When I came out as gay in 2018, I was met with quite a few, “Well, yeah, I already knew that” or “Just like we always thought.” A terribly unwelcomed, unnecessary, and unimportant way to respond; Those thoughts should be kept to oneself. Frankly, do I much care about these comments one way or the other? No, especially not in relation to myself.
By the time I was outed, I had been outwardly acting what-is-stereotypically-understood-as-‘gay’ for the better half of a decade. Before then, regardless of who I did or didn’t tell, I still understood myself to like multiple genders. Not confirming my queerness – in fact, vehemently denying it – was an active choice for my own survival, safety, and wellbeing. My peers, my aunts, my teachers, my cousins, my friends: everyone was curious to find out if I wasn’t straight. My aunt Agitha called me a faggot in the family group chat when I was just 13 years old. Louis (from infantile sheep, mid-nomer), my elementary school bully, desperately teased my young femininity on a daily basis.
Most people I knew were interested in my truth; that’s not to imply they’d all support it.
While Agitha and Louis never attempted to become close enough to me to learn who I am, a few did. In 2013, only two people knew I was bisexual: my best friends, Kayla and Oliver. I trusted them with my life, and I sure as hell still do. That year, Kayla, Oliver, and I all graduated from Shawnee Heights Elementary School to our intermediary: Shawnee Heights Middle School. It’s there, in the autumn of 2013, where I met you, Alyx.
I am certain that many people would claim the title of The First To Know I’m Gay; however, with the confidence of every single cell in my body, Alyx, you were the first person to look at me, talk to me, and without knowing me, be 100% certain that I am gay. The idea that you knew; The power you held if you did; The comparison of our experiences; It petrified me.
My first memory with you, unfortunately, is not in SEEK – our gifted education class – or in the halls in the first few days of the semester. My first experience with you was surely in those places, yet, my first memory, well, it was on my phone. My phone that was paid for and monitored by my parents. The mere existence of you within my realms could’ve damned me. Still, I remember when you first texted me: it was something overzealous and all too kind. For one reason or another, you were interested in becoming my friend. And the feeling was not mutual.
Partially brainwashed by my parent’s beliefs and partially worried for myself, I understood being your friend, hanging out with you, to be a foolish idea. I chatted you back whenever you’d text me and I’d be friendly in our class together at school. I did not, could not, and would not give you any additional platonic effort.
Kayla – who was also a gifted student – and you quickly became close friends in the class we shared, and by proxy, we grew closer too. We played chess together, competed across the state of Kansas in Scholar’s Bowl, and programmed Lego robots. We pissed our pants about the release of Bangerz and ArtPop – that year’s records from our ultimate supremes. At some point, my mom would find you in my texts and ask who you were. I told her your name, that you went to my school, and that you’re gay. She told me to keep you at a distance because you were probably into me.
And you were, of course. Alyx you were, so, immeasurably, head over heels for me. I understand; I do find myself attractive. But, please, we have to be serious, in seventh grade, what I occasionally refer to as my worst year of school, I was not serving the cunt that I do today. While I will maybe never understand your interest at that time, I knew I didn’t feel the same. Not only was I scared of you, and instructed to stay away from you, but you just weren’t my type. Namely, at that time, you weren’t the straight-jocks who would rather hate-crime me than share even an approving glance. But, I didn’t need to tell my mom all that.
I do want you to know, Alyx, that it was by my own accord, and not my mother’s, that we weren’t closer in our very beginning. The memories of us bussing to and from quiz bowl tournaments, eating room temperature Glory Days Pizza, and gooning to Gaga’s Swine, are memories that rectify my queer child. For so long, I wasn’t sure he existed, but my memories with you, they prove that he lives.
SHMS only hosted the seventh and eighth grades, so in 2014, you’d be at the high school while I was still at the middle. We kept in touch peripherally, but wouldn’t really reconnect until the fall of 2015 during our school’s production of Little Shop of Horrors where we were both ensemble characters! I know you don’t agree with the songs I think we had together, but it matters not; Hearing you sing, with a voice I hardly knew you had, consistently left me in awe. If I could change anything from that time, I would have convinced you to continue doing musical theatre in the following years. I only wonder if we would’ve become closer so much sooner.
Early texts saved between the two of us are quite telling of our infatuation and envy of the other: you asking me to sing for you, me telling you I dreamt of you, and making fun of your daily snap stories telling your audience to visit you at your retail job. The morning that this letter was posted (May 24th 2024), you told me of a dream that included me, and I sang Ariana Grande’s You Don’t Know Me for you; it’s fate for certain parts of us to remain.
Our interaction was much more frequent in high school, though, still, mostly peripheral. We shared an advisor because of our status [haha], saw each other at sporting events where I was in band and you were on cheer, and we shared a plethora of friends. At that time, I think I would’ve considered us friends – on again for the first time.
Any picture I posted with chicago, my first queer love, you were certain to comment on: double entendre, boyfriend*, or something of the like. chicago and I shared our secret with so few people, yet your clairvoyance allowed you to know. Luckily, I was less scared of you now; the #GayKansas, #GayTeen, #Instagay, etc., had finally calmed down.
As you got older, your priorities in life shifted and I saw you at school less and less; not so much in the halls, not at the extracurriculars, and I didn’t think you had graduated yet. That time is not my story to tell, but it is what I might consider us being off again: we stopped talking entirely.
Alyx, we are both queer, but you were always much more flamboyant than me. Visualizing us as friends, as partners, as queer people, we just weren’t comparable. Sure, we both wanna take it, we’re intelligent, and pretty, we’re tall, latina, and water-signs, but on all other spectrums we were opposing. But, maybe not as much as I thought…
On May 24th, 2017, Alyx, you texted me and broke my heart. chicago wanted to hook up with you; you two had been trading nudes for a few months-time. You and I chatted about it for a bit, before I thanked you for telling me, and went apeshit on chicago. I told chicago we were done, blah blah ultimatum, blah blah boyfriend.
Alyx, what I haven’t told you is: I hated you. More than I wanted to stop talking to chicago, I wanted to stop talking to you. I wanted you to disappear, more than you already had. If you had evaporated for me and for school, why couldn’t you evaporate from chicago, too? Alyx, why did you have to fuck this up for me? Why couldn’t you let me have what I thought was my first good queer experience? You had enough; You were out; You had boyfriends; You could have sex with whoever you wanted; Why take the questioning peer that you knew I held dear? I envied you for so long, but finally you had broken it. You did something I would have never done to you. I loathed you.
Those feelings were unfair. chicago lied to me, not you.
When I was outed the following year, I let you know almost immediately. You were one of the handfuls of texts I sent from the Lake Shawnee Adventure Cove Parking Lot as I waited for Serena to arrive and prevent me from killing myself. You’d check in every now and then following, yet still, we weren’t friends again.
At the end of May in 2019, my entire family took a vacation, leaving me at home to watch our dog, Pumpkin, for an entire week. During that week, I would attend my first Pride Festival; I’m sure I invited you, but you didn’t attend. By Sunday, our Pride group was tuckered out, and chose to spend the evening playing board games at my house instead of partying in Kansas City. Alyx, you agreed to attend. Lucky for both of us, it was always a breeze for you to connect and get along with my friends. After board games and pizza, everyone left but you. We ventured down to the basement with my room in the back corner.
There, we found our connection; where our love for the other lies. It lives within music – an allowance for our queerness to come alive. I introduced you to She Is Coming, Miley’s two-day old EP. Frank Ocean, Billie Eilish, Oh Wonder, and The ***5: We bonded over our queens, sang their songs, and felt their melodies.
The evening turned into night turned into early morning. Just an hour or two before you had to be awake and leaving for work, I’d finally allow you one dream moment.
Alyx, in our current age, we have a friendly debate, platonic tiff: I claim to give the best head, yet you’re confident you deserve the title. My dear, please, let’s gaze at our context. In 2019, your mouth received me; that same morning nor ever after, my mouth has not met you. Said you can make me finish, but that isn’t quite what happened. The best head is given by one of us, and it’s me, I promise: I am certain.
That night, I wouldn’t kiss you; something I still hold over your head. For that, I am sorry, I would change that if I could. At least now, our first kiss awaits; your dream-sacred-moment of a life with altered fate.
After that night, we were off again.
In 2020, one of my friends and I experimented with psychedelics. With utmost concern for our safety, we invited you to trip-sit us, twice. Though we weren’t explicitly friends at that time, I knew and trusted you to be the safest person for that experience. I mostly shit on my experiences with psychedelics, but my memories of painting, staring at the ceiling, and hallucinating on Grindr, all while you watched and chatted – generally along the ride – are some of my fondest.
From then on, I would consider us to be friends. We would talk about our hookups, about school, and about music. You’d vow that we’d see Miley and Gaga together, and that we needed to attend a concert together soon. Still, we were not the type to hang out. It wasn’t until I began inviting you to my birthday parties, that we became best friends.
In the month leading up to my 22nd birthday, we’d become closer, talking more than ever. You would make an appearance at the party, and ended up having a not-so-swell time. Following, I was sure to check up on you, since I wasn’t much concerned during the party. Since then, not a day has passed without us talking. All of our usuals still exist: Gagging for Gaga, Moaning for Miley, and talking about our sexual partners. Our friendship has bloomed like Troye Sivan: we have provoking conversation about human rights, queer theory, and gender diversity; we complain about our jobs, share our love for our elderly cats, and dread the drama that often consumes our families; we are besotted with mexican food, inspired by drag, and love harder than any other two people I know.
Alyx, you’re not just my best friend; You are my queer mother – and I don’t put that lightly. I sought your advice when buying a car, going back to school, and for all things finance. I admire your wisdom on our history as queers, how to navigate unwelcoming environments, and the importance of our visibility. You teach me, you guide me, and you allow me to do the same. Our spaces are safe for the other and, for that, I could not be more thankful.
I am eternally grateful for the ways in which you understand me, the ways in which you intellectualize my presentation of self, and your willingness to defend it when the room is full of people who, frankly, don’t get it. I want you to know, and I think you do, that those actions are reciprocal. If you are the only person in the room to laugh at my jokes, understand my nuanced quips, or pick up on my subtle reference to longstanding drama, then I feel accomplished. Even so, I still like teasing you, and if I’m really lucky, those teases can result in one of the most beautiful cackles I have ever heard. The last time I heard that cackle was just a few weeks ago, in discussion of this very own ever-changing story. Perhaps, I will tell that tale another day.
I feel so lucky to have been able to ask you questions about gay sex, about bottoming, about douching, about queer relationships, and about gay dating apps. In fact, you were the one to convince me to download Grindr while I was working at Carlos O’Kelly’s. Thankfully, we both moved from the terrible grid of Topeka and found more attractive success in our new home towns. Now, we again live in the same town, only this time, you’re getting my sloppy-seconds, instead of me getting yours.
In 2023, I had the absolutely daunting task of convincing you to come to Lollapalooza with me. I not only knew that you’d enjoy it, but I knew that it would change your life like it did mine. As if my life depended on it, I used every angle imaginable to get you to agree to come. Truly, something deep within me believes that your soul needed to go. Watching you experience the exact same joy I had just two years prior was invaluable. Seeing your happiness as you watched one of your top-favorite bands confirmed that you and I will be in each other’s lives until they’re over. I am so proud of the growth you allowed during that trip and of all the growth that has followed.
Your growth, of course, does not, and should not, suggest that your deviance has ceased. Your deviance as a queer has always interested me. In the infancy of our friendship, it was reliant on being loud, opinionated, and confrontational. In the intermediary, it was focused on sexual gratification, enabling infidelity in my high school relationship, and sharing queerness with traditionally-unlikely recipients. In our modern era, your original deviance of firmly impassioned beliefs has returned, yet shifted, toward an even broader scope of love.
These days, I am elated to have you as my first call for any upcoming concert: Janelle Monet, Poppy, Noah Kahan. Having only taken my recommendation to listen to Beyonce after the Renaissance World Tour had wrapped, I am buzzing for you to experience Cowboy Carter live. While we await that announcement, we continually plan other trips based solely around music: traveling across state lines for Lollapalooza 2024 and for Charli XCX, Troye Sivan, and Shygirl. If our friendship blossomed just two months earlier, perhaps you would have agreed to my offer to attend the Chromatica Ball in Chicago back in 2022. Alas, at least we get to kiki-ed for the film upon its release. I look forward to seeing you every other Friday for drag race watch parties. I appreciate your effort of always traveling to my place to watch, and I longed for the life we live now, where the commute between our homes has changed from a 40-minute drive to less than a minute-long walk.
Alyx, your confidence has always inspired me, if not, intimidated me. When I met you, it was impossible to deny it: your noise, your outspokenness; your lively being is emboldened by your confidence. I commend your recognition that this confidence can ebb and flow. In the decade of our intervallistic friendship, I am most proud of one thing: your confidence since going to Lollapalooza has outshone even the most flamboyantly-confident you I once knew. I am so proud of you and I’ll love you forever.