peed his pants. My most favorite activity was sliding together down the in-floor scrap chute. When Father trimmed the shrubbery he would drop the cut-offs down the chute making a large, soft pile on the basement floor that was just perfect for our landing. We would always be frightened to slide down and anxiously grasped each other's hands for courage. Landing on the brush we would sprawl there together, hand-in-hand, until our laughter subsided and then exhausted we would lie motionless till we felt rested. Sometimes Robert would lean into me and put his head on my shoulder. I was amazed at how comfortable he was doing that. It made me feel very special. And very loved.

One afternoon we both fell asleep lying atop the shrubbery. His mother found us and she very gently stroked my face as she whispered to me to get up quietly and not wake Robert. With few words between us she led me to her car and drove me home. I was still a bit sleepy and kind of tumbled out of the car. To my surprise she was there to catch me.

“You are a good friend to my Robert,” she said, holding me up, “he likes you very much. Come again tomorrow. Maybe have dinner with us, yah.” Both she and Robert's Father had strong European accents (I guessed) that I always found delightful and comforting.

As I regained my footing she returned to her car and drove away waving out the window as she did. The whole incident seemed like a dream to me. In fact I felt that my entire experience with Robert was a dream. A wonderfully secure and loving dream that I never wanted to wake from. We had an exciting and magical time together; for nearly five weeks. And then it ended even more suddenly than it had begun.

One day we were playing in an empty lot picking up rocks and things to look at and then tossing them aside. I found a box of small, hard glass wall tiles. We quickly learned that when we threw them they flew through the air like flat rocks skimming a pond. We took turns casting them into the sky above our heads and bouncing up and down like children half our age. Without knowing it I threw the last tile that either of us would touch. With our hands anyway. Like a miniature projectile I blasted it hard and fast up into the sky. To my amazement it flew straight up and then abruptly turned back towards us. I stared up at it and began laughing excitedly. I looked to Robert to share his excitement. His head was tilted up. His right hand was on his brow to help block the sunlight. On his face was a beaming look of astonishment.

Fearing I would miss something I again looked skyward and was easily able to follow the tile’s descent. It came in screaming like a bullet and heading straight for my beautiful boyfriend. I turned to him just in time to see it rip cruelly into his delicate young face. Time slowed as I watched it impact with Robert’s left cheek just below his eye. It punctured his thin skin, rebounded, and then sank silently to the ground. He screamed horribly and slapped both hands to his face. But not before I saw the dark Crimson blood shoot out from his cheek like a pierced water balloon. With both hands on his face he turned and ran towards home. I stood spellbound unable to move or cry out as his slender form became smaller and smaller in my view.

When I could at last respond I ran after him as fast as I could. I found his street, turned the corner, and ran towards his house. No Robert. Where was he? Arriving at the Shop I saw my friend’s Father towering high on the stoop, red-faced, angrily shaking one fist and bellowing loudly. I wanted desperately to ask him about Robert but found myself too winded and nothing came from my dry mouth. I stood shaking and sweating staring up at Father.

“You did this, you, you boy,” he said in his thick accent, “you mutilated my Robert.”

I wanted desperately to explain what had happened. I still could not speak.

“You leave here now,” he said to me. “Never return to this place. You are no longer welcome in my home. You will never see Robert again. Go! Just go!”

He dropped his fist and stood with his arms dangling at his sides. He seemed to decrease in stature as his ferocity drained. He dropped his head and I heard him let out a low guttural moan. Slowly he turned and shuffled into his castle. His own Private Domain. That safe place where he was King. The one place where I always felt loved and accepted. I had been its only outsider. Now I was its only outcast.

I tried fiercely to talk but I could not. Nothing would come out. I dropped my gaze and stared at the ground, my chin resting on my chest. I turned and walked away. I knew he was right: I would never see Robert again. It struck me as fiercely as the flying tile I had jettisoned returned and smashed Robert soundly in the face. It was the worst pain I had ever felt in my short eleven years. Then as cold painful tears cascaded down my cheeks I began to run towards home. As hard and as fast as I could.

When I got there I didn’t go up the stairs. Instead I shuffled down the stairs to the dark, dank basement. Once there I went around the stairs to the crawlspace and scurried into it. Wedged in that tiny place in the dark I sat hugging my knees. And cried. I cried until my shirt was wet; until my head hurt. Only one thought swirled around in my mind. Another friend was gone. Another person I loved. Another person who loved me. I was alone. Again! And again I was left with no chance to say goodbye.