Page 68 of When Ben Loved Jace
I glance up from my laptop. “What do you mean?”
“In my youth, I mistakenly thought that progress was a steady march forward, when in truth, it’s more like dancing the cha-cha.” He gets up to demonstrate. “There’s a lot of back and forth interspersed between sideways maneuvering. Do you like to dance, Ben?”
“Yes,” I admit, tempted to join him, but he sits before I’m able to.
Eric’s expression becomes much more somber. “The struggle for civil rights has been playing out longer than our own movement and provides many instructive examples. There have been great strides, such as the end of legal segregation. The striking down of Jim Crow laws or Apartheid, however, did not bring an end to racism. Redlining is no longer in practice—officially, anyway—and yet districts are redrawn in modern times to disempower black voters. Despite this, I like to think that we’re slowly making progress across the ballroom of equality. So while my version of hope has become more nuanced over the years, I never lost it completely.”
I had the foresight to record our conversation with my phone. I can type fast, but my notes wouldn’t have captured the elegance of his phrasing.
“When it comes to the gay experience, do you remember seeing an optimistic outlook in any of the books you read while growing up?”
Eric shakes his head. “I don’t believe so.”
“Would it have helped if you had?”
“Perhaps. Yes. I wasn’t very political when younger. I was mostly focused on the sort of life I wanted for myself. But then I met someone whoembodiedthat message and many more.” Eric smiles. “That was very motivating indeed.”
“Was he hot?” I ask teasingly.
“Oh yes! I certainly thought so. You can judge for yourself.” Eric rises again and moves to a side table, where he picks up a photo in an ornate frame.
This is handed to me. In the image, Eric stands on the left, his hair darker and longer, his chin covered in a light beard. He’s dressed in a stylish suit, as is the black man next to him, who has a completely bald dome and a pencil-thin mustache.
“You look so young!”
“Don’t remind me that I’m not anymore!” Eric says with a chuckle. “The funny thing is, I still feel like that person. Most of the time.”
I take in the surrounding details. “Wait, is this a wedding photo?”
“Yes. Gabriel was my husband. I met him not long after things fell apart with Michael. Politics were his lifeblood. Being with him was in many ways another sort of awakening for me. Of the heart, yes, but also one of compassion. He taught me the role each of us play in building a better future. Although, as I was saying earlier, we can only contribute to a greater cause, and later, provide support for those who continue the fight after us. Each generation must advocate for their own unique needs. So while I wish there had been more guidance in the books I’d read when growing up, it’s just as important that new books are written that reflect changing times and fresh perspectives. And perhaps it is also crucial for each generation to experience a baptism by fire. While I don’t wish for anyone to suffer, the struggles that we minorities must endure—the perseverance required to survive—imbue us with the strength necessary to push back against prejudice and tyranny. Learning to overcome such hardships makes each of us a warrior in a battle that truly has no end.”
“Wow,” I say after a moment of silence. “Have you ever thought of running for office?”
Eric laughs pleasantly. “That was Gabriel’s dream, not my own.”
“When did he pass away?”
“Gabriel? He’s alive and well.”
“Oh! I thought… Are you still together?”
“No. Not since he left me for a younger man.” Eric holds up a palm to ward off any sympathetic words. “We’re still friends. I love him, and he loves me. Our paths simply diverged. He wanted to pursue some of those old political ambitions—through the young man in question—and I wanted us to simply enjoy the fruits of our labor. He was my business partner as well as my husband, you see.” Eric shrugs. “I felt we’d done enough conquering. How much success does one man truly need?”
“That sounds rough.”
Eric waves a hand dismissively. “It was, for the most part, a very happy marriage. We still enjoy each other’s company. I refuse to feel sorry for myself. I’ve been far luckier than most.”
I feel a swell of affection for the man. I’m glad Tim has someone like Eric in his life. Although his good influence hasn’t made things easier on me. Not with Tim so freely expressing his emotions.
“Did you ever find it hard to navigate?” I ask. “Being friends with Gabriel, I mean. Was that a big adjustment at first?”
“But of course!” Eric places a palm over his chest. “He broke my heart! I was angry. And disappointed. No, it was many years before we were on civil terms again. I’m very grateful to Marcello for helping me through those dark times.”
“What about now? Are you ever… I don’t know. Tempted?”
“To strangle him? Yes.” Eric smiles playfully before reassessing me. “Ah. I see what you’re getting at. Gabriel and Idostill have chemistry. On occasion, he has bemoaned his decision, since his new relationship is much more volatile than ours ever was. If they were to ever split up, I might even welcome him back. But there haven’t been any close calls like what you so recently experienced. I hope you don’t mind that Tim confided in me.”
“Not at all,” I assure him. Part of me wants to ask him exactly what Tim said, but I won’t, since it’s an unhealthy curiosity.
