The letter you always wanted to write
The Guardian
6 June 2015
I looked you up when I was visiting my folks after many years away from home. As teenagers we’d been inseparable, though now I hadn’t seen you in nearly 30 years. I’d always felt badly about the way our friendship ended, when our closeness became physical and at 16 I was scared and confused about my feelings for you. We became awkward with each other. Our friendship never recovered and we grew apart.
Social media revealed that you were still in our hometown, married with three kids. You looked to have a boisterous, active family, involved in many groups and church functions. You looked happy. When I friended you on Facebook, you responded within a few minutes and offered to meet me for lunch.
When I saw you again, the tall, lanky boy I’d known had been replaced by a huge bear of a man, dusty from his job, which had something to do with moving rocks. I hadn’t been surprised that you were married. Lots of straight men experiment in high school. I was taken aback, then, when your first words to me were: “I’ve waited 30 years for you to call.”
At lunch, I talked about my life, my years in Los Angeles, San Francisco and New York, and my new life in the UK with my husband of 10 years. You listened intently and when you responded it was with the voice of a man unused to talking about himself. You marvelled at my bravery at coming out at 18 and talked of your loneliness and frustration in your marriage to a woman you never loved. You spoke of your secret meetings with men, which left you feeling dirty and guilty. Your wife had found out; it had been messy. You wondered how different your life may have been if I hadn’t turned you away, how with me you might have found the courage to come out.
It became clear as we talked that you blamed me for the way your life had turned out and that you were jealous of the life I had created for myself. You accused me of embarking on a life of adventure and of leaving you behind. With all the progress the world has made, I had forgotten that there were still men who lived their lives in fear of what they were and your sadness stayed with me for days.
I knew that I wasn’t responsible for the choices you had made, but I tried to be a friend. We stayed in touch for a while and I tried to help you find a practical solution to your situation. You claim your wife would never agree to a divorce, that you could never leave your boys. You see any possibility of changing your life as impossible and you continue to see this as somehow my fault.
I cannot accept that burden. Your emails have left me sad and frustrated, so I’ve stopped answering them. I’m grateful to live in a world where I can live openly and happily as a gay man. I’ve had my own struggles and path to forge, and I’m proud of what I’ve achieved. I’m sorry you feel that it is too late for you. I hope you find peace and happiness, but I can’t fix you.
Anonymous
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"Fear Eats the Soul"
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