Thursday, March 15, 2012

This Ain't My Story To Tell


I once knew a charismatic young man who was both pleasant, and colorful. He made even the most uptight person comfortable enough to laugh.

Now, I personally have some qualms with the word character but something about this boy exuded a little extra something. I couldn't define his character, even if I tried.

One particular night after what had seemed like an end to a very long evening, all of his friends had gone to bed and the two of us were left sitting in the kitchen floor next to the appliances.

Don't ask me why we were both sitting in the floor. Attraction definitely was not what kept us talking. Although, the boy was attractive he was not my type nor was I his. It must have been the wine and cool linoleum.

While we were talking, the young man began to cry. This annoyed the hell out of me. I didn't know what the boy had to cry about because he seemed to have a very privileged life style.

Then when I least expected it the boy began to tell me how difficult his life really was. I did not want to listen but his tears made him impossible to ignore. So, I listened all about how he felt as a gay boy living in a small town.

I never forgot the conversation, so in remembering this, I could not begin to write a story. I think some stories really aren't mine to tell.




For the IndieInk Writing Challenge this week, Chimnese challenged me with "If your child comes to you one evening and they tell you, "I am gay" how would you as parent deal with the issue. Would you 1) tell them you were disappointed, 2) tell them they are confused or 3) say 'I love you and that's what is important.'" and I challenged Carrie with "In Harper Lee's To Kill A Mocking Bird there is a rabid dog in the story. I haven't read the book since tenth grade English class... I can't for the life of me remember the why this part of the book sticks out in my mind. I want you to interpert the rabid dog story, then recreate a similar lesson in your own words. "

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