Work Text
Dear Diary!
I don't have a specific situation to write about - but I have a few thoughts. So... I am... sorry, bad phrasing, I feel kind of trapped.
When I was very tiny (really tiny weeny - literally! Smaller than most of the cabinets!), I used to draw me, my Mom and Dad together - usually they told me "what an artist we have here!" and were very proud. So I drew more pictures and got more nice words - but one time, I heard something very shocking from my parents, after I handed my yet another drawing to them.
I don't really remember, but... I think it was "when you will have your family, you're going to be as much proud as we are of you". I was so confused - "my family? Aren't you my family?" I said and wondered, and Dad replied: "oh, we meant your wife and children you might have someday!". And I can say - that stayed with me a long, long time. I could be a dad, just like my own dad! So cool!
(Yes, I'm getting to the point!)
So I then grew older, changed... and I still imagined that I wanted three things in life: to be happy, to help people and to have a family. That was something that stuck with me - not that I wanted to look for a girlfriend since I got into middle school, but I just generally wanted.
OKAY. The trapped part.
Nothing of what I said really came true. Instead of meeting a girl, I met a boy. He was my best friend since we were 9; he took me around and showed me the world inside and out. And, even though I know it's funny... I... started dreaming he could be like a girlfriend to me, but not being a girl. I liked him very much and oh wow, I can't think of anyone I ever liked like that half as much.
You know the person, My Diary. He's Greg Heffley and my dream came true, he's my boyfriend.
And that makes me feel conflicting emotions since this day (and I'm 12, soon 13). I'm so happy to have him... but he's nothing me or my parents would really want. Look, we all collectively thought my special one would be something more of a... hmm, nice Joshie fan that would match my energy of saving the Planet Earth and loving dogs or something similiar. But instead I'm gifted (am I?) with a somebody who laughs at catastrophe movies, who my Mom and Dad might not rather very like much, or maybe just hate, who treats nobody with real respect and vice versa. He leaves trash everywhere he goes, trash-talks people and even my all relatives call him "trash", even though it's rude and out of character for them.
We're unfit and wrong and it shouldn't ever happen. And the stares my parents give me when I talk about Greg... Dear Diary, I trust in you, and maybe it's bad I'm even thinking about it, but I just don't want to fail them. And I think I am with what I do, everything I do- no, no, no, no negativity here.
But to be honest, I am trapped. It all feels so werid.
Well, the only plus is that he fits in one expectation: he likes dogs (PS: but sprays them with a watergun in the summer anyways).
––What a perfect day for a date! Warm, but not warm enough, sunny, but with more clouds than any light... and I'm happy, but it's not in and trough. It's just on the surface, it's plain, and below it's –d –d–
–something I can't describe.
I don't even know why, honestly. A week ago, when Greg texted me in frenzy and asked to meet, I wasn't sad. I looked forward to it and couldn't simply wait.
Now I'm not.
Even though it's appropiate time ("...4PM, Friday, yep. ") and all the signs in the world tell me I should get going, I instead lie on my bed and watch the ceiling. What I wrote in my diary still lingers and I'm afraid it's gonna' fall down on me from the lamp. Or that it's hunting me. I think it already hunted me down.
I get up - because being punctual is a virtue, that's what I always hear. I excuse my Mom, my Dad, the door and the air I breathe as I go out and down the street. Some more werid feelings wash down on me. Some swallowing and gulping fixes that (and along that I fix my turtleneck). That path seems so long today - my legs lag trough instead of legging; I stare at butterflies and a dog on the other side of the street.
All just to ignore the house that stands right in front of me.
Oww, my legs. I slooowly approach the door, knock silently and wishing (ashamed) the Heffleys actually went on a family bonding trip and aren't home to allow whatever this situation is (wow, that sounded evil; I'm so sorry).
But no, none of my imagined scenario happens - mrs. Heffley appears almost instantly to welcome me. She looks oddly fancy today and I cannot tell why, really. It's something about the lips, the smile that looks like a teacher would have. I think.
– Oh, hello Rowley! – she eyes me up and down, right to left - I'm rather uncomfortable, but I chirp a "good afternoon" back. She doesn't look finish - her arm still blocks the entrance. – Gregory did mention you're going to come around. Well... – Her gaze goes a little to the side. – I hope you're going enjoy your visit. Call me if anyone pesters you! – Oh boy. With a short, unamused giggle she steps back and gestures me in.
Even though I like my (secret) mom-in-law and she's very nice, her comment makes me stress more, despite I know she didn't mean any wrong. That's why I tread very heavily to the stairs, with Greg's mom watching me carefully. My legs feel like made of iron – every next step my heart pounds harder and harder and when I finally make it to the top, I almost get a stroke (did she just ask me a question? I hear nothing else than the dum-dum-dum inside my chest).
And that state stays when I basically crawl to the proper doorknob and open it juuuust a little bit to be jump-scared with a slight glimpse of the blue walls.
I– –
––
...
––
A lot happened, so I need to go back and give a little background instead. Me and Greg have a whole system of going on dates. I won't dwell on the exact connotations and the ciphers, but generally we have inside dates and outside dates - the first divide into things like digital dates, movie-binge dates, dates trough Skype, the window dates, sleep-ins... you name it. Outside dates are us doing whatever we want, well, not on the inside.
And yet another reason I were so scared and still am was the fact Greg never exactly specified what was the date type.
–
I enter the room very cautiously – and, like a charm, there he is, lying stretched on the bed, clearly waiting. My heart stops - or just beats so fast it blends into an one, long hum.
My brain doesn't know how to react. I stand in one place and wait patientl–
– What did the tabouret forget about? – Greg nags me sing-songly. I blink. He stares. I stare harder (I like his eyes). He sighs. I win!.. (but I still feel like a demented loser) . – The lock. Turn the key. – He answers impatiently and I follow the guidelines; a nice, satisfying click tells me I did well... almost as much as his little smile.
I make a few tip-toes to the bedframe. I barely have time to sit down – my boyfriend grabs me by the arm and brings himself so close I feel uneasy.
– Okay. Now hello. – He's barely an inch away from me. I exhale my stress trough the nose as he gives me a shallow kiss on the lips. And yet another, next to my nostril. And on my both cheeks - it quickly turns into a rain of pecks I have no control over. Like usually, I love it... but my mind screams "no, No, No, NO–".
– No. – It slips (and I recieve a bewildered face in return). I awkwardly put a hand over his mouth. – Uh... – My voice turns weaker once I realize that I sounded too aggressive. But the damage is done anyways.
Greg is displeased. He bends back.
– Okay, what is it. – The tone of his voice sounds more like complaining about the weather, an annoucement - it's more "oh, it's going to rain in two seconds" realization than a real question. I'm not very suprised, though - I literally aborted his third favourite activity, plus I just bother him with feelings and angst he hates.
I stay silent to not lie to him, my throat is too tight to speak anyways.
– You're being werid. – Greg narrows his eyes and I look at him again because, I think I already said it, I like his brown gaze. And his face, even if it frowns - and oh, it does, he's so annoyed. – Normally...! You'd return happily. – The way he underlines "normally" makes me tear up a little.
This is all so awful. Me and him sitting in a perfectly blue, boyish room; nobody who would enter the room now could think we aren't just pals - and we should've stayed bro-pals. My head pounds.
– It's normal. You and me, we sit. It's normal. – I respond and that earns even more curiosity from my boyfriend.
– Okay, you're dead now. I won't stop if you don't tell me. – He pokes my knee – Tell me – then thigh. – Come on, don't be annoying. You're a total buzzkill for no reason. – I get a light punch on the arm. – I'm getting bored.
The touch feels so disgusting, almost like I was getting sewer droplets on my skin. The blue walls hurt my eyes. I want to throw something at the ceiling. My thoughts hunt me down.
And something cracks in me.
– I want to break up! – I croak, just really shrill and loud, almost not catching what I said myself. After a thought– yes, I mean it. If that means my parents will be prouder of me and I don't let down my future wife and I won't be a nuisance to Greg and I won't feel so trapped–
He makes a funny face.
– What? No. – He's nonchalant and sure. – 'Cause you still haven't said what's wrong.
– But that's not fair! – I yell and sigh. – You broke up with me, like, nine times already? It's been how much? Six months? – He puts up ten fingers as both answers. – And I can't, even once?
– Because I decide about that, too. – My boyfriend straightens himself - a real rarity in his behaviour. – I didn't invite you over for you to get a mental breakdown. And I still really want to spend time with you, so your ungrateful prince ass could tell me, why you're suddenly so strung, because my patience is low.
I clear my throat.
– I feel werid. With you like that. Like, you know... – I mimick kissing with some exxagarated "muah-muh".
He laughs at me like he perfectly knows what I'm talking about.
– Me too. Everyday. – His postion changes - arms go back for support, legs cross, back hunches yet again.
– Wait, what? – I cannot believe what he just said.
– Do you think my dream was to date my best friend and not a cool girl? – He chuckles again, but without humour and with some regret, a bitter tinge that's very familiar. – No, it's not. In fact, it's the opposite. I'm not glad it's my first relationship and that I like it. But– I already said it. – He shrugs and looks down, not ready to admit more.
– Ooh. Wow. – I gulp and mirror his actions.
– Oh-wow yeah! Duh! – He rolls his eyes and gets closer. I shiver. – So what, you still wanna break up with me or whatever? – His tone clearly tells me he thinks he just solved my problems and now we can go back to normal, have a date like nothing happened.
But I can't right now.
– Yes. Or at least have a break today. – I smile at him apologetically. – Um... can this be our friend time? – Once more, I wait for his reaction, playing with my fingers in the meantime.
– Of course. – He coos fakely and sits straight yet again, like he's already going to go somewhere. – Even set up a movie for that! I hope you're ready for "Brokeback Mountain". – With a slight tilt of his head, he grins at me, all teeth flashing.
– For what–!? –
––
I should've expected he's going to pull something like that on me. I heard werid things about that movie from my Mom and Dad - first of, that it's inappropiate and explicit.
–...it's a movie for adults! – I find myself parroting my own parents without much awareness... not that I disagree with them. They're right, always right. – It's far too inappropiate–!
– Dude, don't chicken. – I'm cut off by Greg doing his fierce know-it-all frown. – Besides, it's definitely not going to be worse than most ads you see in TV and in soap operas. – A smirk slowly starts growing on his face, like he wants to add something very bad about it, but doesn't say anything more.
– Soap operas...? I wouldn't watch soap operas if I had to choose. – I wonder and my... eh, ex-boyfriend, quickly explains:
– They're good. Trust me. – He grimaces in a split second, embarassed, but regains his composure and stands up. – Believe me, to–
We glance at each other with a reminder.
– Okay, fine, you little fuck. Get up. – And without waiting for me, he turns on his heel and bursts out of the room, which leaves me chasing after his steps. I'm worried that mrs. Heffley could hear the commotion and investigate - but when I run behind my best friend down the stairs and corridor, I cannot see anyone else than us in the house.
Greg finally slows down and allows me to catch up with him. He glares like a cat at me.
– Here's the case: my mom went out with Manny to some neighbourhood committee, and Rodrick is at some of his werid fellow's house. – He finally offers some explanation. – So we're alone here for some time... and that time, well, we can use to watch something more... – He clicks his tongue – interesting. And use Rodrick's TV at that.
I just nod and follow him - straight into the basement. That place always scares me - so dark and full of different rags all over the floor... today was nothing different.
My ex-boyfriend-best-friend goes out his way to set everything up... and I watch his moves. The fingers that turn on all the buttons, random bangs that glue to his eyes, lips clearly whispering some ugly words - I daze off, thinking I maybe made a bad choice, because I really like him, even though he says the ugly words and pesters me.
– Why don't you sit? – He murmurs and tries to get control of the old remote in the meantime. I apologize quickly and find some space on Rodrick's bed - even though that too makes me really disgusted (that yellow thing I sat on... is that unwashed underwear!?).
"AEEUU", roars and crackles the TV. Greg quickly changes the path and the "Brokeback Mountain" title appears finally. He joins me on the bed, keeping the obligatory unsaid foot of space.
– I heard it's better than "Isaura the slave" somehow. – My best friend comments. I don't ask further what is that Isaura DeSlahve he's talking about - I just listen to his voice getting progressively more energetic. – And may I tell you, that thing was genius. So I expect a lot.
Well, I don't. I look at the screen and let the plot sink into me - two men fall in love. After years, after they have their own families, they reunite and–
And they cheat on their wives...
– Greg – I plead. – Greg, turn it off.
He pauses instead.
– What. – That bad-weather tone again - but now, he sounds angry.
– I don't like where the plot goes. – I twist the coverlet's hem around my index. – They– they hurt their families. That's... – A stitch rips under my finger and I panic more. My heart beats harder again. – That's wrong.
– Rowley. – He sighs out my name wearily, now in a voice of my Dad when he gets tired of my questions and fears. – I can't believe I'm the one telling you that, but... they don't love them. They love each other.
– But they hurt their wives. And children. You don't hurt your family. You don't want or start a family to hurt them like this. – I feel myself fidgeting a little. – And even if you don't want any of this... then maybe just control yourself. – A tear actually falls on my cheek. It's random and feels too rapid. I blink it away and I gulp, slightly calmer. – Maybe do what's right for everybody else. And not do something that makes you trapped.
Greg shakes his head slowly.
– I can't believe it. – He sighs once more. – It's personal for ya', isn't it?
I don't respond after a second, not after two, too... I "mhm" back after seven seconds in total.
– Rowleeey... – He groans. – This movie's fiction. It is not about us. You don't have any family to cheat on or betray. – His finger points at my heart. – And these guys? They hurt themselves pretending they're perfect and straight dads and husbands. That's worse than hurting everybody to finally feel okay.
I tear up again. I realize why do I like Greg - he's smart. He tells me really wise things. He explains my fears out.
– Why are you so nice? – I ask. It sounds like a sob.
– I was? My God, definitely wasn't my intent. – He gasps with hyperbolic disdain and I giggle. He turns a bit more serious a moment later. – I just wanted you to quiet down and let me enjoy my movie. Could you? – Greg doesn't seem too mad, it's just his usual surface-level bite. I nod along.
We both turn silent, but I think hard about what I heard. Is it better to do what you like doing instead of complying to everyone's thoughts? It's quite hypocritical that it's him telling me that - he's always so worried about what people think of him and, weridly, of me too. He has enough jealousy and upset to cover both of us – which he does, oh, he does so often.
Today is a bit different, though. I feel my said best friend get closer to me as the movie is repaused. He knows nobody sees. He knows he can afford being open now and I'm not very happy he thinks that for both of us - because I'm eaten by worry.
Is it better to do things that are true of you if you hurt everybody in the process? It gnaws at me - Mom and Dad never really go too deep into that kind of dilemma when they explain me how people work. I need to talk it out more.
But I don't say anything. I try very hard to stop myself, but I just have to-!
– Can we talk? – I apologize to Greg telepathically as I pipe up, but as we both know - our connection is not strong enough to talk trough brains.
– Now? – I nod. – About the movie? – I shrug. He groans under his breath. – It's 20 minutes until the end. I'm sure you will last.
More silence, except from the movie soundtrack and dialogues. Now I'm the one to pull closer - just two inches, but two inches of lesser distance in talk. My ex-boyfriend doesn't pay attention to that.
At least I think like that for a second. Because in a glimpse I feel fingers squishing the top of my hand.
Greg stops looking at the screen. I look back at him, albeit not for long. The werid, hard choice, the total contrast appears like a halo over us - what you want versus what you should.
I should be honest. That's all I know.
– Hey, um. – I speak quietly. – Do you actually think that? – He furrows his brows, confused. I clear up: – Do you really believe it's okay to do what you want, even if it makes you feel gulity for hurting people? And that it hurts people?
He locks his veery wise, veeery philosophical stare at the ending scenes, as if he's about to say something deeply cinematic and historic himself.
– Fuck yes. – A smile twists the corners of his mouth. I gasp at the direct answer. – What? You thought I need to listen to everybody at all times? You think you need to? – The screen turns black-and-white with rolling credits and a thought flashes in my head - that it's fitting for the atmosphere.
– I could use that... – I mumble. I get laughed at with a beautiful, pitying falsetto.
– You idiot. You literally cry over the dumbest things ever. – Greg chuckles some more. He seems... empatethic. – If I were to weep over random imaginary romantic relationships... dude, I swear, I'd end up with depression. Or real ones, God forbid. Jesus, that'd cost me a visit in a mental hospital.
I feel supported. I get even closer. I want to hug him... but not before an one thing I want to tell.
– It's not really random. I, uh... – I chant "dumb, dumb" at myself in my brain as I'm saying this. I really feel stupid for this. – Look, I know it's funny, but I'm afraid that I hurt my future family by being with you.
Greg bursts into more laughter.
– I haven't finished! – With a cry, I continue shyly – It's just... I always thought it's going to be me and my girlfriend, and not... you. And by dating you... I cheat on that idea of my girlfriend.
His cackle returns, but it's very strained.
– She doesn't exist. Your future family doesn't exist. – He calms me down once more. – You're not cheating on anybody or hurting anybody. Maybe me at best, with your idiotic theories that help no one. – I'm a little touched by that, both positively and negatively. Mostly positively. But I don't know.
I don't know what to think, so I do instead - I hug him. I forget about that I was supposed to be platonic with him today, but I like him too much to force myself to be better than my feelings.
He squirms a little, but reciprocates my gesture. I feel his hands tapping on my back.
– Okay, okay, I get it–! You're glad to be gay for me! – He chokes out once more. – If you want to do something gay, then maybe use better torture methods than hugs–!
I squeeze him harder for a second and pull away. Instead of a laugh, a happy tear spawns on my cheek; Greg looks a bit perplexed by my reaction, but gets an idea quickly - and gets closer to kiss the little droplet away.
– That's a better torture method, for example. – He's very red on the face and appears embarassed. – I saw it in a movie, wanted to try.
I scratch the back of my head. I probably am as flustered as him, possibly even more, when I blurt out:
– In this "Brokebacked Mountain"?
Oh gee, I'm dead; my be- boyfriend looks at me with utter disappointment and almost cracks his knuckles to wham me in the head. His mouth forms a long, straight line.
– Have you paid even one minute of attention to what we just watched? Oh, you poor dullard! – He hides his forehead in hands for a moment; if he had more space and a table, he'd bang it against that countertop. But he's more patience than that - he just sighs some more. – You just simply can't concentrate on more than one thing at a time, right? – I "mhm" as an answer. He softens. – Eh, poor lil' hammerhead. It's okay.
I just chuckle at myself. Greg joins in. Then, we laugh at nothing in particular - just to do it together.
– I think I changed my mind. – I breathe out. – I don't want to take breaks.
– So I were right. Just a phase, and now back to square one. – He tilts his head at me and smiles with some anticipation - I have to guess what he's on about. I parrot him, except I frown confused. We stare some more until my boyfriend retreats and says: – To my room. Cuddles.
I grin and now I'm the one to lead upstairs. I don't even mind that I accidentally stepped on a spoiled yoghurt can on my way out. I just go auto-pilot back to the blue room that feels a bit more familiar, more comforting again. Greg closely follows my steps and allows himself to fool around and pinch my back when we walk up on the second floor.
And I allow myself to love the silent moment in a locked (I remembered!) safe space, when we lie down on the bed, with my head on my boyfriend's chest and his arms around me - engaging in his four favorite activity: cuddling.
It's lovely. It's snug. It anchors me. I stop thinking about what my Mom or Dad or anybody else would say about this, about my future and promises and expectations. I stop thinking, really.
What I do may be wrong, but it helps me a lot. I think I just need to be around that somebody that laughs at catastrophe movies and has no respect for anybody - I just cannot imagine it any other way. What girlfriend and family?
Little me was right, my family is already here, lying down with me right now.
–– [ALTERNATIVE EXTENDED ENDING]Curiosity gets ahead of me.
– Greg, why were you so understanding? It's different for you... – I murmur.
– What do you mean? I'm always the coolest boyfriend ever. – I snort in response. He gets a bit more serious and corrects his right hand's position - it goes from my back to his chest. – But actually, I were thinking about that one time when we sat together in my backyard. Just got kinda... – The same right hand makes a circular move. –...more okay with us.
–'Kaaaay... – I respond enlightened and yawn. – The world is really changing, then.
Now Greg was the one to laugh.
––
Dear Diary!
I feel much better. Well, aside from the fact I also feel stupid for not believing in "love is love" (hello? I have that pinned on the board and I ignored it?) - it's better. What Greg told me - that what I like should be more important than what everybody else expects from me - is really true. I don't hurt anyone - if I do? I'm really sorry, then, but it's more complicated than normal good VS evil, right VS wrong choice.
Okay, no more philosophy! I feel good enough to go on an outside date and tell everybody who I am - but it's, again, complicated...
NO MORE BAD THOUGHTS! LOVE IS LOVE!
––
[the fun]
Hi! Want TG Oa3n4eT15?
[the destroyer of fun]
Don't cipher-text me 9 in the morning! Too early!
What did that mean, again? I don't have the explanation card with me RN.
[the fun]
Outside date, mall, today at 3 PM!
[the destroyer of fun]
Hmm... nah, I'll pass.
Not in the mood to get crucified there. And to be gay publically - too much shame
–
I don't get irony usually, but now I see it and find it super funny. A turn of tables, huh? One of us always has to be embarassed for dating the other - looks like a world rule to me.
That's why I type back:
[the fun]
HAHA
I get it - it's the homophobic period
You'll get thru it GG! We're going to be out, proud and gay some other day. In the meantime - we can hide and pretend a bit like those Brokeback guys. So, my place, date in secret?
Ping!
[the destroyer of fun]
Your place, date in secret.
Ia3s4eT15
I smile.
There is nothing to be ashamed about, just like we both said. And I don't feel trapped - it's actually the opposite. Freedom.