The End of Lovesickness

11. How Love Survives When All Else Is Lost 4

"Noh, I'd like you to try a different technique," Dr. Sanders said. 

The orange haired old woman had been "treating" me for weeks. Her office looked like the place where good books went to die, all of the obscure titles stacked in yellowing pile made the it feel like the office itself was a time capsule. Despite the fact that her office was in a fresh, modern building in a large busy city, inside her office everything had stopped. The books had once been relevant, now they were museum pieces flaking away on her shelves. SHe had once been relelvant, now she too was a museum piece.

When we first met I couldn't shake the feeling that I'd been caged with a large snake in an organge wig. She had that demeanor. That stare that held you in thrall while she slowly coiled herself around your psyche. She sat perfectly still when others spoke to her. I haven't been able to sit perfectly still since the day I was born. It seemed unnatural. Everything about her seemed unnatural. And yet, after some time, even that stopped bothering me. 

The irony of such a woman telling me that I had "unnatural and unhealthy" urges and idea when it came to sex was not lost on me. A women whose orange hair set above the eyebrows she drew on with a brown pencil and teeth so yellow that every smile looked like a freak show...she was telling me whats healthy?

It was my mother's arrangement, of course. It was her way of fixing me. After showing her that side of me, how could I tell her no. She'd seen what no mother ever wanted to see from her son. I'd done that to her. If she wanted me to sit with this withered old clown for a few hours every week, I could do that for her. 

The only problem was that Dr. Sanders was busy trying to fix a problem that didn't exist. 

She wanted to cure me of my "same sex attraction" but I was never attracted to other boys. I didn't fantasize about men. I felt the same way about women that every other guy does. They scared the shit out of me, but in the best kind of way. 

My crime, the source of my problem, was the person I love is Pun. Just him. If he were a girl I would still love him. He just fucked up and was born a boy, so I have to learn to live with it. Unfortunately its impossible to explain that to these women. Both  my mother and this doctor think that I have a problem, and how can I tell them that they're wrong. They already have the proof, and my confession. 

I love Pun. I've been dating him. Yes, we've done THAT. Yes, I liked it, but not because I like doing perverted things, but because I like HIM. 

So here we are again, in her office, and I can tell that she's become frustrated by her inability to fix what's wrong with me. 

"I don't think that we should change what we're doing." 

"I think you might benefit from a group environment where you can meet some other young people who are having the same struggles as you."

"I don't want to talk to strangers about my feelings," I scowl. 

"Well, I talked it over with your mother. She thinks it's a good idea. Just take some literature and think it over. I can't, of course, force you to do anything you don't want to do. But, I think you and I have gone as far as we can go with our private sessions. I think its a good idea to consider alternative treatment methods."

She hands me a stack of booklets and pamphlets, the only literature in the room that isn't frayed and faded. I looked down at the glossy pages in my hands. Everybody looked so happy and carefree. It looks like a summer camp.

"The next session starts in June. It's an eight week program. You'll be done in time for school next semester. I really think this can be a break through moment for you."

"What if I don't want to change," I say the words I know nobody wants to hear. 

"Do you want to continue a cycle of behavior that causes pain and destruction in your life? We've talked about all of the negative side effects of this disorder. People with this type of problem have higher rates or depression, suicide, drug addiction, STDs and incarceration. Is that the kind of life you want?"

I don't say anything. What can you say to something like that?

"We're just lucky that your mother caught it at an early stage. Many of my patients go year or even decades identifying as homosexual before I see them. By then its much harder to correct."

"I'm not gay."

"I know, and that's good. Now lets help you get over this small problem, hmm?" She reaches over and pats my hand. It feels forced, or even practiced. With the doc, nothing is ever random. "think about it and we'll discuss it more next time."

I leave the office and head back out into the sunshine. ON the streets of New York I lose myself in the rush of moving bodies. Everybody is moving towards something. And me, I'm also trying to move but not forward. Backwards. Back to Before. Back to a time and a place when everything wasn't so complicated and hard.

 I promised him I'd come back. I don't know when that will happen anymore. Wait for me Pun, I'll fix everything this time.

* * * *

"Noh?"

"Huh?"

"You're still so messy, like a little kid," he reaches over and wipes the food off of my chin. 

"Oh." I can barely look him in the eye. I feel like a coward. Pun always sees through me. I can't help wondering if he already knows. Does he know what happened? Does he know what I did? What i had to do to even get this close? Would he still want to sit with me eating happily if he did?"

"You want to see a movie this weekend?"

"A movie? Anything in particular?"

"No, not really. You can pick," he sweeps the hair away from his face. Despite having a fresh haircut, it still looks a bit too long.

"Hey, are you asking me out on a date?"

"Do I have to?" he pegs me with those eyes and once again I feel the fear grip my heart. 

"I don't have anything planned that far ahead," I avert my eyes and try to focus on getting the food into my mouth instead of my lap. 

"Oh," he doesn't say anything else.

"Call me on Thursday. You have the number right?"

I get up from the table without looking at him. I can't. I'm afraid that when I do I'll get lost again. I pay for breakfast before he has a chance to and leave. 

After all this time I've finally returned, and yet nothing seems to be able to fit the way it used to anymore. Not my mom and dad, not my music or my studies, not Pun and me. I'm not sure about the things I used to take for granted, and I'm absolutely sure about things I never knew. The only thing that hasn't changed is this; I love Pun.