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I don't know what I'm ready for, but I am ready for something.
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Maddie: Wait, you like men??? You like TOMMY???
Buck: Maddie pls that was like 5 seconds ago catch up what's important is I need relationship help-
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The guy at the cafe table next to me just said — Loudly — “you know that movie the Martian? With Mark Whalberg?”
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An anguished question from a Trump supporter: ‘Why do liberals think Trump supporters are stupid?’
Peni Delina Bedard · August 31, 2019 ·
The serious answer: Here’s what we really think about Trump supporters - the rich, the poor, the malignant and the innocently well-meaning, the ones who think and the ones who don’t…
That when you saw a man who had owned a fraudulent University, intent on scamming poor people, you thought “Fine.”
That when you saw a man who had made it his business practice to stiff his creditors, you said, “Okay.”
That when you heard him proudly brag about his own history of sexual abuse, you said, “No problem.”
That when he made up stories about seeing Muslim-Americans in the thousands cheering the destruction of the World Trade Center, you said, “Not an issue.”
That when you saw him brag that he could shoot a man on Fifth Avenue and you wouldn’t care, you chirped, “He sure knows me.”
That when you heard him illustrate his own character by telling that cute story about the elderly guest bleeding on the floor at his country club, the story about how he turned his back and how it was all an imposition on him, you said, “That’s cool!”
That when you saw him mock the disabled, you thought it was the funniest thing you ever saw.
That when you heard him brag that he doesn’t read books, you said, “Well, who has time?”
That when the Central Park Five were compensated as innocent men convicted of a crime they didn’t commit, and he angrily said that they should still be in prison, you said, “That makes sense.”
That when you heard him tell his supporters to beat up protesters and that he would hire attorneys, you thought, “Yes!”
That when you heard him tell one rally to confiscate a man’s coat before throwing him out into the freezing cold, you said, “What a great guy!”
That you have watched the parade of neo-Nazis and white supremacists with whom he curries favor, while refusing to condemn outright Nazis, and you have said, “Thumbs up!”
That you hear him unable to talk to foreign dignitaries without insulting their countries and demanding that they praise his electoral win, you said, “That’s the way I want my President to be.”
That you have watched him remove expertise from all layers of government in favor of people who make money off of eliminating protections in the industries they’re supposed to be regulating and you have said, “What a genius!”
That you have heard him continue to profit from his businesses, in part by leveraging his position as President, to the point of overcharging the Secret Service for space in the properties he owns, and you have said, “That’s smart!”
That you have heard him say that it was difficult to help Puerto Rico because it was in the middle of water and you have said, “That makes sense.”
That you have seen him start fights with every country from Canada to New Zealand while praising Russia and quote, “falling in love” with the dictator of North Korea, and you have said, “That’s statesmanship!”
That Trump separated children from their families and put them in cages, managed to lose track of 1500 kids, has opened a tent city incarceration camp in the desert in Texas - he explains that they’re just “animals” - and you say, “Well, OK then.”
That you have witnessed all the thousand and one other manifestations of corruption and low moral character and outright animalistic rudeness and contempt for you, the working American voter, and you still show up grinning and wearing your MAGA hats and threatening to beat up anybody who says otherwise.
What you don’t get, Trump supporters in 2019, is that succumbing to frustration and thinking of you as stupid may be wrong and unhelpful, but it’s also…hear me…charitable.
Because if you’re NOT stupid, we must turn to other explanations, and most of them are less flattering.
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every little thing the sun shows, well it’s worth it
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Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.
He’d kissed a man.
or - after his kiss with Tommy, Buck goes to Hen.
Buck can’t help but bring his hand to his lips as Tommy leaves, fingers brushing gently against where the other man’s lips had been just a few minutes previously.
The other man.
Buck should – he should be freaking out, right? He’d lived thirty-two years of his life without coming close to kissing another man, and it should be making him freak out that tonight, he did – but Buck felt flooded with the oddest sense of calm he’d ever experienced in his life.
He’d kissed a man.
He’d kissed Tommy Kinard.
The giggle escaped his mouth before Buck could even try and contain it, and one turning into a fit of laughter faster than he could control, Buck unable to wipe the smile from his face as he grinned. He’d just kissed Tommy Kinard – and he’d really fucking liked it, actually. It had been different, that much he was certain of – the way Tommy had tugged Buck closer, two fingers under Buck’s chin, purposeful and confident as he responded to Buck’s weak attempts at flirting with a kiss. Tommy had been solid, under his trembling hands, broad and big and nothing like Buck had ever experienced before.
And he’d liked it.
Buck was moving before he could even really think about it, his feet somehow knowing where to take him, on autopilot as he slid behind the wheel of his Jeep, too lost in his own thoughts to realise that the radio had been switched to some criminally bad pop music station (Eddie’s doing, he was sure), the music background noise as he drove, replaying that kiss over, and over, the phantom drag of Tommy’s facial hair against the sensitive skin of his upper lip a feeling he was sure he could come to get very used to, if he was allowed a little more kissing.
Buck was parking up in front of Hen and Karen’s house before he even realised where he was – but, now he was actually thinking about it, he wasn’t sure where else he would have gone, there and then. Hen was – Hen was another big sister, to him, and a lesbian big sister at that, so she was the right place to come in the midst of his –
Buck didn’t want to call it a crisis. He didn’t feel like he was having a crisis. But he was definitely experiencing something – and Hen would understand, he knew.
Knocking softly, so as not to wake up Denny, Buck waited patiently for someone to answer. He hoped Hen would answer. He wasn’t sure if he had the words to explain to Karen that he needed to speak to her wife because he’d kissed a boy for the first time in his life, and he’d liked it.
“Buck?” Hen answered the door with a raised eyebrow.
“Tommy Kinard kissed me,” Buck blurted, because why beat around the bush, right? He might as well dive right into it. “Tommy kissed me,” he repeated, in an effort to sound somewhat less manic. “And I liked it. I wanted him to kiss me.”
Hen’s surprised expression morphed into something softer, and she gestured for Buck to step inside, closing the door softly behind him. Gently – always gentle, because Hen was the gentlest soul Buck had ever known – she sat him down on her couch, bustling around the kitchen for a couple of minutes before she reappeared with a steaming cup of tea.
“Chamomile?” Buck breathed in the familiar smell, knowing that Hen would have added honey – the good one that Karen always bought at the farmers market – the sweetness a familiarity he had come to be grateful for over the years. “No tequila?”
“This is a tea conversation,” Hen replied firmly, sitting next to Buck on the couch. “So. You kissed Tommy.”
“He kissed me,” Buck corrected, because he didn’t want to take credit for the way Tommy had leaned in and kissed him, confident in a way that Buck wasn’t – not yet, at least.
“And you wanted him to?” Hen repeated Buck’s own words back to him, gentle even in the way she pried.
“I didn’t know I wanted him to until he did, if that makes sense,” Buck’s brow furrowed. “I – I didn’t know why I was so jealous, that he was spending so much time with Eddie. I thought I was jealous that he was replacing me in Eddie’s life.”
“But that wasn’t why you were jealous?”
“It was, a bit,” Buck admitted with a grin. Hen laughed, and Buck felt himself getting comfortable, genuinely comfortable. He – he’d never talked to anyone about his sexuality before. An hour ago, he thought he was straight. “But I – I think I was jealous that Tommy wanted to spend time with Eddie, and not me.”
Hen’s smile was soft, her expression new – it was new, he supposed. He was Hen’s annoying straight little brother, deep conversations about queer identity were new territory for them. “Was it a good kiss?”
Buck let out a spluttering breath. “Hen!”
“Oh, come on! You look like you’ve sat down and had a beer with God himself Buck, I’ve got to ask if it was a good kiss.”
Buck had been kissed a lot in his life. He didn’t say that to slut shame himself – that usually earned himself furious glances from Hen, and Eddie – it was the truth: he had been kissed a lot in his life, by people he loved and by people he’d only just met – and kissing Tommy had been nothing like he had ever experienced before.
“It was a good kiss,” he admitted, worrying the corner of his lip, his face burning as he spoke. “It was a really good kiss.”
“It sounds like there’s a but coming,” Hen drawled, taking a long sip of her tea. She knew Buck too well, sometimes. He supposed that was why he came here, to her – he could have gone to Maddie, or Eddie, or Bobby, even, but Hen had been the person he’d come to. He needed to be seen, there and then.
“But – how did I not know? How have I lived thirty something years of my life and not known I’m into guys that way?”
That was the confusing part, Buck had decided – he had never really even questioned his sexuality, shouldn’t he have questioned it long before now? Spent years being tortured with this great big queer secret he was carrying around?
Hen was quiet, for a second, contemplative. “There is no one queer experience,” she began, pausing again. “Some people – they don’t know until they know. There’s no requirement to have your big gay crisis when you’re fifteen, Buck.”
“That’s the thing – I don’t feel like I’m having a crisis,” Buck sighed. “That’s what makes it more confusing.”
At least – at least if he was having a crisis, he might be able to put words to the strange mix of feelings churning in the pit of his stomach, none of them bad, all of them unfamiliar.
“How do you feel?” Hen asked, giving Buck a gentle nudge.
He –
How did he feel?
Buck felt like he was on cloud nine, for one. He was still replaying the kiss with Tommy over, and over, in his head, remembering the way Tommy had lifted Buck’s chin, the way Buck’s heart had thudded to what had felt like a dramatic stop as the other man had moved closer, Buck forgetting how to breathe for a second when Tommy kissed him, soft, and gentle. He was excited, too, thinking about Saturday at eight. What would he wear? Where would Tommy decide to take him? Should Buck offer to pay?
Buck felt – well, he felt like every part of himself he had never understood had clicked into place, the puzzle that made up Evan Buckley finally taking shape and making a picture Buck could see himself in. Buck felt like everything in his life made infinitely more sense now, strange interactions and friendships making more sense as he looked back on his life with queer-tinted glasses, hindsight lifting a haze of confusion he’d carried with him for his entire life.
Buck felt –
“I feel like I can breathe properly, for the first time in my life,” he finally managed, tears rolling down his cheeks before he could even attempt to blink them away. That was the truth of it – Buck felt like he could breathe, his chest free of the strange tightness he’d felt for as long as he could remember. Buck felt like he was free.
Hen’s watery expression reflected his own, her voice gruff with tears as she spoke. “Welcome to the club, Buck,” she smiled, reaching for Buck’s free hand, giving it a tight squeeze. “We’re happy to have you.”
Buck couldn’t help the half sob, half giggle that escaped his throat as he let Hen’s words wash over him. All his life, he’d been searching for a place he belonged, bouncing from job to job, bed to bed, and state to state, all in a desperate search for belonging. He’d found it – mostly – with the 118, but there had always been something that was missing, something he’d never had the words for.
The something was this – queerness. He was a part of a community he knew would fill that missing piece in, colour it in liberation and freedom and wrap him up in something bigger than himself.
Buck leaned into Hen’s embrace, his tea long forgotten on the coffee table, Hen’s warmth more of a comfort than the chamomile could ever be. “I’m so happy to be here,” he replied wetly, Hen’s arms wrapped tightly around him, and, well -
It was the truth. He was happy. Happier than he’d been in a long time. The happiest he’d ever been in his life, maybe. Happy, and free – and bisexual. Evan Buckley was bisexual. A bisexual man who had a date on Saturday, but he’d have time to freak out about that later.
For now, he was going to enjoy the way breathing came easier than it ever had done before.
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Every year a bobcat mama gives birth to a litter of kittens on my roof. I set up a camera this time around.
(Source)
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