Shades of Gray

boy

a boy looks at his mom. he's wondering what his life will be like ten, twenty years from now. will he get married? have kids? will he be a  doctor and save lives? will he write the great american novel? 

 

boy grows up. he has a crush on a girl. he's popular. does well in class. everything is wonderful. he's happy. except when he's not. except when he notices something's different.

 

boy goes into the military. he's a good soldier. a paratrooper. he jumps off planes, fires m-16s. he's strong, muscular, driven. he's happy with himself. except when he's not. he knows. he's nothing like his fellow soldiers. he feels like a fraud.

 

his friends talk about the girls back home. they have stories of prom nights that end on the back seat of pickup trucks, heels over head. he has no stories to speak of, so he makes them up. he's a good storyteller. his friends call him "the stud." he feels like a fraud.

 

he immerses himself further in his duties. excels. he's stronger, faster, more focused than any of his colleagues. he gets noticed. his immediate officer takes a liking to him. becomes his mentor.

 

they talk a lot, he and his officer. long conversations about life. grown up stuff. they talk late at night when everyone else has gone to bed. at one point, as they're having one of their chats, boy falls asleep. just like that. mid-sentence. he's tired, hasn't slept in days. as he wakes up, his officer is kissing him. it feels good. he no longer feels like a fraud.

 

they move in together. a nice two-bedroom apartment. things go well. boy learns to live and love. boy learns to like himself. life is good. until it isn't. fights. cheating. yelling. tears. boy moves out.

 

boy moves on. he has other boyfriends, great boyfriends. he learns the meaning of true love. he gets his heart broken once, then a second time. in the process boy becomes a man.

 

he goes to college, then graduate school. finishes both with honors. he gets a great job, then a better one. he's good at what he does. the promotions come one after another. then he gets his big break. he's a star now. famous. he's happy with how life turned out. except when he's not.

 

he's 38, almost 39. he has no boyfriend. hasn't had one in years. he can't remember the last time anyone's made his heart race. what it feels like waking up with someone in bed. weeks turn into months, months turn to years. he's worried. he's worried that if he doesn't do something to break the cycle he'll find himself an old man, alone, with nothing to show for but a stupid career.

 

he looks in the mirror. there are still no wrinkles. no gray hairs. he looks good. better than good. the years have been kind to him. he should be happy. he should be jumping with joy.

 

instead he wonders what his life will be like ten, twenty years from now. will he get married? will he have kids? will he ever write that great american novel?

a boy looks at his mom. he's wondering what his life will be like ten, twenty years from now. will he get married? have kids? will he be a  doctor and save lives? will he write the great american novel? 

 

boy grows up. he has a crush on a girl. he's popular. does well in class. everything is wonderful. he's happy. except when he's not. except when he notices something's different.

 

boy goes into the military. he's a good soldier. a paratrooper. he jumps off planes, fires m-16s. he's strong, muscular, driven. he's happy with himself. except when he's not. he knows. he's nothing like his fellow soldiers. he feels like a fraud.

 

his friends talk about the girls back home. they have stories of prom nights that end on the back seat of pickup trucks, heels over head. he has no stories to speak of, so he makes them up. he's a good storyteller. his friends call him "the stud." he feels like a fraud.

 

he immerses himself further in his duties. excels. he's stronger, faster, more focused than any of his colleagues. he gets noticed. his immediate officer takes a liking to him. becomes his mentor.

 

they talk a lot, he and his officer. long conversations about life. grown up stuff. they talk late at night when everyone else has gone to bed. at one point, as they're having one of their chats, boy falls asleep. just like that. mid-sentence. he's tired, hasn't slept in days. as he wakes up, his officer is kissing him. it feels good. he no longer feels like a fraud.

 

they move in together. a nice two-bedroom apartment. things go well. boy learns to live and love. boy learns to like himself. life is good. until it isn't. fights. cheating. yelling. tears. boy moves out.

 

boy moves on. he has other boyfriends, great boyfriends. he learns the meaning of true love. he gets his heart broken once, then a second time. in the process boy becomes a man.

 

he goes to college, then graduate school. finishes both with honors. he gets a great job, then a better one. he's good at what he does. the promotions come one after another. then he gets his big break. he's a star now. famous. he's happy with how life turned out. except when he's not.

 

he's 38, almost 39. he has no boyfriend. hasn't had one in years. he can't remember the last time anyone's made his heart race. what it feels like waking up with someone in bed. weeks turn into months, months turn to years. he's worried. he's worried that if he doesn't do something to break the cycle he'll find himself an old man, alone, with nothing to show for but a stupid career.

 

he looks in the mirror. there are still no wrinkles. no gray hairs. he looks good. better than good. the years have been kind to him. he should be happy. he should be jumping with joy.

 

instead he wonders what his life will be like ten, twenty years from now. will he get married? will he have kids? will he ever write that great american novel?

the sexy eyes

i noticed it this morning. i got the sexy eyes. yep, the sexy eyes. that's when everyone starts looking like lorenzo lamas. oh sure, it's innocent enough at first. a world full of good-looking people. but don't be fooled. ain't nothin' but trouble. you see, looking at the world through the sexy eyes is like having your beer goggles on, only you're sober. and therein lies the problem. when you're drunk you're somewhat aware you've entered risk-taking territory. you (hopefully) know to second-guess your choices. you're prepared that if when you wake up in the morning and there's a stranger in your bed, he may not be calendar material. not so with the sexy eyes. they come without warning. which is why the moment i even suspect i may have them, i find the first cute(ish) guy and scratch the itch. it may sound a bit rash, slutty even. but walking around with the sexy eyes can lead to some rather undesirable consequences. like going into an ihop when you're on a strict low-carb diet, it always leads to unhealthy forking.

come round my little pretties. daddy gonna tell you a story.

the year was 2010 and ethan, who was much younger and handsomer back then, was trying to be good. yes, he had realized that hopping from one bed to another wasn't quite producing the fairy-tale ending he was looking for. so one day he made up his mind to stop whoring around and start having more respect for himself. basically, he turned into a girl. he decided to try this thing called “dating.” what's that you ask? well, apparently it's when you wait to have a conversation, maybe even a meal BEFORE getting popped (hey, sometimes you just need to get popped, so sue me). so little e. said goodbye to all his friends (who were big whores as well), packed up his things and went out to seek his perfect mate. he decided he would take things slow. he would only sleep with someone if a) it was at least a third date b) the man had something interesting to say, and c) the candidate wasn't a total slut just looking for a nice piece of ass (um, hello...have you seen it?). for months (ok maybe it was weeks, but still) ethan searched and searched and searched and searched. he went up the (murray) hill and down to the (west) village. north (of little italy) and south (of houston). no prince in sight. but even though he felt a tad lonely, he realized he was actually happy. he was doing something. he was changing his fate. he was surprised to find that not having sex wasn't as bad as he had thought. he had more time to do the things that he loved, like reading books and working out. for a minute he wondered, "why didn't i try this earlier?" he was still a bit annoyed at not finding mr. charming but thought, “well maybe now that i'm not looking, he'll just show up. like they do in the movies.” for a moment, life was full of possibilities. then one day ethan got the sexy eyes. at first he didn't know what to make of it. everyone around him was beautiful. it was intoxicating. nothing he'd ever experienced in his young life. he marveled at the pretty creatures around him. it was during that time when ethan met tim. tim was ogre. but because ethan was afflicted with the sexy eyes, he seemed handsome to him, dashing even. ethan and tim went out to dinner. they had a wonderful time. it was one of those perfect dates. sparks bouncing off the walls. ethan looked at tim and couldn't help but smile. but even though ethan wanted to sleep with tim (badly) he didn't. he stayed true to his promise. he would only sleep with tim after the third date. two full dates had gone by, and ethan and tim were still going strong. strolls through the park, hand-holding at the movies, talks about a trip to land called la-la. things were great. then it finally came, their third date. ethan could hold no longer. he was nervous and happy and filled with anticipation. could it be? did he manage to cheat his fate? all he could think of was getting in bed with tim, being naked with him. it had been months since he'd been with anyone (ok weeks, but still). they went over to tim's place, got undressed and after a little foreplay eventually consumated their relationship. when ethan woke up in the morning something was different. he looked at tim and didn't think he was at all charming (or good-looking for that matter). then he noticed things he'd never seen before. when tim ate, he chewed with his mouth open. he smelled kind of funny, and he wasn't interesting at all, in fact he was rather boring. at first ethan worried that maybe he'd lost interest simply because they had sex. but then it dawned on him, tim was an ogre. he had been under a spell this entire time. the spell of the sexy eyes. he hadn't found prince charming. he was just really really horny. from that moment on, ethan went back to his merry whorish ways. he realized that not having sex for a long time may sound nice, but having sex sounds nicer. he understood that the act of fornication isn't the end of a possible relationship, it's the beginning. and so he vowed to always be true to his libido, and never buy the car dinner before taking it out for a test-drive. the end. now excuse me boys and girls, there's a nice kid at the coffee shop giving me the look. he's cute, he's blond, and he's got a pulse. he's a sight for sore eyes. a cure for the sexy eyes.

a date at a coffee shop

let me set the scene for you. i'm at a coffee shop in the west village. one of them arrogant places that don't care for credit cards or wi-fi. but they have amazing coffee and no tv which is exactly what i'm looking for. it's nice, warm, comfortable. i'm sitting at a corner table facing an angry-looking, latte-drinking, black-clothes wearing, couldn't-give-a-fuck new-york crowd. it's perfect. still, it's been a while so i'm a tad nervous. keep checking my hair in the mirror, telling myself for the unmpteenth time that i look just fine. and i do. got my fuck-me jeans on (you know the ones that hug your butt just right), a tight white t-shirt, and my lucky underwear. i look around one last time, take a deep breath, then pull out my laptop and turn it on. i'm ready for my date with writing.

seriouslty, that's what i'm calling it. figure if i'm to woo the muses, i've gotta do it right. truth be told, i'm worried. terrified really. i think it's why i stopped writing. got caught in a swirling undercurrent of fear and hubris. the more readers i had, the stronger the current. who's reading? what do they think? will they be disappointed? will i be able to top my last story? and that, as any writer will tell you, is the surest way to losing your mojo. you see, writing is a lot like dating. we want what we can't have. the moment we get it, we move on. sad but true. the moment i started caring about what other people thought about my writing, my muse, mojo, talent, whatever you want to call it, got bored and dumped me. so now i'm using every trick in the book to regain my coolness, get back my attitude. i stare at the screen, that blank screen that's had me so scared and, as always, it looks at me with disgust. it's mocking me. it's a fucking bully.

screen: “so you want a piece of me?”

me (petrified): “yeah i do. what are you going to do about it?”

screen: “same thing i always do, kick your ass, show you who's boss, then send you home with your tail between your legs.”

me: “i'm not scared of you this time..." (I really am).

screen: “oh yeah? why's that? you found a spine to go with that vagina?”

me: “you're an ass.”

screen: “you're boring.”

me: “aww. i'm devastated. laptops... such a fickle, sophisticated crowd. especially you cheap 300-dollar netbooks.”

and with that, i feel my fears start to evaporate, my shoulders rising ever so slightly. i'm not intimidated anymore.

screen: “that the best you got? is this how you're planning on winning back your readers? uninspiring. you're uninspiring.”

me: “hmm. maybe i should trade you in for one of them shinny ipads. maybe then i'll be more inspiring.”

i tell my friend about my one-flew-over-the-cuckoo's-nest fight with my laptop, my fear of writing.

 

“you're worried about of what people may think of your writing? then write something filthy. that'll cure all your fears. the filthier the better.”

smile. filthy. sounds about right.

TO BE CONTINUED...

miss me?

should have never stopped. should have been more appreciative. turns out you don't own your talent. it's more of a renter. you're lucky if you get a two-year lease. i was fortunate to tap into it for as long as i did. like a surfer riding a really good wave. now i'm desperately searching for the next big tide. no wind in sight.

used to be a pretty good writer. had a popular blog with thousands of readers. beautiful short stories about love that came with little or no effort. then, just like that they stopped showing up. i'd sit in front of the computer and stare at an empty screen. for a long time i searched for that elusive magic. nothing but utter darkness. until one day i stopped trying. writers call it a block. it felt more like an abandonment. poof. maybe my muse got bored, moved on to someone hotter, more interesting. well, i'm determined to woo him back (what? i'm gay. my muse has a penis). i've been meditating (if you knew me you'd realize how huge that is, all that light within bullshit makes me want to hurl). but alas, i've reached the point of desperation. no pride, no shame. like a man trying to win back an ex-boyfriend, groveling is my starting point. a friend told me, "just write. don't think. don't look back. let your thoughts hit the page." and so that's what i'm doing. typing away without a care in the world. and so to you, my apologies. you get to read my raw, unedited unpolished thoughts. no fixing, no cleaning up, no trying to be clever. I'm taking off my literary makeup. i warn you, it ain't pretty, but it is real. nice to meet you. i'm ethan by the way. who the fuck are you?