In Retrospect, I Should Have Asked About His Driving

My incidental series on dysfunctional social relationships continues below.

I was a substitute girlfriend for the first sixth months of my sophomore year.

The boy was another Georgetown student, two years older than me. Tall. Dark complexion. Straight. Republican. Evangelical Christian.

We had met during the winter of my first year in college and became fast friends. I went to his home for Easter, and by summer - when I was stuck with my family in Connecticut - I would escape on Amtrak and come visit him in DC. Soon he pressured me into telling him my deepest secret: I was pretty sure I was attracted to men, and wasn't sure what to do about it.

He never explicitly gave his opinion on my struggles with my sexual orientation. Over time, though, I realized his plan was for me to keep things to myself and wait for Jesus to fix it. Curiously, though, he did not shy away from me when I told him I was probably gay - in fact, this was when he drew me in.

I started spending the night at his house five or six times a week once I returned to campus in the fall. He'd invite me over every evening around ten or eleven and we'd cook a late dinner. We'd hang out for hours until he'd say it was too late for me to walk home and time instead for us to go to bed. I had my own mattress there before long, right alongside his bed, and a box through which my belongings would rotate in and out.

The timing of all this was peculiar. It was literally the only time he spent at Georgetown without a girlfriend, and I came to realize that I was fulfilling a lot of the roles that his girlfriends normally would. In addition to nightly dinners and sleepovers, if he needed something, he would call me up and ask me to take care of it for him. I'd run out and buy him a coffee for his late night study sessions, or take care of him while he was sick, or pick up this or that. The only difference was that whereas he would pay for his girlfriends, I always seemed to be paying for his half of dinner or his groceries or whatever else it was.

During this time my sexuality was the one thing we didn't talk about. I tried to get his guidance - I hadn't come out to him simply to have the subject ignored. But that was how it went. I later found out that while he wouldn't talk much to me about it, he did take the time to tell several of my friends, who feigned surprise when I came out to them a year later.

I didn't realize that people were talking about the freakish amount of time we spent together. I didn't know that most of my friends, who had long believed both of us to be gay, thought we were dating. I was living in blissful ignorance, just happy to have someone intelligent and fun with whom to spend time.

We split winter break between my house and his house. I let him borrow my car for the week we were apart. He drove it into a wall, and gave me the bill for the axle and tail light.

For Christmas I bought him a series of inside-joke-type gifts, made a donation in his name, and gave him an engraved business card case. I also abused my congressional internship connections to get him a letter from the White House.

He bought me a gold pocket watch with tiny diamonds to mark the hours, and a message printed on the inside cover.

Lying awake at his home in Pennsylvania before the end of winter break, he told me that he wanted to see more of other people the following semester. And less of me. I said that if something was going on with us that he should just be honest.

I never found out for sure, but I knew there was a deeper reason for the rift than just him wanting to see friends before graduation. Either he thought I was in love with him, or he had feelings for me, or simply the fact that people were talking about it was enough to scare him.

But though he kept pushing me away the following semester, but wouldn't say goodbye. He liked keeping me around so he didn't feel like he had totally let me down, and so I'd be there when he needed me for something.

We went out to dinner on my birthday in February. My treat. He would have paid, but it was an awkward situation - the only money he had was the grand I had lent him earlier that week.

My depression hit a low that spring as I continued to struggle, now alone, with the issue of my sexuality. I became nocturnal and would wander through the streets in the rain until the sun came up. Sometimes I would walk by his house, and wonder if he was fucking anyone.

Summer came and I saw him sometimes at my part-time job, where he unfortunately was my supervisor. One day our coworkers began to talk about his love life, and when he realized I was in the room he became instantly uncomfortable.

I messaged him that night and told him never to speak to me again. His silence was his affirmative reply. After that I stopped feeling either anger or regret.

I wrote a novel at one point during our friendship. He read the first 10 pages, told his friends it was all about him, and left it on a shelf.

I bestowed the pocket watch he had given me to an ex-girlfriend.

I once stumbled upon high school-themed porn on his computer.

He had wanted to be a teacher.

I still see him around campus once in a while.

If he notices me, he pretends to get phone calls.

His room always had a really distinct smell.

And the first time I went down on a guy,
he popped into my head.
I was angry at first,
but figured what can ya do.
I told him he could stay,
as long as he
didn't ask
to borrow
my car.