I kept...running

When they turned and saw that I had seen them, I started running as fast as I could. I can remember in that moment feeling a lot of emotions, but in particular I felt very scattered. How could it be that Neil and Jason (yes, my mom swears there were no other kids named Jason when she named me...at least one other in every class in school) were "sneaking" around and also bullying me along with a host of others? Later in my life I found out that in a lot of cases, the ones who are the most vocal (in a negative way) and violent toward gay people are the ones who are usually "messing around in secret". I like to call it fear of being true to oneself. Nonetheless, Neil and Jason caught up with me and Neil threw his backpack at me to knock me down. Once I was on the ground Jason started kicking me on the side, and said "if you tell anyone what you just saw we will beat you up worse". Neil had his hand on my throat and kept saying if you tell anyone we are going to hurt you. They meant it too-and I knew that there was no way any of their comrades would believe a word I said, I was after all the "gay kid".

The following weeks would be some of the worst weeks of my eighth grade year. After discovering these two guys and their "secret" I felt, somewhat relieved that I wasn't the only one who had these feelings. Yet, at the same time-I wanted to run screaming through the halls telling everyone I saw-that Neil and Jason were the same as me. I didn't do that. Instead I endured several more weeks worth of being thrown into lockers, kicked from behind, laughed at, threatened with my life and being "told on" for things I never did.

There was one friend who I made in the eighth grade who would stick by me until our Freshman year in high school, when she moved away. Michelle, was a lovely black girl-who had the voice of an angel. She could sing anything she wanted, and make the most beautiful music. She would meet me every morning in the hallway before school started and we would laugh, share stories, and sometimes bust out singing. Michelle "got me" and understood that I was a lovable person even though I was gay. She would always encourage me when she could tell I was down, and would always tell me "believe that you can be who you are always". Michelle was different, she came from a family deeply rooted in their faith-but a family who believed in the value of people. It was evident. I told Michelle one morning that it was so hard to endure this torment everyday and that it would be "alot easier if I just didn't have to be here". I remember, from that point, she used to call me every day to make sure I was okay-and if I didn't show up to school because I was sick, she would call me and make sure I hadn't done "something". Maybe-just maybe we are entertaining angels unaware?