Paris Wills is a dreamer. His father always said he got it from his mom, an artist who was unlike any other. Her virtue was painting, and Paris' is poetry. No matter where he is, Paris finds inspiration for his poems.
In the summer after his sophom...
Two days have passed since I last saw Paris, and his absence has been deafening. Maya and Tommy keep texting me about him, but I've yet to reply. I can't bear to admit that I've stopped speaking to him and may never see him again. Furthermore, I'm too ashamed to tell them about my new "relationship" with Naomi. They'd chastise me for leading Naomi on and force me to break-up with her as soon as possible. Deep down, I know they'd be right. Naomi's nice, but I can't see her as anything more than a friend. She's not a boy and she's not Paris. By staying with her I'm living a lie.
In the two days since Naomi and I first met, we've hardly left the bed. I have no desire to fuck her, but every time she comes around we end up in my bedroom. Then, the monster inside of me takes over and Paris is the one under me instead of her. Imagining him in Naomi's silhouette is the only way to cope with the uncontrollable feelings that refuse to dissipate, even days after he shut me out of his life.
Today I suggest we leave my house, tired of imagining Paris every time we touch. She jumps on the idea, hopping into my truck and directing me to Paseo Nuevo, a local shopping center. Naomi takes me from store to store, constantly asking me how she looks in a pair of three-inch heels or a form-fitting cocktail dress. She looks absolutely mesmerizing. Most guys would be happy to have a girlfriend like her. Opinionated, down-to-earth, humorous, and, of course, gorgeous.
Personally, I could care less what dress she buys.
***
After our lengthy shopping spree, I drive Naomi back to my home for dinner with my parents. When we walk inside, their eyes light up, and the realization of my horrible mistake sinks in. They must be overjoyed to see that I've found a girlfriend so soon after moving here. Now that they know about Naomi, it makes it so much more difficult for me to break-up with her.
I hadn't anticipated that my mom would spend all afternoon cooking a delicious pot roast and that my dad would leave work early to ensure his seat at the dinner table. And I certainly didn't think my parents would invite Naomi to join us on our trip to Las Vegas next week; a trip that was supposed to be just between the three of us. A trip that I was looking forward to because it meant I would have a week away from Naomi. I can't believe they neglected to ask me how I felt about Naomi joining us before bringing it up over dinner. Suddenly nothing, even my mom's tender pot roast, seems appetizing. I've dug myself into an inescapable hole, trapped in a perpetual string of lies. I'm sick of it. For years I've been lying about who I am and who I like, playing different parts around my parents, around my friends, around my peers. Sometimes it feels like I barely even know who the real me is anymore. I wear so many tinted glasses that my world blends into a color I don't even recognize. The worst part is, I have no clue what to do.
Naomi appeared overjoyed when they invited her to Las Vegas and couldn't wait for me to escort her to the ritzy malls and walk the famous strip. I almost considered coming out of the closet at that moment, but realized outing myself to the most sought after girl at Santa Barbara High School wasn't the smartest plan of action. The news of my sexuality would spread like wildfire, giving my peers an impression of me before we've even met.
Through it all, I can't stop thinking about Paris, the person I would actually want to spend a week in Las Vegas with. Everywhere I look, I'm constantly reminded of him. Whether the smell of my mom's fresh jasmines tickles my nostrils or I happen to drive by the beach, Paris remains on my mind. Worst of all, I'm constantly worried about him, wondering what might be happening behind those plain beige walls.
Naomi notices I'm zoning out and grabs my hand from where it rests on the dinner table.
"Aren't you excited?" She beams, waiting for me to return her beaming smile.
I nod, blinking away any ounce of doubt that may show in my expression. My parents are alight with enthusiasm, and I hide my sorrow behind grins and nods because at least my parents are happy with the gender of the person holding my hand.
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