Oh. Hell. No.
I had inconsistently spent the last two days looking through boxes in my garage, boxes in the back of my closet, old duffel bags, and every dark corner that I normally try to avoid. Somehow I just knew that damn box was sitting on its pretty little ass in the attic. Why the attic? Because that's where things go to be forgotten. That is, until my ex-boss decided to be a bitch and dredge up the past that like a nasty hairnado that'd been secretly hiding in the shower drain, somethings are better left untouched.
After putting on enough layers to feel adequately protected against anything that might jump me once I breach the security of the attic door, I began what I assumed would be a suicide mission— to the attic. My heart was racing as I pushed the two foot by two foot death trap up, and out of the way. I cinched the drawstring on my hoodie as tight as possible until my field of vision was no bigger than a nickel, which still left me feeling too vulnerable, then pulled my sleeve cuffs over my hands and gripped them tightly in my palms. I was as prepared as I was ever going to be to enter a space in which I wished didn't exist. It had all the qualities I hated; dark, dirty, and spiders. The fucking spiders. I willed my heart to slow as I slowly ascended into the darkness of doom. I had decided against the head lamp for fear that shining light would do more harm than good, I didn't want to attract more attention to myself then needed. I also knew for a fact I didn't want to see what was up there.
Luckily for me there was only one tote and it wasn't far from the entrance, so I was able to grab it quickly and get the hell out of there. As soon as the tote was on the floor and the attic door was safely secured I did the only thing my body would let me do; I shook it like a polaroid picture. In my mind of minds I just knew I was covered in spiders and that fear lead me into a five minute shake down that was neither eloquent, smooth, graceful, sexy, or coordinated. My whole body was flailing around the spare room, down the hall, and toward the bathroom as I made hideous sounds that bared a strong resemblance to a dying animal or the most un-erotic mating call you've ever heard. I jumped into the shower fully clothed as a last ditch way of ridding the world, and my body, of any eight legged creatures.
I laid in the tub with a solid seventy pounds of wet clothes stuck to my body. As the water rained down on my heaving chest all I could think about was how fucking manly I was. This of course, made me laugh because I, Donovan Allerton, was a lot of things, but a typical stereotype wasn't one, at least according to others. I spent too much of my life trying to appease others, to fill their definition of a man at the cost of my own happiness. So I'm afraid of spider, fuck em, bitches.
I peeled off the clothes, wrapped a towel around my waist and went to retrieve my tote. Correction, the contaminated attic tote would forever be quarantined in the spare room until it was banished back to the attic when this whole nightmare is over. I'd only retrieve what I absolutely needed from the inside.
I ran my thumb down the smooth thick leather and across the course seams. I closed my eyes and buried my face into the palm of the leather mitt as I inhaled a scent that could only be described as my childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood all wrapped together.
Baseball.
My earliest memories involved baseball and almost every subsequent memory thereafter. Tball (3y-5y), Farm league (6y-8y), Minors (9y-10y), Majors (11y-12y), then I was on a traveling team from age twelve until my freshman year of High School, in which I was placed on Varsity. This alone was a big feat considering we were an 8A school and freshman never made Varsity, except me. Not only did I make the team but I actually played my freshman year, started four games my sophomore year, and led the team to dominate the Championships my Junior and Senior year.
Overall it was a good experience, not perfect, but how can I complain when so many kids have it worse than I did when they come out? I always knew I was gay and there was really never any question, even my parents figured it out before I said anything. I didn't come out overnight with a big and exciting announcement but I didn't hide it either. People put the pieces together themselves. It didn't affect baseball because I was such a solid player that in their eyes, the reward outweighed the risk.
As I matured and grew into my sexuality I trended away from the masculine image I'd grown up aspiring to be, and toward a more effeminate style and way of life. This was a difficult concept for peers, players, coaches, parents, and supporters to grasp. My 'gayness' was never a problem but my 'level of gayness' was. It was something that infuriated me to no end, and still does.
'Level of gayness', seriously? Like, what the fuck does that mean? The thought that I could dress like a runway model, style my hair like a professional, add glitter to any ensemble, move like a go go dancer, AND play baseball like a boss was a riddle that no one could solve. I managed it, but only barely, and at a great cost. Everything came to head in College after I co-led Oregon State University to a Championship victory, not once, but two consecutive years. After my sophomore year things came to head and I decided that self love was more important than everything else. They never made it back to the championships and I never played another game again.
*****
"Help me DONNAS, help, help me DONNAS!"
Nick and Nelly sang (in unison) the Beach Boys tune of Help Me Rhonda as they barged through the front door with the rest of the gang shuffling behind.
We were the DONNAS.
It's crazy how we all met, not crazy like 'omg let me tell you this insane story that you'll never believe', more like, in a world of six and a half billion people, we somehow found our perfect niche group of acceptance. I personally struggled trying to find my step on the ladder of conformity. According to others I'm too gay to be a 'dude', too dude to be effeminate, too feminine to be dominate, too tall to be a twink, and too whateva to be whatever. It was exhausting. It's also surprising how the gay community screams and cries for acceptance while casting the harshest judgment on their own. It's no matter, I found my people and within them: my happiness.
Nick and Nelly are identical twins, literally cut from the same cloth, and whereas most twins spend their whole lives trying to find their own identity, Nick and Nelly continued to grow closer. I've much speculated that they were never meant to split and that one day they will spontaneously morph back into one person. In preparation for that day, we call them Nilly, but only when they're being particularly twinny. They're cute-ish, I suppose. Five foot six inches and bright red hair that lack the fiery personality that people come to expect.
Oliver, Olie, Olive, or Livi, depending on what personality he's embracing at any given moment. It's not that he has split personalities (not diagnosed anyways), I'm only kidding. He is who he is and he'll be who he wants to be, when he wants to be them. He claims his different characters (he says that saying 'characters' makes him sound less crazy than saying 'personalities'. Okay, sure. You do you, dude) are based on the fact he's clearly mixed ethnicity. He's pretty sure he's largely Asian but the way he can roll his r's has him convinced there's a bit of sexy Spanish mixed in, and then there's his obscenely-large-for-his-size cock, so definitely a little African American, at least according to him. He'll never know for sure since he was abandoned as infant, and that fact alone means we'll never argue with him about it. I think there's a part of him that loves the fact he can be anyone he wants to be and I have to admit that it's kind of cool, too. Oliver's way short, like five foot five inches when he's wearing shoes. but he's ten goddamn inches long and he's a shower not a grower, so it's always just 'hangin around'. It's the weirdest and most unproportioned thing I've ever seen. Seriously, you should see him in his tiny swimsuit, it's unnatural.
Sammy, otherwise known as Salami (he loves meat more than anyone I know, and yes, that's a double entendre). He's roughly as tall as the twins but that's where the similarities end. Salami's love of food has stretched him out a bit. If I had to guess, I'd say he's a good fifty pounds over the highest recommended weight for his BMI and it's not because he's big boned. I've offered myself as a workout partner but he doesn't care, he says you only live once and he's gonna be happy and full. Amen brotha.
Then there's Allen, the only one of us who's not gay and ironically, the first one people assume is. Firstly, he goes by Allé, which is pronounced Allie; not Ale or Al. He's six foot and so flaming that I feel the need to strap a fire extinguisher to his thigh. He swears (and we have questioned him extensively on the matter) that he's not gay. I'm not one to judge, but c'mon Allén. Personally, I think he's asexual. He's straight, but seems to identify somewhere in the middle I've never, not once, seen him interested in anyone, male or female. As far as we know, he's still happily a virgin. He doesn't care enough to be labeled one way or the other, so it's become a non-issue.
