Chapter 6 – Chapter 6

Part Six

The last weekend of Mace's summer brought his friend, Freddie, to visit. I planned to have dinner with them on Friday night and then drive to Chicago for the weekend so I could reaffirm my heterosexuality and they could play golf and catch up. When I met Freddie, I changed my plans, at least in my mind. He was the most attractive man I had ever seen in real life. He had unkempt, curly brown hair, twinkly eyes, and a broad smile that eroded volition. I should have, but I did not trust him and Mace alone for a weekend.

When I took Mace that night, I imagined I was Freddie, delivering myself to him. I took as long as I could, sliding in and out of him as slowly and as sweetly as I could.

When Mace took me the next morning, I lost my discipline. I urged Mace on and certainly betrayed to Freddie that one of us was fucking the other behind closed doors.

I surprised Mace by staying in St. Louis. I could not bear the idea of being without him.

As I fucked Mace that night, I realized I was in trouble. I knew we could not go on like this forever, but I also knew that I wanted to. I was lost in this thing, undisciplined where I never had been before.

I was being forced into honesty unlike ever before. When Mace thanked me for loving him, I admitted it was the easiest thing I had ever done. When Mace told me he would be lost without me, I begged him to "never let me go." I meant it. I knew the vision I had of who I was and where I was going was inconsistent with a life with Mace, so I would bolt – or at least try to bolt – at some point. I hoped that, when I did, Mace would be strong enough to pull me back, to anchor me to him, to convince me of what I knew, that life with him was better than life without him, no matter what a life with him meant.

I toyed with the idea of life with Mace longer than I expected. We spent my third year of law school together. We pretended our friends did not recognize what was plainly visible to them, namely that Mace and I were in love with each other.

We thought about Mace spending his third year at Georgetown. He was willing, as he fully embraced the idea of us. I balked at the last minute, fearing it would be tantamount to a public declaration. Really, it could not have been anything else. No matter how close the friendship, men did not move halfway across the country for each other if they were not lovers. I would not allow Mace be a Hoya, not matter how much I wanted him to be.

We went to Mexico together. While there, Mace told me he had blown Freddie. I could not blame him. I would have, too. I was jealous, not angry. I was titillated when he told me the details of it.

I moved to D.C. It was easier to delude myself about Mace when he was not in front of me every day. Before, every time I thought I could quit him, his eyes and his smile convinced me otherwise. I loved his voice, but it did not have the same effect on me when he was miles away.

By the time he visited for Spring Break, I had talked myself into the conclusion it was time for me to leave childish pursuits behind and to move to the next stage of my life. I wanted Mace to be part of that stage, but not the star of it. I was returning to the narrow and straight, once again. I would like to write that I decided Mace deserved more than I could ever give him, but I had not. I thought of myself, not of him.

"You can't have it all," he said. "I'm not going to be your plaything."

"I know," I answered. "You have made that clear. . . . Sometimes, I want to grab you, steal away to an island, and live happily ever after."

"We don't have to go to an island to live happily ever after."

"We do."

It was a different time. Gay was still profoundly out of the mainstream. Being gay limited choices, closed options, ruined careers and relationships. There were glimmers of hope, but it was, for far too many people, a life altering declaration that could never be undone. Mace was strong enough to endure that declaration. I was not. I would not risk who I planned to be. I would not risk my relationship with my partners. I would not forsake my friends.

"Mace, I am not gay," I protested. "You may be, but I am not. I just cannot be."

Mace left the next day. I cried as he did. I knew what I had to do, and it broke my heart to do it.

I called Mace that night. Although I did not want to, I told him what I had decided. I hoped he could and would convince me I was wrong. He did not. He barely tried. He was not as strong as I had encouraged him to be.

*****

I do not recall much of the next two months. I sleepwalked through the days. My cowardice disgusted me, and I was heartbroken at the loss of Mace.

When Vi visited, she reminded me of Mace. I associated the two of them. For a long time, I had imagined him when I was inside of her. I let her go, too.

Almost every day, I picked up the telephone to call Mace. I always put it back down.

I hoped every time my telephone rang that it was he. It never was.

No matter how hard I tried, I could not not think about him. I started seeing him in every blond man I encountered.

I gave in. I bought a ticket and traveled to his graduation.

My heart swelled when Mace turned toward me. I wanted to run to him, tell him I was sorry for abandoning him, and insist I wanted exactly what he wanted for us.

I waited for him to come to me. I could not lay myself bare. I was anxious about his reaction to my unannounced return.

Mace's touch resolved my anxiety. We left the hall. We kissed. In that kiss, I tried to share every thought I was thinking, to resolve every doubt I had.

We hurried back to his apartment to make love. I was as needy as I had ever been. It was better than it had ever been.

For awhile, my doubts were gone. We easily returned to John and Mace, Josie and the Carrot. I looked forward to our life together.

Still, I could not help but feel that all eyes were on us, seeing us for what we truly were. I could not stand the scrutiny. I could not be what we were.

When Mace tried to take my hand in a restaurant, I instinctively pulled it back.

When Mace wrote "I love you" on a note or in a letter, I shredded it.

When Mace leaned his head against my shoulder as we walked, I could not help but veer off.

I was a coward and weak. I wanted Mace, but only on my terms, out of the public eye, hidden in plain view.

I knew Mace would accept those limitations for awhile. But, I also knew that, at some point, he would force me to choose. I knew what I would choose. In the end, I did not really have a choice. I could not reject years of breeding and years of dreaming. I would not choose a forbidden life.

It took Mace less than a year to force the issue. We were at Freddie's wedding, and Mace got caught up in the moment. He asked if I would marry him if I could. I wanted to say yes. More than anything, I wanted to say yes.

It would have been a lie. I would not marry him. Even if I could, I would not. I was not ready for that for which the world was not ready. I was not comfortable on the high dive, where all the world could see me. I could not escape what I expected for myself.

He had to know what I would answer before he asked. He had to be testing me. I knew I was failing as I said something other than "yes."

We made love to each other. I knew it was the end. I did not want it to be, but I knew it was. I wanted to hold on. I wanted to convince Mace that catching each other here and there would work, that we could make a life through bits and pieces. But, I knew I never could. What I thought would be enough for me would never be enough for him.

I let him go. To be fair to Mace. To let him chase his dream. Unlike the last time, I thought of him, not of me.