Binge

  But back to our Scrabble date—we went to our respective dorm rooms and changed into sweatpants. I set up the Scrabble board, and as Adam walked through our connecting bathroom into my room, he put on Céline Dion’s greatest-hits album. He plopped onto my nine-by-nine-foot, custom-dorm-room-cut, navy carpet, leaned forward, and kissed me.

  “So I’ve been thinking,” he started.

  “Oh, God.”

  “Shut up. Listen.”

  I looked into his eyes searching for signs that this wasn’t anything too serious—like, he had an STD and I needed to get tested, or that we were pregnant.

  “I think I might not be straight.”

  Sometimes, life can feel like Scrabble. You know you’ve got words in there somewhere, but no matter how many times you rearrange the letters, you can’t seem to make sense of the jumble. Then you glance up at the person you’re playing with and see him looking at you, and it’s as if by simply being in your life, he’s introduced you to yourself. And you look back down at your letters and everything you couldn’t see before clicks into place, explained, decoded.

  With exams around the corner, the main library on campus was uncomfortably packed. During finals week, the library was less of a studying opportunity than a social event. Nobody was there to study, people were there to be seen studying. With actual work to be done, Adam and I searched campus high and low for a secluded, quiet place to get work done. And by that I mean to distract each other in the privacy of our own study space. We found one in the chemistry building.

  The room was cozy, but we had our own table and chalkboard, and a door for closing ourselves off from the rest of the world. Our sound track for that finals week was Fearless by Taylor Swift—one of the best country/pop albums of all time, which had come out a month before. The home-run single on the album was “Love Story,” and we kept it on repeat, because obviously.

  Maybe it was the themes in Taylor’s music, maybe it was the romantic ambience of the snow falling outside our window, but we began to talk about our future together. This was one of the first times Adam had ever acknowledged that maybe, someday, he might come out to someone other than me—and that coming out might lead to being in a nonsecret relationship. And that might lead to marriage. Hearing him go on and on about his dream future of a house with a wraparound porch and a husband and kids had me reeling. Caught up in our hype, we fantasized about our kids. I got up and walked around the table, over to the chalkboard. As we debated who would take whose last name and what our kids’ names would be, I wrote them out on the chalkboard to see what looked best. We were free-falling down a rabbit hole into the fantasy world of our future, and regardless of how serious he was, I was all-in.

  We got back to studying, but I had one thing on my mind—the possibility that this guy, who I was in love with, might want to spend the rest of his life with me. Studying was hopeless. With my own love story on my mind, and Taylor’s “Love Story” on a loop in my head, I spent my next study break making a lip-sync music video to Taylor’s hit single, while Adam sat behind the camera trying to make me laugh. You can still find that video on my YouTube channel today, with the names of our kids erased from the chalkboard behind me (because some things are just sacred).

  I texted Adam, He’s literally getting a hand job behind me.

  Adam replied, NO THAT IS NOT HAPPENING, ASK IF THEY WANT YOU TO JOIN IN.

  I was en route north, for my second trip to Adam’s hometown, this time avoiding all the speeding tickets by opting for a Greyhound bus filled with deviant strangers. The couple behind me was for sure getting intimate, and I couldn’t help but laugh while texting Adam all of the alarming details. I sat there for hours, as the trip was a full day’s journey, and the farther north I got, the more I could see my breath in front of me. After a full day of travel, I hopped off the bus and into the blizzard hitting Marquette, Michigan. Adam was there to meet me, bundled up from head to toe. Even though I could barely see him under all those layers, he still remained adorable.

  I was visiting for New Year’s, and yet again I had to play the part of Adam’s college buddy.

  One day we went skiing. Adam was on the ski team in high school and in the ski club in college, so he was effortlessly incredible at it. I limited myself to the slopes meant for senior citizens and toddlers, and I still struggled mightily. I was well aware of Sonny Bono’s alpine demise, and I was not about to have a repeat incident.

  As I slowly coasted to the bottom of a baby hill, Adam zipped by, circling me expertly. “You’re really terrible at this.” He chuckled.

  “Listen! I never claimed to be good!”

  We made our way to the ski lift, hopped on, and sat together. Unnoticed by the skiers and snowboarders below us, he held my hand in his lap. I could get used to this, and I already was. I was so accustomed to his holding my hand, but only out of sight. I was so used to his sneaking kisses, but only after looking over his shoulder. As soon as I’d start to feel resentful, I’d have to remind myself . . . this is what I signed up for. Being in a relationship with someone who is in the closet means accepting that coming out is personal. No matter what I think or how I feel, I can’t rush him and I can’t help anyone move quicker than he’s able. So I quietly accepted that as we neared the top of the hill, he would pull his hand away from mine, and I would resume my role as his shameful secret.

  Marquette, Michigan, is quaint in a lot of ways, but one of their most adorable rituals is the New Year’s ball drop. In the center of town, the locals gather, layered up in long underwear, snow pants, sweaters, coats, gloves, hats, and scarves, to count down to midnight. On top of the tallest tower in town, a ball drops—exactly as in New York City’s iconic Times Square tradition, except for just about everything else. Snow fell, my glasses fogged up, and as the countdown came to single digits, a crackly, old-timey rendition of “Auld Lang Syne” began to play over a public address system. Amid the sounds of noisemakers and cheers, I was overcome with emotion. Surrounded by kissing couples, I glanced over at my boyfriend, who—fearing someone might see—looked away. I’d never felt more invisible and alone.

  A few days later, Adam and I took our first trip together. I had won a video-essay contest about the importance of voting, run by the Human Rights Campaign. The prize was a trip to the nation’s capital. Adam and I got a ride to the airport from his aunt, who had a million questions about the situation.

  “So you . . . talk about yourself on camera?” she asked.

  “Yeah . . .” I trailed off. I didn’t know how else to put it. I had been making videos for a little more than a year now, and it was slowly becoming a thing.

  “Thousands of people watch him. He’s famous,” Adam joked. He knew I felt weird about it all, that it was this strange thing that many people who knew me in real life made fun of, and the last thing I wanted was people assuming I thought I was famous.

  “Okay, so you won a trip . . . are you doing anything fun in DC?”

  “Well, the president of the Human Rights Campaign is going to interview Tyler on his radio show,” Adam bragged.

  “Ohh! I want to listen. Can I listen?”

  “Sure, I’ll make sure Adam sends you the information,” I said.

  She dropped us off at the airport, and we hopped on our flight to DC. Upon arrival, we made our way to the five-star hotel they’d booked for us. “Can you believe this?” I asked, as I fell on the king-size bed. “Like, all of this . . . just because I made a YouTube video?”

  “Insane.” Adam fell onto the bed next to me, his face inches from mine. “Thank you for bringing me.”

  I smiled and reached out to cover most of his face with my hand, to shush his flattery. In retaliation, he stuck out his tongue. I laughed and groaned as I pulled away, and he rolled on top of me. In just nine months, Adam had become my best friend and the person I loved more than anything else in this world. I was Beyoncé ft. Jay Z, “Crazy in Love.”

  We made our way through the brisk weather to the HRC hea
dquarters, where we met the staff of the organization. They thanked me for my video and for the work I did empowering LGBTQ+ youth, and I couldn’t help but blush. I was just some silly kid in a dorm room making videos, I wasn’t helping anyone. But I said thanks, and they took me to the studio where they recorded the SiriusXM radio show.

  Inside the studio was the show’s host and the president of the HRC, Joe Solmonese, talking into a microphone. I paced nervously, and Adam grabbed my hand. “You’ve got this. You’re fine. If he asks you questions, don’t underplay what you do. What you do is important.” Adam always knew what to say. “At the end, he’s gonna ask you where they can find you—they get so many listeners, so it might feel weird, but you gotta be shameless when you promote yourself.”

  Shameless self-promotion? Yes, I could do that.

  The show’s producer handed me a pair of headphones to put on, and she led me into the recording booth. She had me sit down next to Joe, who smiled at me as he finished recording a piece about marriage equality. “We’re starting off January of 2009 with two states with legalized same-sex marriage. Given the progress of recent years, can you even fathom where we’ll be in five years?” he said, as part of his piece.

  I thought of where I’d be in five years. I couldn’t have fathomed a year ago that I’d be here in Washington, DC, about to be interviewed on the radio, as if I had something important to say, or a perspective worth hearing. But maybe Adam was right? Maybe my YouTube channel did have the power to do something, to be something much bigger than myself. In five years? I hoped that in five years I’d be changing the world. Maybe I’d reach one hundred thousand subscribers. Maybe I’d write a book. Nah, stop being silly.

  Joe started the interview and was kind, curious, and supportive of the unlikely path I was taking. He applauded me for being unapologetically myself, and for having the courage to tell my truth and share it with the world. Being a guest on his show was one of the most exhilarating things I had ever done, and I loved every second of it. The interview came to a close, and he glanced past me and at the people standing behind the glass outside the studio.

  “And who did you bring with you today, is that your boyfriend?” Joe asked on air. Flustered, I looked back at Adam and saw terror in his eyes. Knowing this interview was live and that Adam’s aunt was listening, I stumbled over my words as I denied the relationship. There I was, lying about the most important thing to me, when just a moment earlier I had been praised for speaking my truth. I felt awkward and ashamed.

  The experience brought up so many questions in my head. It was one thing to feel invisible or to act like I was just his friend; these were lies of omission. But to answer a direct question from someone I respect with a blatant untruth? Was this relationship acceptable to me? Was this all I deserved in love? Shouldn’t I want to be with someone who didn’t hide being with me? Someone who would be not just unembarrassed, but even proud of being with me?

  ”It’s a campus event, it literally doesn’t matter,” I pleaded. “There are going to be plenty of straight people there.”

  “I don’t know . . . ,” Adam said.

  “Everyone is going. Just come. We’ll have fun.”

  It was time for the annual MSU drag show, the momentous coming together of Michigan’s top drag performers for lip syncs, shade-throwing, and glamorous shenanigans. As we entered the campus center, Adam was relieved to see the audience was far from just gays—this inclusive event had people from every background in attendance.

  “Tyler?” I heard from behind me.

  I spun around to find Benjamin Kirkus, a classmate from high school. We weren’t that close, but we had sat next to each other in history class in high school, and he did let me use his employee discount to buy some boot-cut denim from Abercrombie. For as long as I’d known him, he’d seemed to be gay—but I’d never heard it out of his own mouth, so I’d let it be.

  “Hey! How have you beeeeeen?” I asked, hugging him. After a little bit of catching up, I felt Adam nudge me. “Ahh, sorry, this is my friend Adam—Adam, Benjamin.” I waved in Benjamin’s direction. They shook hands. “Where are you sitting?”

  “Up toward the front—all the seats are taken up there, but let’s get together soon. Come over to my place! We can do drinks or something! You should come too,” Benjamin said to Adam.

  Adam and I made our way to our own seats, and the show began. Watching Adam witness his first drag show was like taking a child to Disneyland for the first time. He was wide-eyed, bewildered, and definitely in his Happiest Place on Earth. He still had great distances to go when it came to accepting his own sexuality, but he was well on his way to at least appreciating some good, wholesome, old-fashioned gay culture.

  As time went on, the fun, exciting charms of a secret relationship wore thin and then threadbare. We’d argue over little things, and more of each other’s habits became grating. If I was late to anything (which I often was), it was disrespect toward him. His attitude toward my online life began to shift. The more time I spent on Twitter, the more annoyed he became. I was no angel, either—I began to resent him. I was sick of hiding, pretending I didn’t exist or that I wasn’t a part of his life. I was so over being introduced as his “friend.” I had come out years ago, and I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t deal with it. You know, on my terms? I internalized his coming out as if it had something, anything, to do with me. But feelings were happening, as they do, and I felt angry, stepped on, and embarrassed.

  Despite all of the things he did that upset me, I was still so infatuated with him—to a fault. I would drop anything to help him. I’d help him study. I’d shower him with gifts. Worst of all, whatever he said, went. I conceded because I thought that if I didn’t, I’d lose him. So when he asked me to stop using Twitter, I completely logged out and didn’t tweet for the remainder of our time together. When he asked if we could spend less weekend time visiting my family, I said okay, that was fine. I was so insecure about the stability of our relationship because nobody even knew it existed. Imagine how easy it’d be for him to drop me and never look back.

  Which is exactly what he tried to do.

  “We need to talk,” Adam said one day, walking into my room.

  “Oooookayyyyyy?” I replied, feeling it coming.

  “I don’t think we should be together anymore.”

  My heart sank, and my stomach dropped, and I didn’t know what to do. This man was the first person I ever loved, the first person I ever saw a future with, the only man I could imagine myself raising kids with. Sure we fought, and sure we got under each other’s skin, but in my head you don’t tell someone you love them or come up with baby names with them if you can’t handle working through your issues.

  “I think we should be seeing other people.”

  I looked at him in the eyes. Who are you? Who else do you want to see? What am I not giving you? What else is there that I haven’t done for you?

  Just when I thought he couldn’t say anything worse, he did.

  “I still want to be friends.” He grabbed my knee. The same knee he used to hold while he would drive us around town. How could someone whose comforting grasp sent chills down my spine somehow become a vague acquaintance that I’d meet for coffee every once in a while? How could I go from loving someone so intensely to simply waving in his direction if I saw him in the cafeteria? I was devastated and confused.

  I said nothing, and he got up and went to his own room. After a few minutes, I heard his front door open and close. I rushed to my own front door and looked through the peephole. He walked down the hall. Pressing my body against the door, I watched until he was gone. My eye strained to catch one last glimpse of him, but he had vanished. My eyes welled. I walked slowly back to my couch, sat down, and began to cry quietly. I had invested so much of myself into this relationship, and the prospect of its disappearing made me feel violently ill.

  I got out my phone and dialed the only person I knew had been through something like this—my mom
. She’d faced divorce, she knew what this felt like, and she’d made it through. She’ll know what to say and do. As soon as she answered, I burst. My quiet tears swelled into violent sobs as I tried to make sense of the situation. No matter what she said, nothing could stop me from the hysteria I was spiraling into, but one phrase she kept repeating stuck in my mind: “You will get through this.”

  Hours later, I heard his door open and shut and could hear him stirring next door. I walked through our conjoined bathroom and knocked on his door.

  “Come in.”

  Before turning the handle, I glanced at the bathroom mirror. My face was red, my eyes were puffy, and the top of my T-shirt was damp from tears. I was a mess, and I had clearly been a mess for the hours he had been gone. Maybe now he’ll see how much he means to me, I thought, fully aware of how disordered that sounded.

  I walked into his room. He was sitting on the edge of the bed, sanding down a table he was refurbishing. He loved to take old furniture and make it shine like new. He looked up at me, and when he saw the condition I was in, his face broke. He set down the sandpaper, stood up, and hugged me, long and tight.

  “We can’t break up,” I whispered into his shoulder. “I love you.”

  Adam pulled back and sat back down on the bed. “I just feel like I have no idea what’s out there. If I’m supposed to be with you, shouldn’t I have something else to compare this relationship to? You’ve dated plenty of guys. You’re the only guy I’ve ever even kissed.”