It's All Right

Unrequited love has a long, deep history in humankind. Any anthropologist, writer, poet, or simple observer of the human race will tell you that unrequited love's role in history and everyday life is huge. Probably more profound than anything else we do or don't do. And I know you won't disagree with me, because you know I'm right.

I stopped at that point, right there. After the word "one." I stopped writing that article, and threw the paper away. It'd started with the two words "unrequited love" and the rest of the words just followed easily, and before I knew it, I was writing for my column in the newspaper on a topic that was all-too-familiar to me.

That was a horrible night, the night that I wrote the article. That was the night I realized something very important and very, really, insanely horrible. I realized I was in love. In unrequited love, of course, as was the subject of my article.

I wrote a lot, partly because it was my passion, and partly because it was my job. After all, I was a "Style" columnist, which basically meant I could write about what I thought and have everybody believe it as truth. I mostly wrote about bigotry and ignorance in society; things that made me sound like a peacemaker and lover, an overall good woman.

I wrote a lot about homosexuality and my avid support for the gay community. I got letters from gay men and women all the time about how much they appreciated my efforts to open the minds of ignorant people. Some even wrote me in times of trouble when they were bothered about their sexual orientation for advice or simply somebody to listen to. Most of the time, me actually reading the letters wasn't important, it was the fact that the people wrote it, thus finding release for their anger and frustrations.

I was a sort of ... homosexual-loving straight-ally Dear Abby.

But while I wrote about all of that, giving advice to those hurting, I was burying something inside me - my own need to be in love, my own need for support and advice. The letters I got the most often from gay men were about unrequited love, and the heartbreak that came with that. Mostly, these men would meet the "perfect man" and discover, quickly enough, that he was straight.

I wrote back all those men, sympathizing and writing words of comfort, assuring them that one day they'd find somebody who was truly "perfect" for them, and that one day would see no boundaries of gender or sexual orientation. I wrote beautiful, lovely, idealistic things. I was a great bullshitter, to be honest.

Another question I got a lot was why I was so supportive of the gay community. People asked me all the time if I had family members who were abused because of their sexual orientation, and I'd always have to disappoint them by telling them no. I didn't have anybody who was related to me who was gay. In fact, most of my family was Catholic Republican Homophobes. CRH.

But my best friend was gay, and I supported him all the way.

Actually, I became a "straight-ally" before I ever found out he was gay. I was only in high school, a freshman, and incredibly desperate to be "different," and more than that, piss the hell out of my parents. What better way to piss off CRHs than to join a gay-straight alliance at school? I was a little brat.

Still, that was probably the best move of my life. Shane, my best friend, Gregory Shane Helms, came out to me when I was in the tenth grade and he was in the eleventh. He had known I was a straight-ally since I joined the club at school, but he never came out to me, or anybody for that matter, including himself.

We'd been friends since we were seven years old and I moved into his neighborhood, but we were never close. The whole "girls have cooties and boys smell funny" ideology kind of set us apart for a while. But that one single experience of him confiding in me and letting me help him was the most important one of my life.

He called me up one night at midnight and just blurted out that he was gay. His exact words were, "Angelina? It's Shane Helms, from school and next door. I think I'm gay." And then a whole lot of tears and blubbering. We ended up sneaking out of our houses and going to the playground down the block, crawling into the orange tunnel and spending the whole night talking.

After that, we were inseparable. We did absolutely everything together. I brought him into our gay-straight alliance, where he found more support and a new community of friends and slowly found himself comfortable with ... well, himself. We even ended up going to prom together, as best friends. I still have that hideous peach dress in my closet. Why I wore peach, I will never ever know.

We spent a lot of time in that orange tunnel. He would throw pebbles at my window and I'd sneak out of the house to crawl into that little plastic tube with him to listen to him talk or just hug him when he needed it. All too many times he cried to me in that tunnel about - guess what? - unrequited love.

There was one boy in high school Shane had fallen especially hard for - his name was Nick something or another. Nick was your all-around perfect gentleman with the looks, the grades, and the athleticism. Every girl in school hung off his words like they were oxygen and wanted to be his girlfriend. Every girl and Shane.

We'd sit in the tunnel together, scrunched up against the plastic and he would look up at the top of the tube and just sigh and tell me how much he wished Nick were gay. Sometimes he'd hold my hand and let me tell him my bullshit - you know, the stuff about perfect love not seeing gender. He was comforted by me and I was comforted by the fact that he was comforted by me.

There were other guys after Nick, too. Shane was a wrestler, and when we got out of high school, I went off to study journalism in college and he went off to join the WCW. We called each other every night, and sometimes, we'd have orange-tunnel conversations where he'd tell me his problems with the men around him, all those that he felt attracted to but could never have. And again and I'd sympathize and listen, and say all the right things to make him feel better.

Somewhere along the line, sometime in high school or afterwards, Shane introduced me to a friend of his, Shannon Moore, whom he knew from wrestling. Shannon was a great guy and really good friends and a great supporter of Shane, so eventually he and I became great friends as well.

Shannon wrestled along with Shane, and as time went on, Shannon and I started dating. I don't know how it happened, really, I think we just kind of fell into it. It was such a comfort zone to be with Shannon that I never thought about dating him as having a "boyfriend," but as just having Shannon.

And, of course, the worst thing in the world had to happen. It happened on the night that I wrote that half-finished article. I realized I was in love. And at the same time, I realized I wasn't in love.

I was in love with Shane.

I wasn't in love with Shannon.

I was in love with Shane. A gay man. My best friend.

I wasn't in love with Shannon. A straight man. My boyfriend.

*****

It was a beautiful night when I realized it. Outside, the moon was hanging round and bright in the sky and the stars were glittering and winking in greeting. It was mid-autumn, the breeze cooling but the air still heavy and constraining.

I was sitting in an unoccupied poolroom, with a half-gone Manhattan on the rocks, a lighter, a pack of matches, and a pack of Marlboro Lights. As the lingering smoke on my tongue lingered with the alcohol on my taste buds, it hit me like a freight train that I was in love with Shane.

My eyes were brimming with tears and my head simply doing somersaults in what proved to be the worst migraine I have ever had in my life. The room was completely dark in the corner where I sat; my head cradled in the space where the two walls met. Music was still coming in through the slightly opened door, an orange shaft of light coming in too, destroying the darkness.

Outside, somewhere on the dance floor, Shane was bumping and grinding away with some guy, probably whispering sweet nothings into his ear. The club was a gay club, notorious for gorgeous men, and Shane had managed to get me in through his connections - it was a place he frequented. We had an ongoing "argument" in which I was convinced that gay clubs were more fun than straight clubs.

A month later, I found myself, blindfolded, being led to the club, where Shane proceeded to introduce me to most everybody whom worked there, explaining why he had a straight girl with him. As it turned out, Shane had his own purposes in bringing me there. There was somebody he wanted to meet.

Jensen Domine, a tall, gorgeous blonde with piercing blue eyes, wonderful body, and a killer sense of style. And a preference in men. A special preference for Shane. Shane introduced us, going into a lengthy story about how they'd met at some arena the WCW was at and how they got into a huge argument about professional wrestling, in which Shane got Jensen to stay and watch the program.

We spent a great deal of time at the bar, drinking and laughing, and that was when it slowly started to sink in. Somehow, as I watched Shane give Jensen adoring looks or the way Jensen had his arms around Shane's waist, I felt a distinct, annoying feeling. The feeling of jealousy and almost anger.

At first I brushed it off as me being his best friend and naturally wanting more time with him, but as the night went on, the feeling grew worse. Eventually, the two hit the dance floor and I watched them from the bar, watched them holding each other in their arms.

Somehow, I ended up in the poolroom, in the corner, smoking and drinking and feeling absolutely miserable, realizing I was in love with Shane.

A gay man, have I stated that fact yet?

Resting my head roughly against the wall, I tilted my eyes up and watched as a swirl of smoke descended upon me after I exhaled it through my nose. A light buzz was coursing through my veins. I wasn't drunk, but I was getting numb, and that's exactly what I wanted. I wanted to be completely numb - not to even think about the fact that I could have feelings for Shane I shouldn't.

But the thought of Jensen holding Shane in his arms was killing me, and I couldn't stop thinking, despite the alcohol and smoke. I knew that out there, Shane had that half-lopsided smile on his lips, fully content in finally finding his lovely perfect man. Jensen was the perfect man I'd always assured Shane would be out there, the one I always guaranteed would come around and sweep Shane off his feet.

And instead of feeling extremely happy and excited for him, I was hidden away in a dark room, drinking and feeling very sorry for my extremely pathetic self. Suddenly, the tables were turned on me. No longer was I the one handing out the advice and comfort, but I was the one who needed it.

Instead of listening to a gay man talk about being in love with a straight man, it was my turn to talk - talk about a straight girl in love with a gay man. Of course, it was complicated by the fact that it was a taken gay man and that the straight girl was dating this gay man's best friend. But still, none of that mattered, as the fact remained that I was in love with a gay man, which ruined all my chances anyway.

Somehow, I doubted there was a straight-loving homosexual-ally Dear Abby or anything to that effect.

The irony of the situation only pained me more. Instead of Shane throwing pebbles at my window, I wanted to throw pebbles at his window and hide with him in the orange tunnel, and have him make me feel better. I wanted him to hold me and say all the right words. I wanted him to sympathize with the fact that the man I was in love with was a gay man. After all, nobody would know more about being in love with somebody who wasn't into your gender than Shane.

But I couldn't. I couldn't because it was Shane I was in love with. Shane was the gay man. It was truly a horrible situation. I dwelled upon all these thoughts as I finished my Manhattan on the rocks, sucking on an ice cube as I lit another cigarette and actually smoked it with the ice in my mouth - which takes a bit of skill when you're numb from drinking.

I cried a little as I thought about what a horrible person I was for loving Shane. I was sniffling when I thought of Shannon, how much I was going to hurt him, how much I was hurting him. I knew I couldn't be with Shannon after that night, I couldn't lie to him - or rather, I couldn't continue lying to him. Actually, I couldn't continue lying to myself, either.

There were tears falling out of my eyes when I thought back to all those nights that Shane and I had spent together, talking and laughing and being there for each other and the thoughts only made me cry more. I was a blubbering mess by the time I'd started to reminisce about the times we'd laid in bed together and just innocently slept with each other.

When I'd go on the road with Shane and Shannon, I used to sleep in bed with Shane instead of Shannon when they roomed together. Shane didn't want to hear us having sex and Shannon didn't want to have the temptation next to him. Shannon used to always say that there was no safer place in the world for a girl than in a gay man's bed, and I used to laugh at that.

Now I want to tell him that he's wrong, because now when I lay next to Shane in bed, I will be laying next to temptation. Remembering those nights Shane held me sweetly as we drifted off to sleep had me crying so hard that I couldn't even breathe, much less smoke anymore.

After a bit of time, and a long period of sitting still and letting my eyes return to their normal color, I stumbled out of the poolroom and sat at one of the empty booths around the dance floor. Shane and Jensen were still dancing away, Shane completely oblivious to the hell I'd just gone through and my feelings for him, even smiling and waving when he saw me. Just as my luck would have it, a slow, romantic song came on at that moment and I sat and watched as Jensen pulled Shane close and they held each other tightly as they danced. The sight of them nuzzling at each other in perfect contentment made me want to throw up.

I left before the song ended, knowing that watching them any longer would make me cry in front of all the people there. I broke up with Shannon that night, not able to explain much more than that it wasn't meant to be. Shannon let me go and we remained friends, and he never did question what happened. I guess part of him knew that our love wasn't meant to be that way in the long run.

That night I went home - both Shane's parents and mine still lived where we did as children, neither moving away. I went to his window and tossed pebbles at his window for an hour until I couldn't find anymore pebbles and my arm felt like it was going to fall off. He was probably still out with Jensen.

I crawled into the orange tunnel alone that night, and fell asleep, tears coming out of my eyes as I thought about him and how completely alone I was, and would always be. He found me there the next morning, though he never did tell me what he was doing on the playground anyway. He got me out of the tunnel and hugged me, and we sat on top of the monkey bars together and watched the sky.

He asked me what was wrong and I couldn't tell him. I'll never tell him that I'm in love with him - it would hurt too many people and cause too much confusion. Some things are better left unsaid.

Shane assumed that I was crying because I broke up with Shannon and just let me put my head against his chest and listen to his heartbeat without asking me questions.

I know I'll never tell him the truth, or anybody the truth for that matter. That's what we call unrequited love. Sometimes, though, when my heart tells me to, I'll call him up and just listen to his voice and the sound of his breath, and it's almost like a stolen moment of happiness.

The playground's gone now, they took it down a few months ago, and the orange tunnel disappeared along with it. And now I sit in a chair, next to Shannon, not listening as Shane says the most important words of his life - his wedding vows. Jensen's speaking now, but I'm still not paying attention, the image in my mind of that orange tunnel overriding his voice.

Shane flashes me a smile only I can see when he and Jensen part after their wedding kiss, telling me without words how happy he is. And I guess I'm happy with him.

Maybe I'm idealistic.

Maybe I'm naive.

But I'll be content the rest of my life just to be the best friend of the love of my life.