I first started thinking about becoming a writer back in high school. I loved the way stories took me out of myself. I loved the way they helped me see life in different ways. And I loved how they helped me connect to others, helped me see things from different perspectives, consider things I would normally overlook. Even the most cruel and evil villains are driven by something, and if you know their story, you can understand them, and their villainy becomes tragedy, a tale of an otherwise good and decent person who went wrong after experiencing something that might sour any one of us. A good story is magic. A good story can help us make sense of life, and I was a confused, scared, lonely kid who felt left out, so I guess I hoped writing would help me find my way.
A lot of story ideas popped into my head, but they never went anywhere. I could consider them for a few minutes, but then they would fizzle out. The first idea that took root and stayed with me for a number of years dropped into my conscious mind during my senior year of high school. I was aware that graduation was looming and that everything would be different afterwards, so I came up with a story that centered around graduation.
I imagined that I had a secret boyfriend who went to school with me. He wasn’t the hottest guy in class or the most popular, but I knew how kind and sincere he was, and I could relax when I was alone with him. He was my Ponyboy.
We always played it cool when other people were around, especially at school. Most knew we were friends, but we didn’t let on that we were even that close, so it would have been a shock if anyone found out we were lovers. We met in private…along country roads outside of town, in the homes of recently deceased relatives and local parks. As graduation day got closer, we began to talk more about what we would like to do once we were free to leave town. We decided that we should run away together, and in the spring of 1984, we worked out the details of our plan.
We would go to our graduation ceremony, and then we would tell our families we were going to one of the graduation parties. But instead of going to a party, we would meet at a nearby state park, one of our favorite rendezvous points. And from there we would slip quietly away from all of those who didn’t understand us, those who shamed us, and those who would judge us for loving and needing each other.
I tried writing this story a number of times. I even attempted to write it a few times after I went away to college. That germ of an idea really resonated with me. But I guess I could never make it work because I didn’t really know what it was like to have a boyfriend, and the possibility of having one seemed so remote that I couldn’t imagine the details. I also couldn’t imagine what we would do after running away. Where would we go? What would we do for money? Would we go to college together? Would we be out? Or would we continue to keep our relationship secret? Back then the idea of telling people I was gay seemed impossibly scary. Would we eventually contact our parents? Would we tell them we were together?
So many plot points tripped me up. I had hoped that simply by getting started that the answers would come to me, but they didn’t. I lacked the vision, and deep down, I don’t think I really believed there were any sweet and adorable boys in this world who would love me so much as to want to run away with me. Eventually my high school years receded into the past, and my dream of having a high school boyfriend faded away.
But my dream of having a high school boyfriend never completely disappeared. I can still see glimpses of him now and then. And I’m older and I feel a lot more sympathy for the young man that I used to be. I believe that he did deserve a boyfriend, someone sweet, cute, adorable and sincere. Maybe one day I’ll write that story for him and give him the happy, romantic ending he wanted.
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