WORDS THAT HURT

by Matt Kent

I completed the final examination and looked over my paper till I felt a hand touch my shoulder and Joe said, "Let's go." I walked with him to the subway station, as usual, but I found it more difficult than ever to wear the mask that had let me associate with him as a casual but warm friend.

We talked about the algebra examination (our mutual hatred of the subject had brought us together and sustained our friendship) until we approached the subway. "Will you be here next year?" he said, reaching for my hand. I told him no, that I would have to work and would be unable to return to the university in the fall. He said that was too bad, and soon he was gone.

I could not go to my room. Not now. I turned and walked to the dining hall, losing myself in the crowd. I piled everything on my plate that I would want, had I been hungry-turkey, peas, congealed salad, and strawberry shortcake. Then I went to a table in the corner and looked at the food and thought of the the four months that had just passed. . . .

When I arrived in New York. ostensibly to attend the university. actually to escape the Southern city that was about to expose me as a homosexual. I could think of nothing but sex; I was caught in the vicious circle of indulgence and guilt that only those who are reared in the most conservative of religious traditions can know.

Finding myself unable to concentrate on my studies. I turned to a psychiatrist, a Dr. Belk, whose views on homosexuality were well known.

"Your problem is not homosexuality," he told me: "it's guilt. You've got to quit this self-blame... "And finally I did. I quit blaming myself when I found in Joe the friend I wanted and sex lost its importance.

I liked him above all others, but it took two months for us to get acquainted. Then he began to sit by me in class. Occasionally we would have lunch together. Nothing more. But sometimes he would sit close to me, and he would put his arm across my shoulder. Everything he said, on whatever subject, including algebra, he said with a certain tenderness. He learned my first name and from that moment prefaced every remark with Larry. "Larry, that's a good idea..." I never had any but good ideas. I never made any but the right decisions. I wondered.

But I did not push things. I found in him what I needed at this critical period in my life; I didn't want to chance losing him. When I was tempted to go off on a sex binge, I needed only to think of his warm greeting, to see his face, his brown eyes looking into mine, or the touch of his hand brushing my shoulder.

I did not see Dr. Belk anymore. I was quite capable of meeting the demands life made, now that I had recaptured my old interest in literature and I was concentrating on my studies. More, I had made progress toward self-acceptance. And I had Joe.

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