Brayden had dropped out of high school his senior year. He had grown used to the rumors and putdowns, but one day someone wrote “fag” on his locker in large letters with a black marker, and the next day, a group of football players cornered him in the boys room so they could berate and threaten him. He no longer felt safe, so he quit.
He soon got a job at Burger King and he earned his GED. Two years had passed, and Brayden was becoming restless. His mother was always after him to make something of his life, too. But he didn’t know if he was cut out for college, and going into the mines or joining a local construction crew would have required that he work along side the same type of young men who had made his life hell while he was in school.
He had met someone online soon after he dropped out. Isaac was a twenty-six-year old youth minister with a wife and two kids, but he somehow found the time to chat with Brayden for one or two hours almost every evening. Isaac knew he was gay when he was thirteen, but he was told that it was a sin, so he tried to change. He lost his faith soon after he got married. Isaac claimed that Brayden was the only one he could trust.
That night, Brayden snuck out of his mother’s house because Isaac had finally agreed to meet him by the tracks leading outside of town. He told the man that he didn’t expect anything and that he only wanted to see him. Of course, he hoped that the encounter would result in him finally losing his virginity, and he wanted a chance to persuade Isaac to leave the state with him at some point in the future. He wanted the two of them to go someplace where they could live together as a couple. But after waiting two hours, it was becoming increasingly obvious that Isaac had lost his nerve.
Fictional Short Story by Gary Cottle.
Photographer and subject unknown.
To all of those who claim I should substitute my own judgment with their dogma before I can be thought of as good and worthy, the answer is NO! I come from the fundie land of West Virginia, and I know a bible thumper when I see one. One does not have to be a Christian to be a bible thumper. Nor does one have to use their bible. The lawmakers, the would-be authoritarians can spring up in any group. It is a common personality type. They are like poisonous weeds. They flourish because thinking for yourself is hard, and the “saved” vs. “unsaved” mentality is beguiling. But I will not fall for it. So get out of here with your “musts” and “shoulds” and your threats of condemnation. I will not serve your ego.
I am a man, and I am afraid. I’m tired of being told I should be ashamed for admitting this and that my fears are of no or little consequence because I’m male. I’m afraid to leave my apartment alone after dark. I’m afraid in the daytime, too, but usually to a lesser extent. I don’t have a car, but if I did, I would be afraid to walk to it at night if it was parked in a deserted parking lot or parking garage. When I see pictures of people with semiautomatic guns in restaurants and stores, I’m afraid. I hope I never encounter that in person. Earlier today, a ran across a story of a man who discovered he had a brain tumor after being pistol whipped. I related to him because I, too, had a brain tumor. I also related to him because he was a victim of violence and he is a man. Thankfully, my brain tumor was discovered in time without me having to experience anything as traumatic as being pistol whipped. The world is not a safe place for any of us no matter if we’re male or female.
I was terribly afraid when I was a boy, especially while at school. Boys regularly got into fights. Threats and intimidation were common. Weaker boys were often abused daily for years. And everyone seemed to expect this and accepted it. The kids accepted it. The parents accepted it. The teachers accepted it. I’d say that less than 10% of the assaults and the threats of violence were reported, and that’s because everyone knew that usually nothing would be done and telling could very well make things worse if you were a victim.
We tell men and boys who are victims and those who are afraid of becoming victims that they should stop whining and “man up.” We tell them to learn how to fight and to defend themselves. We tell them that “real men” don’t ask for help. We tell them that “real men” aren’t afraid. We tell them that “real men” don’t allow themselves to become victims. But I don’t want to learn how to fight. I don’t want huge muscles. I don’t want to buy a gun. And I have no interest in pretending I’m a warrior or a cowboy.
