American Gay Narrative Sample

[CFTurner]

OPENING SCENE - Introduces protagonist, stakes, setting, and tone

1

BREAKUP

 

Drip, drip was all I could hear in the bathroom, amidst the Ralph Lauren cologne, terry cloth navy bathrobe, and bath towels that needed to be washed. Shouldn’t I be more torn up, I thought. Shouldn’t I be crying? It was over. After three years, I no longer had a girlfriend.

“We shouldn’t be together, Asher,” Blaire had said, tears in her eyes. 

“No, we shouldn’t be,” I said. The moment the words left my lips, I knew it was true. I looked out at the sun setting over the University of Arkansas campus, with its red-brick buildings and skeletal trees. There were a few students walking around, wearing North Face and Patagonia jackets, their lips slightly chapped from the cool January air. As they spoke, one could see their breath billow out in waves. 

A stumpy older man with unkempt white hair in a black peacoat and olive gloves currently hunched over on one of the benches close by, scanning the campus as he shivered with a copy of The Arkansas Democrat Gazette in his hands. By the way he feverishly looked around, it seemed like he was waiting for someone, and that someone was running late. 

Red blotches covered Blaire’s neck, strips of chestnut hair hanging loosely before her emerald eyes, disbelief in her features. “Are you even going to put up a fight?” she asked. 

“Why should I?” I asked. “This hasn’t worked for a while. You and I both know it.” As I said this, I caught my reflection in the mirror–indifferent hazel eyes, with short blond hair and a medium build. I had started working out a lot more since we started dating. It had paid off in the long run because now I could bench press at least 160 pounds.  

She shook her head, chest heaving beneath her off-white Vince Camuto neck sweater. “This doesn’t have anything to do with Brooks, does it?” 

My heart raced. “Your brother? What are you talking about?” But deep down, I already knew what she was hinting at. I just couldn’t admit it to myself yet. 

“You know what I’m talking about. I’ve caught you staring at him every chance you get.” 

“What?” 

“Yeah. That time he was working out, and we were about to go to the Alabama game. I saw the look in your eyes, but I decided to ignore it.” 

“What look?” 

She took a step toward me. “You were ogling him like he was fresh meat!”

My heart felt like it was going to beat out of my chest, but I couldn’t let on that she was on point with my attraction. “No I wasn’t! Blaire, I can’t believe you’re accusing me of ogling your brother. I’ll admit, he’s handsome, but–”

“--So you admit it, then! You think my brother is attractive.” Her eyes were practically bursting out from their sockets. 

“I said he was handsome. That doesn’t mean I’m going to sleep with him!”

“But you want to, right? Asher, why don’t you stop lying to yourself and just admit what we both know to be true!”

“Which is what?” 

She looked at me as if I had started growing a second head. “Are you serious right now?” 

I shook my head, blinking a bit too fast. “What?”

“You’re gay! Can you really not see it?” 

“Oh my gosh. Not you, too.” 

“I admit. I have seen a lot of delusion in my life, but this one tops them all.” 

“Blaire, I’ve literally been with you for over two years. Are you really accusing me of being gay? That makes no sense.” 

She shook her head as the fight left her for the last time. “My Dad warned me.” She laughed, mirthless. “Even Brooks warned me. Said he caught you staring at him countless times, but I defended you. Every. Single. Time.” 

“They think I’m gay, too? I don’t understand.” 

She made her way to the door. “Yeah, and that’s the part that worries me–that you don’t understand.” She reached for the handle.

“Tell me this then,” I said. “If you suspected this for so long, why did you stay with me?”

She looked down at the handle as she delivered her last words. “Because I was delusional, too.”  Her lips parted before her jaw set—and she left. As she descended the stairs of my dorm, it set in: I wouldn’t go after her.

I didn’t even want to cry. I wanted to sing, to dance. I would no longer be tethered to another person for every major decision. The world had been open to me before, but now, I was unlimited in my ambitions. 

I looked back out on the campus to see that the man in the peacoat had been joined by a slightly younger man in a sleek navy puffer jacket and jeans. They embraced each other, but it seemed like the gesture was more than a simple hug. As they observed one another, the older man cupped the younger man’s chin with his hand, staring at him as if they hadn’t seen each other in years. And then they walked away, hand in hand, but not without looking over their shoulders every once and a while. In 2015, Fayetteville was more progressive than most of the state, but two men holding hands still weren’t completely afforded a reasonable expectation to respect in a state that saw their kind as less-than.