"Girls, who are boys, who like boys to be girls..."

(continued from previous post)

Finally I met my little work-friend Nate. I say little in reference to his youth -- the way I would say little brother -- and certainly not to his size, as he was towering in height -- somewhere around 6'5" tall. He was very thin, with dark brown eyes and dyed gold hair (a common fashion for his generation back in the 1990's). The age gap between us -- he was 19, exactly half my age at that time -- was bridged by our common affinity for the less commonplace alternative music creations. We were also united by our sadness. Misery really does love company.

Nate's sadness was mostly rooted in his break-up with his girlfriend, whom he had been dating since high school. According to his friends at work, he had numerous admirers his age, including the groupies that would go to see his band play at nightclubs on the weekends. But he couldn't think of anyone but her. He spoke of her often -- about how he was so proud of her athletic abilities, even though he himself was a decidedly un-athletic visual artist and musician... about the color and glitter of her hair being like that of gold jewelry... about how he was so struck by the fact that this beautiful and outgoing young woman wanted him, out of all the boys in school she had to choose from...

But there was something else lurking in the background which was contributing heavily to his deep sadness as well. One fateful night two years prior to our meeting, he had the grave misfortune of being in the company of a group of older teenagers who were using a particular opiate drug. The name of the drug is very hard for me to bring myself to say -- let alone write -- almost as if it's a curse word or something. It's the one that begins with an "h", and from what I understand, once someone becomes addicted to it, it's a lifelong battle to stay out of its grip.

Like a lot of teenagers, he wanted to fit in. So he did something he'd live to regret for the rest of his life -- he tried the drug. He told me that if he had been lucky enough to take the "wrong" dose that night, it would have made him sick and he probably never would have tried it again. But the poor kid took exactly the "right" dose, so it made him feel so incredibly good, that he was hooked right from the first time. He said that he never again felt that "perfect high" after that first use. The saddest thing is that subsequent use for him was compelled by the need to avoid withdrawal sickness, and not to feel high.

He tried so hard on his own to break the addiction -- all of us co-workers knew about it. We always knew whenever he was suffering from withdrawal, because he would have tremors and throw up a lot. One night at work, he ended up fainting and hitting his head on the bindery equipment on his way to the floor. We had to call his parents (they were well aware of his struggles with the addiction) to come and take him home.

Nate was very kind, and he seemed to have the soul of a woman. What I mean by that is, he was very interested in analyzing emotional and relationship matters, the way women typically are. One interesting thing to note, was that he described his former girlfriend as being the "strong, silent type". It makes me think of the words to the song "Girls & Boys" by the band Blur -- hence the title for this post.

It so happened that Nate was bi-sexual. He told me that he was attracted to both men and women, but so far he had only fallen in love with women. The odd (ironic?) thing was, one of his male friends at work was in love with him, but had otherwise always been attracted only to women. Until recently, some of this was still a little confusing to me. But when I asked a fellow blogger about something closely related to this subject, he cleared it up for me. Even though I myself have never been physically drawn to a woman, I do seem to be drawn to the few men who are only slightly to the masculine side of the androgyny line -- not so much in physical appearance as in a spiritual sense. I guess I want the best of both worlds -- strong and protective, yet emotionally sensitive and domestic.

As I was twice Nate's age and financially always broke, he had nothing to gain by befriending me. He used to make mix tapes for me -- some were of songs we liked in common, and some were his band's originals. It was quite a compliment, since in the 1990's that common practice of giving mix tapes as gifts was something usually reserved for close friends. In turn, I provided a sympathetic ear for listening to his troubles, since his guy friends would only try to get his mind off of things.

Yes, I had found a temporary oasis. The truth is, that when I was listening to Nate's stories, I was living vicariously through him. Finally, I was able to feel again -- even though it was his sorrow or his joy I felt. For the seemingly endless year preceding our meeting, my life had been so colorless that I had been unable to laugh or to cry. Eventually, Nate moved on to another job on the day shift. Almost immediately after that, divine providence gave me the gift of my beautiful friend James. But that started a brand new story, so I'll wrap up this one here.

Nate inspired another poem besides The Curing Well. He read it at work the night I gave it to him, and like a true female soul, he cried as he was reading it. I did let him know that I hoped my writing it as if it were about a woman didn't offend him in any way. He assured me that he didn't feel threatened (his word) by that. I changed the spelling of the name Glinda (the Good Witch of the North in the Wizard of Oz) to a variation -- since Nate's last name, which begins with a "G", also contains a "y" with the phonetic sound of the short "i". I just thought that spelling variation would fit well with his last name. Naming the poem "Glynda", turned out to be a curious coincidence... His guy friends at work told me that one Halloween, he dressed up as Glinda. They had never mentioned that before that point.

Here is the poem about my young work-friend. I thought that if I told the story first, it'd be easier to recognize him in it:


GLYNDA (Thank you Nate G.)
written in October 1998

Black-eyed Susans always were my favorite--
Long stems, dark brown eyes fringed with Sun Gold...

By that summer, so world-weary--I looked
up from the dry grass under
my hands and face and
There it was--
One with a voice--sad at first like me
A voice of sympathy
Sang me to sleep by gathering for me
Imprints of others who helped make her
So beautiful...

Through her incantations, I traveled back
to almost a lifetime ago--when I walked upright
yet close to the ground I once loved--
Forever smiling then--even in the sunlight
The pretty faces of her ancestors at nearly eye-level...

Now I felt tears begin to form, for somehow
Earth managed to grow at least one more
Who made it happier
One who gave without motive
of desire or greed or pride
Or any material return

The tears pour out never-ending
That now I could get up off the ground
But for this reason I fear
I'm made to continue without her
I want to keep stopping and looking back
And not take my eyes off her
I pray to the Universe this world's
poisons won't fade her
Part of me will end with her.