Page 109 of The Golden Boy's Guide to Bipolar
Heightened Sexuality
Before leaving to meet Jamal for our final astronomy night, I grab what used to be the Jamal section of my poetry notebook, all the pages now held together in a binder just for him. I put the binder in my bag and head out. This time, it’s not an impulsive decision, but something I’ve wanted to share with him as long as I’ve had the notebook.
When we get to the dirt road and climb into the bed of his truck, I can’t help but stare at him while he watches the sky. Jamal always made me feel loved. More than that, he made me feelworthyof love. Looking back on everything, it hurts knowing that I didn’t do the same for him, at least not intentionally.
“I’m sorry,” I eventually say. The phrase gets slightly less painful, but no more comfortable every time.
“For what?” Jamal asks as he puts the telescope down to look at me.
My fingers twitch, since our hands are so close to touching, but I don’t know if he’d want me to hold his hand. Jamal looks down,always noticing the tiny ways he affects me. Apparently, he’s okay with it, because he turns his palm up, and I slip my fingers through his. He squeezes as if to encourage me to go on.
“You always wanted me to know I deserved to be loved. Even when I was awful to you, you made sure I knew I was loved. Maybe I never told you because it just seems like the most obvious thing, but you deserve to be loved, too. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how much I loved you. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you how important you are to me.”
Jamal smiles. “You didn’t have to say that.”
“But Ishouldhave. I loved you the whole time I was treating you like shit, and if you ever felt like you weren’t loved, or didn’t deserve to be loved because of how I treated you, I want to fix that. So... I have something I want to show you.”
I reach into my backpack and hand him the binder.
“What’s this?” he asks, eyeing the binder before opening it like it’s booby-trapped or something.
“Proof,” I say tentatively. “You were always everything to me, Jamal. There was never a day you weren’t an integral part of my universe.” I smile at the words Jamal himself gave me. “These are all poems I wrote about you. Some of them are really old, like from before we even started dating. This isn’t me trying to convince you that we’re ready to get back together or anything. It’s just me trying to be more honest. This is how I really felt, and I’m not interested in hiding anymore. Not from you, or anyone else.”
“I didn’t know you wrote poetry,” Jamal says softly as he opens the binder.
“I haven’t told anyone else,” I say, cheeks still warm, but notfrom nerves. “So I thought about what you said before. If we ever do get back together, I want it to be healthy. But I don’t know if there’s ever gonna be a time we can be 100 percent sure it won’t go wrong, you know? There won’t be any clear-cut signal to tell us I’m officially ‘better’ enough to be capable of a relationship. But I’m done running away when things get real. I’m done keeping my fears to myself. No matter what happens with us, I want to work on that.”
He's quiet for a bit, his fingers tracing the pages of the binder, but his eyes still on me.
“Can I read these?” he finally asks.
I laugh. “That’s why I’m giving them to you. You don’t have to read them right now, but they’re yours. They’re all for you.”
Jamal starts reading one of the poems right in front of me and smiles. “You’re my universe too, Cesar,” he says with zero hesitation. “I know you have a lot to work out. I’m ready to get back together, but if you’re not—”
“I’m ready,” I say as I bring his hand my lips and kiss the healing scabs on his knuckles, one by one.
He leans forward and presses his forehead against mine, taking both my hands in his. I hold my breath, praying he wants this as bad as I do. He kisses me, softly since we’re both still healing, but fully.
We open our eyes at the same time in between kisses, just to look at each other. To make sure we’re both still here. I can feel the “I love you” lingering in his eyes. I tell him I love him too, with my lips. I cup his face in my hands and tenderly kiss the faded bruises on his cheek, his swollen eye, his busted lip, as if my mouthcan heal all of it. My mouth moves to his neck, and I kiss there too, leaving a mark of my own.
He lets out a sigh of pleasure, and I keep going. My hands softly travel to his chest and stomach, feeling the slight dips of muscle but not pressing too hard. I lift his shirt and kiss those bruises too. I kiss everywhere that looks like it hurts, wishing my lips would magically right my wrongs. I pull away again to look at him. Sometimes I can’t decide if I’d rather touch him or kiss him or just stare, he’s that beautiful. He stares back.
Shoulders relaxed, lips parted slightly, eyes doting as he looks into mine.
“I want to be with you,” I say breathlessly. I’ve never been more sure of anything.
“Are you still manic?” Jamal asks.
“I don’t know, maybe?” I say honestly. I think I’m coming down from it, but it’s a little hard to tell.
“Do you want to be with me when you’re not manic?” he asks.
“Of course I do.” I always want to be with Jamal. Even when I fooled myself into thinking that leaving him in the dust was good for him. I still wanted him.
Jamal brings the back of my hand to his lips and kisses it. “I want to be with you too.”
I kiss him again, longer this time, letting myself fully sink into it. He brings a hand behind my neck, and I lean in to him, trying my best not to kiss too hard and hurt his lip. When we pull away, I lean my head on his shoulder.
