*****

I look down at him and I feel pain. My heart feels cold knowing that's he's dead. It seems unreal, almost like a dream.

There are so many things I should have said to him, so many things I should have asked.

As I kneel down next to his body, I think about his mother. I've only met her a couple of times, but as I roll him over, and stare at his lifeless face, I know that this will kill her. In reality, she was only just getting to know her son. We all were.

We all thought we knew him, but we were all wrong. We only knew what we wanted to. We only saw what we thought was there, never venturing to look deeper. Until last year. And I must admit, I never wanted to look deeper, nor would I have, but it was forced upon me.

He showed me that there was another side to him, a side that wanted to make itself known, but it couldn't for fear of judgement. I won't lie and say that I was totally okay with it all. In truth it wigged me something fierce. Forever his words would echo in my mind, but now I can hear them and not start squirming.

I can hear the truth in his words. "...it must've been because I recognized something in you that I didn't want to believe about myself." I realize now that his words, those words, were the same for me. I was nervous around him because I *did* see something in him that I didn't want to believe about myself.

I'm ashamed now that I behaved the way I did. I should have been his friend, instead, I stayed away, not wanting to be around him because he was gay, and it made me nervous. I've never had a problem with gay guys or anything. I've always been of the belief that people should be and do whatever makes them happy as long as it doesn't hurt other people. So, my keeping my distance from Larry was less about him being gay and more about me not wanting to examine myself.

Always, in the back of my mind was that small voice, asking, questioning and then confirming. During every romantic relationship I've had with girl, the voice was there, screaming, yelling, telling me that it was all, somehow, wrong. And through it all, I ignored it.

But now, looking down at him while holding his lifeless hand in mine, I know that I can't ignore it anymore. I think back to only weeks ago when he was teasing me about coming out. I laughed nervously at it. How could I come out to anyone when I was still denying it to myself?

He understood though. Even though I inadvertently helped him realized that it was okay for him to be gay, I never convinced myself of that. It's one thing to know gay people, it's another thing to be one of them. He knew it; that's why he never pressured me to come out like he had. He never made me feel wrong about anything. He sat back and watched as I fumblingly tried to keep things about myself quiet.

I feel tears well up in my eyes and before I know it, they're falling, splashing down onto his face. I ignore the hustle and bustle of people around me. The only thing that matters to me at the moment is saying good bye to a guy who was unknowingly my role model and hero.

I wish I had known him better. I wish I had gotten the chance to tell him how much I respected and admired him. I chuckle despite my overwhelming sadness. Hell, I wish I had dated him.

I lean down, letting my forehead touch his. It's cold and I fight my natural instinct to pull away. I begin to whisper, telling him all the things that I should have before his heart stopped beating. My last words, though, are spoken more for myself than for him. "Larry, I'm gay."

Pulling back, I close my eyes and sigh. He was right. It felt good to say it.

When I open my eyes, I see people coming towards me and I know that it's time for them to take his body. I place his hands upon his chest and notice how mushy it felt; more than likely all his ribs were broken. I whisper my good bye as I stand up. I almost laugh at the absurdity of it. I was having a heartfelt moment with a dead guy. A dead guy who used to beat me up once a week when we were kids.

But that's not how I'll remember Larry. I'll remember him as the man who held up the mirror in front of me. The man who showed me who I was and taught me that it was okay.

I walk away from him and my eyes start roaming over the other bodies. I wonder if there is anyone else in the debris that has meant as much to me as Larry has. I certainly hope not. I'm not sure how much more soul searching I can take.

~end~