It's Only Love
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CHAPTER 1: Thanks for Listening
"Thanks for listening."
The words echoed throughout the auditorium. Some wore a mask of contempt and disgust on their faces, others had concern and sympathy etched in their eyes, while most just sat there in a stunned silence.
Jessica broke that silence, defiantly jumping to her feet and applauding the courageous act that Steven just comitted. Her heart reached out for him when he asked -- even pleaded -- for someone in the audience to join him in his declaration of who he was. Then she suddenly realized that it wasn't merely a cry to the audience as a whole; indeed, she had noticed that he had explicitly directed his gaze to the right, where John Dixon was standing. 'You have to be more discreet. People aren't stupid' she had cautioned him. Fortunately, most people probably didn't notice that Steven had held his gaze just a bit longer at John. In any case, few would fathom that John "Superman" Dixon could possibly be gay. Jessica applauded louder, knowing that the wonderful man walking off the stage would need all the love and support that she could offer him in the times to come.
Sarah Carter's eyes glimmered with emotions, her brow wrinkled with concern. She wanted to jump up and embrace her son, to protect him from the harsh glares that some in the audience aimed in his direction. For a brief instant, she was startled that there was not an inkling of disappointment or embarrassment within her body. Instead, there was a shocking amount of pride that coursed through her veins, in recognition of how brave and strong her son is. There he was, standing in front of the entire world and declaring -- no, embracing -- his identity, an identity that would cause many to hate him. Hate him for just being who he is. So it shouldn't have seemed so much of a surprise to her when she found herself on her feet, applauding her courageous son as he stumbled off the stage. Yes, she was proud of her son, more proud of him than she had ever been before.
While Sarah was proud, Graham Carter was confused. Here was his son, declaring to the entire world that he was a queer, and the idea hit him like a sharp blow to the stomach. Yes, Sarah had just revealed her suspicion that Steven was gay, but hearing it from his son's own mouth stole the wind from his lungs. And yet, that act somehow made it seem all the more believable. Though he didn't understand, Graham Carter was beginning to see that this was the way his son had always been; indeed, it was in retrospect the only conclusion that made any sense. Startled by this revelation, Graham realized how difficult he must have made his son's life, driving him to declare to the entire world something that he couldn't even tell his own father. He discovered that he never understood his son; he never even knew him. But what was worse, he never even noticed that this was the case, nor ever made an effort to do so. As he glanced at his son walking past him, Graham resolved to begin listening to his son, and to be proud of him for who he really is, not just who he wanted him to be.
As Graham watched his son walk down the aisle, many in the audience began to join in the applause. As Steven continued down the aisle, the applause grew, many of those present wanting to exhibit their acceptance and support of this person who wanted only to be loved. But many others refrained from applauding, some of them casting disapproving glares at this "child" who they felt was an embarrassment to their town, and a disgrace to the award that was just offered to him. Others who remained silent were simply too shocked to believe that someone in their little town was "one of those gay people" that they thought only existed in newspapers, with the occasional hairdresser or fashion salesman.
One person who conspicuously refrained from applauding was John.
'How could he do this?' John thought. 'First the article in the school magazine, now this!'
As the audience began to file out after Steven's extraordinary speech, the realisation of what just happened finally hit John.
'My god . . . they'll soon find out . . . everyone will . . .' John began to panic. "Not if it means everyone finding out" was what he had said.
'They can't find out . . . my parents would kill me . . .' But then he felt the blood drain from his face.
'But life without Steven . .' Distraught, John ran to the athletics field to find some solace.
___________________________________________
The full gamut of emotions coursed through his veins. Fear . . . anger . . . love . . . all competing for dominance. John sighed.
"Why did you have to ruin it, Steven," John muttered aloud, shaking his head, eyes held tight to hold back the tears. "Why . . . "
He looked down at the trophy in his hands. It was a symbol of what "John Dixon" was. The Head-Boy, Basingstoke's star athlete, Oxford-bound heir to the Dixon line. It was a tribute to all of what made "John Dixon" so powerful. . . within it was the prestige, the comfort of being who everyone else wanted to be.
Footsteps signaled the approach of someone. John glanced over his shoulder, and there was Steven walking towards him.
For an instant, panic seized his throat. "God, no one followed you, did they." Words that elicited a nearly disgusted "No" from Stevens lips, the accompanying look in Steven's eyes making John regret that they had ever left his mouth.
Steven sat next to him on the bench, hunched over and looking nearly as distraught as John felt. With a heavy heart, John gingerly placed the trophy on the ground between them. They sat there, in silence, a silence that was stifling, dampening the usual electricity that seemed to arc between them every time they had been alone before. John looked up at Steven, his eyes seeing a person that once had been such a source of warmth. Now that warmth had vanished, leaving in its wake a stillness that was cold and uninviting. John reached out towards his lover, needing to find that warmth that he had never found in anyone before, desperately reaching towards the one that he loved.
But Steven pulled away.
It was too much. Tears beginning to well in his eyes, John broke the oppressive silence.
"I'm . . . so sorry. I . . ." John faltered, searching for the words to express what he was feeling "I can't believe I . . . you must hate me for . . ."
"We've had more romantic moments," Steven offered. Those words cut into John's heart far more than the physical pain that John had inflicted upon Steven.
"The strange thing is, after I'd - " John faltered again, replaying in his mind the image of Steven, his love, curled up by the lockers, someone's foot jabbing sharply into his ribs. John's foot. "-done that to you . . ."
The words abandoned him again. How could he relay how sorry he was? Again, the image of Steven, curled in pain, surfaced in his mind, his heart crying to him, screaming at him, pleading with him to help his lover. But John Dixon had abandoned him. This image was painfully etched in his mind, and would remain there forever. ". . . all I could think of was holding you. . . to make it alright."
"And I knew," John continued, "I really knew--" John gazed at Steven, the summer sun highlighting every detail of this breath-taking creature, from his deep blue-green eyes, his sensuous lips, to his tender hands and his dark-brown hair. "-- that I'd never loved anyone so much."
Steven looked away, struggling to digest the words that John had spoken to him. John's eyes broke away from Steven, falling instead to the trophy between them, looking at once both polished gold and tarnished brass in the sun. As John took a deep breath from his cigarette, Steven's eyes threatened to overflow.
"Johnny, you do realize what I just did in there," Steven looked up at John, whose wavy locks shined golden in the sun.
Nodding, John took a deep puff from his cigarette, before exhaling in a long, deep sigh. As the smoke dissipated in front of his eyes, he slowly turned his head towards Steven.
John's eyes met Steven's, and their gazes embracing each-other as the two had so often done with their bodies, neither wanting to let go, refusing to relinquish the love that has been shared between the two. For a fleeting moment, a moment that seemed as long as an eternity and as brief as an instant, it seemed that everything was as it should be. Two lovers, gazing into each other's eyes, the world fading away in the background, their love outshining even the summer sun that flew overhead. But then reality set in, and John heard the words that Steven had spoken.
'Yes, I realize what you just did in there!' John's mind screamed. 'I understand that in that room, you have begun a journey with dangers that I'm not able to face, you've passed through a gate that is closed to me, you've traveled a path that I cannot follow.' He wanted to scream at Steven! 'Why couldn't you let things be!?!' But instead he just stared silently. The tears threatened to overwhelm him, and John had to break his eyes away from Steven's, the gaze being too painful and bittersweet to hold any longer.
Steven knew what John's reaction would be, just as he had known that he could no longer bear the weight of lying and being un-true to himself any longer, just as he had known that John wouldn't be able to follow his lead in the auditorium. Tears finally spilling over, Steven did what he came there to do.
Standing to his feet, a task made difficult with the heavy weight of his heart, Steven allowed the tears to finally fall. He looked down at his love, the beautiful John Dixon, whose careless hair haphazardly framed a strikingly handsome face, his usually strong shoulders slumped over under the weight of his feuding emotions. For a moment, he wanted to embrace his love, kiss his cares away, and let their love carry them away from the Kevin's, Dave's, and Glen's of the world, to a place where it really was only love, nothing to be scared of. But he knew that wasn't possible, and he settled for letting his hand run through his lover's hair one last time.
"Be happy," Stephen sobbed.
Those words, coupled with the ginger touch of his lover's hand, communicated much more than all the words of Shakespeare, Dickens, or Hemmingway could ever do, and John knew that this was the end. In that brief instant, the intimacy of all that had transpired over the past months was shared once more between the two. All of the playfulness in the pool; the intimacy of the evening at the Dixon's; the passion of the night in the woods; the longing of their dance together; the fire in their first kiss; the trust shared in the evening they first made love; even the pain surrounding the time when John first professed his love for Steven in the pouring rain. . . all of it was shared in that brief instant. In that fleeting moment, their love burst free one last time, in an explosion so bright that during its brief duration it out-shined even the glory of the sun. And then it was gone.
John looked up, staring at the boy who was walking away with his heart, as he crossed the field without ever looking back. He wanted to run after him, tackle him in a loving embrace, and with a single, passionate kiss let him know that he loved him and that he would do anything to show him that love. But something chained his feet to the ground, and as he looked down, he saw it. The trophy . . . "John Dixon" forged in metal. All of his prestige, his lineage, his future, was contained in that trophy, and yet it seemed so empty. And it was all that he had left.
He picked up the trophy, embraced it like a lover, and, with one final glance at the departing Steven, walked wearily away.
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