Work Text:
“When I was five I was positive I knew what love meant. It meant late night screams that reverberated through a house bigger than the holes in your heart. Bruises so dark that even the sixty dollar concealer you bought yesterday still can’t cover what he did to your cheek. It meant a large bed in an empty hotel room curled in your arms, with only your sobs to lull me to sleep. Love meant doors slammed so hard that the family photos hung in the hallway fell down and shattered at your feet. The glass on the floor just as sharp as the gaunt cheekbones and paper thin skin because he took dinner away to get you drunk and avoid sober confrontation. I was positive I knew what love meant. I would ask you, ‘are you in love’ because I had just learned what love was from my kindergarten teacher. I would ask you, ‘are you in love’ and you would always reply with that same wistful smile, the one I now know is from good memories of him and not reality. I would ask you ‘are you in love’ and you would say ‘Yes. I am. Don’t worry baby, he loves me.’
When I was eleven I was positive I knew what love meant. It meant dancing in the dark living room with the lights off, stepping on her toes, with only your loud tinkling laughter acting as music. Kissing her in the bright 8 am sunlight before she went to work, standing up on your tippy toes to reach her forehead. Love meant both of you curled together on the couch, reading me Harry Potter out loud, making up voices as you went. It meant laughter and soft kisses, working their way into your heart, stitching up holes and mending the scars that he left. Love meant a small wedding in our tiny backyard, just the three of us and a minister, you smiled the entire time, the only tears welling in your eyes were from happiness.
When I was sixteen I was positive I knew what love meant. It meant kisses, hot and heavy in the supply closet before he pushed me away. It meant light smiles soon replaced by sneers and mean words as he sat at the lunch table with his buddies. It meant pushes and shoves by the rest of the team because I was a muslim black boy in a school with no racial diversity. He did nothing to tell them off. In fact he was one of them. Love meant sleeping curled up in the same bed because my roommate was visiting his parents that weekend. It meant calling me ‘fag’, ‘queer’, ‘terrorist’ when he was with them, but apologising when we were alone. It meant reading him poems and for the first time he didn’t laugh at me. Love meant losing my virginity and in the afterglow I told him I loved him. Love meant slapping me after confessing how I felt. Love meant telling me ‘fags rot in hell’ before putting on his clothes and slamming the door. Love is supposed to be a painful affair, I learned that when I was five.
I am twenty and I don’t know what love means, but I know I’m in it. Because he looks at me and his face turns red and his amber eyes crinkle at the edges. He holds my hand and we drink coffee and discuss the professor he hates. We argue because he lost my favorite pair of sweatpants, the ones I’ve had for 6 years, worn in and soft. But that’s okay because we apologise as I kiss his cheeks. Because he buys me a new pair even though I know he can’t afford to spend 60 extra dollars this month. But he tells me it’s okay. I whisper the words ‘I love you' into his back and I feel him turning over and murmuring ‘I love you too’ before we fall asleep. Because he breaks into a large smile during our game winning celly and takes off my helmet, kissing me. Kissing me in front of the Stanford douches who sneer at us. He used to be afraid of this. Because he didn’t want tell our teammates for four months, so we could savor it and enjoy before the chirping started. On Valentine's Day while everyone is swept up in hallmark holiday festivities he gives me a birthday card and a present wrapped in the plastic bag it came in. No one remembers my birthday except my moms. He’s the only boy I’ve ever wanted to meet my moms. Who doesn’t tease me for asking my moms tuck us into bed and turn off the light. Because he knows I love and miss them. I’m twenty and I’m not sure what love means yet. I do know one thing. I know that love is him.”