What Free Feels Like

It’s always girls they show in the movies with clothes strewn about their room as they try to find a perfect first-date outfit. I never thought that’d be me, a 22-year-old man trying on his sixth shirt in five minutes.

This is my first real date. In the ninth grade, I asked a girl from my Geometry class to go to the movies with me. Right before the movie started, a good-looking jock from our high school took the seat to my left. I spent the whole night acutely aware of how close his arm was to mine on the armrest and watching his legs shift restlessly, bringing his knee close enough to mine that I could almost feel the warmth of his skin through his jeans. That’s when I knew it would be my first and last date with a girl. And since going out with a guy was out of the question, that night was the beginning and end of dating for me.

I grew up in a really small town in southern Alabama with very Christian parents. Coming out wasn’t an option I felt I had. Not if I wanted to keep my family and friends. So I kept myself hidden. I flirted with girls occasionally, or tried to anyway, but never followed through. My sole focus was on fitting in and never standing out. Painting the image everyone expected of me. Years later, I learned I wasn’t the only one doing that.

I was eighteen when I let my mask slip one summer afternoon. I was alone in the gym locker room when Declan Jones, a guy I graduated with, came out of the showers. I averted my gaze as I always do, but then he opened the locker right next to mine and dropped his towel. I reacted before I could stop myself, turning and looking for a split second too long. I'd later learn his actions were intentional. A test of sorts. I finished dressing and ran away as fast as possible. He caught up with me about a block down the street. That’s when he trusted me with his biggest secret. I returned that trust with a racing heart and came out to someone for the first time.

We became friends after that, growing closer and closer each day. Two years later, we fell in love. No one knew of course. To everyone else, we were just two guys who hung out sometimes, usually in a group of other guys. We played up the casual friendship image, never wanting to appear like we knew each other too well. It was only behind closed doors that we allowed ourselves to touch or even share a long look. It wasn't ideal, but it was how we felt it had to be. We knew we'd never be free to be us in that town.

Last week, we finally escaped. After a couple of years of pinching pennies and tucking away every spare paycheck we could, we packed our bags, hit the road, and headed north. We rented a small one-bedroom apartment in Chicago. Together. That bedroom is where I stand now, with a pile of shirts discarded on the bed. Nothing I put on is right. I don’t know why this feels so big. We’ve been together for years, but tonight is a really big first for us. A real date. Out in the open.

Out. A word so small and simple most people wouldn't think twice about it. It's not simple to me though. When I think about being out, it feels like there's a cinder block sitting on my chest. I’m so tired of that feeling. I’m ready to live my life. With that thought, I know just what to wear. I pull a pale salmon-colored button-up off its hanger in the back of the closet. I bought it on a whim a couple of weeks before we moved. I was drawn to it where it hung on a rack behind a sea of darker-colored shirts. I remember checking to make sure no one else was in the store before I held it up. This was a shirt a free man could wear, I thought. A man I wanted so badly to be. I looked to the front counter and didn't recognize the girl working there. With an empty store and just one unfamiliar face, I figured I could buy it without raising any suspicions. That’s been my whole life. Always second-guessing every choice. Watching my surroundings. Looking for any eyes that could be on me, scrutinizing me. Buying that shirt was one of the most thrilling things I’ve ever done. I want to feel that again tonight.

I slip the shirt on and look in the mirror, a smile spreading across my face. It's nothing like my usual wardrobe of safe, neutral colors. I leave untucked over my khaki pants and roll the sleeves halfway up my forearms. Declan’s always liked that look. I’m messing with my hair when I hear a knock on the bedroom door.

Not sure why he’s knocking instead of just coming in, I go open the door. Declan stands on the other side holding a bouquet of flowers. Butterflies take flight in my stomach when I look at him. After all these years, he still takes my breath away. He’s wearing dark jeans and a dark shirt, the only splash of color being a light-blue checkered bow tie. A bow tie! Another daring clothing choice that neither of us would have made back home. No, not home. That’s just where we used to live. This is our home now.

“You look amazing,” he says as his gaze sweeps up and down my body. “I love that shirt.”

I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding, not realizing how much I needed that validation for my brave purchase. I return the favor. “So do you. You can really rock a bow tie. You should wear one every day.”

He laughs as I take the flowers from his hands and smell them. Before we leave, I put them in a tall glass in the kitchen with some water. I’ve never gotten flowers before. I didn’t even know it was something I wanted, but I do. I want all the cliches and sweet gestures. I guess I’m a romantic. What other small things will I discover about myself tonight?

As soon as we leave the apartment and get in the Uber, my nerves kick up a notch. Declan lets his pinky finger brush mine where it rests in the space between us on the backseat, and I glance at the driver. Even that little thing is more than we ever would have done in front of someone else before. It's both big and small at the same time. I want to close the distance completely and slip my fingers between his, but I chicken out. My stomach stirs with a mix of sadness and anger at my hesitation.

Ten minutes later, we pull up to a nice restaurant downtown and step out onto the sidewalk. I walk to the front door and start to go inside, but then stop and hold the door open instead, letting Declan enter before me. Another first. Even though holding doors is a southern hospitality norm, we never held doors for each other. We actually arrived places separately most of the time, even when coming from the same place, just to make sure we didn't look like a couple.

A hostess shows us to a candlelit table near the center of the dining room. My hands shake a pull out my chair and sit down. As I open my menu, I can’t stop my eyes from sweeping the room to see if anyone is watching us. They aren’t. Declan’s foot brushes against mine under the table, either intentionally or by accident. I turn my eyes back to his. I can see my nervousness mirrored back at me, so I push my foot back against his more firmly and he lets out a breath of relief.

When a young waiter comes to take our drink orders. I set down my menu and start to order a beer out of habit. Whenever we were out together before, we’d always order beers. It was part of our straight-buddies image. Bros drink beers.

Declan interrupts my order. “Actually...” He starts and reaches across the table, curling his fingers around my hand where it sits on the table. With his eyes never leaving mine, he says, “we’d love two glasses of your best Merlot.”

Tearing my gaze from our clasped hands, I can't help but turn and look up at the waiter to see his reaction to our obvious declaration. “Of course,” he says. He smiles brightly and looks us each in the eye before walking away. Warmth spreads through my whole body. That one look from a stranger shifts something in me. It was a look of acceptance. For us, as a couple. The feeling is so overwhelming that tears sting my eyes, but I quickly blink them away.

I clear the emotion from my throat. “Merlot? Have you ever tried it before?” I ask with a raised eyebrow.

“My mom would have an occasional glass on nights Dad wasn’t home. I snuck a sip once when she was out of the room. It was okay.” He shrugs with a shy smile.

I chuckle, which slowly turns into a full-on laugh I can’t contain. He looks at me with amusement in his eyes and asks, “What’s so funny?”

I compose myself before answering, “I just think it’s hilarious that you felt compelled to order expensive wine we might not even like just so you could try and make a statement ‒ ‘Hey, we’re gay and on a date!’” I shake my head, still smiling.

He freezes for half a second, glancing left and right before focusing back on me. He returns my smile, a look of pride in his eyes. “You just said that out loud. In a public restaurant.”

Another first. The words just slipped out and I hadn't even noticed. I expect panic to seep in, but I just feel a lightness spread through me. “I did,” I say. His hand is still in mine and I squeeze it. “I mean, you holding my hand kind of said it first. I just added words. You took the big first step. You claimed me, right here in front of him and everyone else. Thank you.”

His smile brightens as he leans as far across the table as he can. “Let’s go all-in then,” he whispers. I meet him the rest of the way and brush my lips against his. It’s quick but sweet. We pull back and just watch each other. We don't look around this time.

As I stare into the eyes of the man I love with all my heart, on our first real date, the weight I've carried for the last eight years lifts completely from my chest. Tonight is a fresh start for us. Both separately as gay men and as a couple who gets to love out in the open. Tonight, we are finally free.