Binge

The One That Got Away - Part 4

"What the fuck was last night?" my roommate, David, asked. We were paired for cohabitation randomly by the school, but we got along surprisingly well. He was from Texas, and when we first found each other on Facebook and exchanged information, he terrified me. We talked on instant messenger, where he revealed that, for fun, he and his friends surfed-pulled by a truck-in the muddy trenches on the sides of roads in Houston, Texas, after it rained. I was sure that I would be rejected as soon as he realized that, for fun, me and my friends sucked dick, rain or shine.

But he turned out to be great. Sure, we had our differences, but he respected me and my lifestyle, as I did his. One of the strange things about going through the different stages in your life as a gay man is that you experience coming out over and over. I had been out for more than five years, and I was comfortable in my skin, but going off to college and having a stranger as my roommate made me relive the entire process.

I came out to David one night at 2:00 a.m., after returning from a dorm party full of liquid courage. He was up on his top bunk watching Planet Earth when I stormed in and wasted no time word-vomiting my confession: "David, I need to tell you something I'm gay but that doesn't mean I'm going to try to have sex with you or anything I just need you to know because it's just who I am I can't help it, I was born-"

"Dude, obviously, I know." He chuckled, pausing Planet Earth. "Is that all?"

Coming out always feels like it's going to be a bigger deal than it ever ends up being. "Yeah, I guess."

"What time is your first class tomorrow? We should figure out our showering schedule." Just like that, he had moved on to more important things, like clocks and grout. Here's a picture of when I ran into him one night at the Whiskey Barrel Saloon, a line-dancing and mechanical-bull bar. Behind us, you'll see Rachel and Dolan, my two friends from high school that I made my YouTube channel to keep in touch with.

But let's go back to March 18. I was sprawled out, still recovering from my hangover. I looked over toward David's desk, where he had been hunched over studying. As a mechanical-engineering student, he was always studying. As a communications student, I was always in bed struggling through a hangover. This was us in a snapshot.

"I don't know what last night was. It was so spur-of-the-moment and out-of-the-blue, and Adam's straight, or at least he says he is."

"Okay, well, he's not straight. If he was straight, he wouldn't have slept with you."

Well, that was a fair point. My flip phone vibrated.

"He just texted me," I squawked.

Hey you. Wanna grab dinner tonight?

"What do I say?!"

"Well, do you want to get dinner with him or not? That's your answer." Again, structurally sound.

I said yes. Then, after waiting for hours to pass that felt like an eternity, the time came for our date. I made my way down the hall and waited in line outside my dorm's cafeteria entrance, tapping my wallet in my pocket in anticipation. As I neared the entrance, I scanned the tables.

There he sat, looking down, tapping away at his BlackBerry-his brown hair flipped effortlessly, his stubble just the right length. He was so put together, and I felt so disheveled. I still couldn't believe the night I'd had with him. I blushed just thinking about it.

"ID please?" the cafeteria worker asked. I broke my longing gaze and fumbled for my wallet, just as my phone started vibrating in my other pocket. I fished that out too, and three words lit up on my screen: I see you.