mala fide (lams)

dum spiro spero

As I breathe, I hope

JOHN THOUGHT OF HIS NEW FRIEND at first like a way to keep busy but lately more than ever like a bad habit. He thought about him a lot. Alexander seemed to know he was gay, and he knew Alexander was into guys as well. He wanted to indulge in this bad habit but even the fantasy regurgitated vivid imagery of therapy. It brought chills, like he may puke.

He hated the rock that sat in his gut, making him feel so disgusting. He hated his apparent inability to feel pleasure without feeling guilt. Alexander was a bad habit who might be able to get him high, but he knew what the lows felt like.

But he was fucking exhausted of living life afraid of who he was. He just wished it wasn't him.

Yet all the time, he thought of Alexander. When he rehearsed with him the week following the party, he could only wish he were playing. God, the feeling of a crush. He hadn't felt properly infatuated, tangibly so, in a while. It made him feel so gross. It also gave him somewhere to place his feelings - a face to the name, a justification, a reminder that this is what he wants.  It was like proof.

Von Steuben was proud John was getting good at memorizing lines. They had a mere two weeks until show week. It didn't help his crush that he was rehearsing as a character who has a fling with Alexander's character. It didn't help his memorizing lines when his mind was occupied by his crush. As always, von Steuben caught on to the scattered state of John.

"You've refused to talk to the school counselor, and your mental health does not seem to be improving."

John pulled the bars of the chest press towards his chest slowly as he inhaled, releasing again slowly as he exhaled.

Von Steuben was having him practice lines if he was going to workout when not in rehearsal. John considered it punishment.  His delivery wasn't great through panting breaths as his heart began to pump faster, but von Steuben did not care. The remembering was very important.

"I'm not talking to her."

Von Steuben sighed.  "Then talk to me.  What's on your mind?"

"I can't believe anyone expects anyone to remember a whole freaking play," huffed John.

"You can do it."

"I can't."  He puffed again, leaned forward.  Sweat stuck to his skin. 

"Don't give up.  One more set."

"Gimme a second." He closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath. "Just a sec."

"Keep the momentum going as much as you are able, but do not push yourself," advised von Steuben.

John looked at him. "I want to quit."

"Just this last set."

"The play," he specified. "I'm nervous I won't memorize what I need to, and everything will suck and it'll be my fault. I'm not good enough."

Von Steuben nodded slowly, listening. "Just this last set."

"Coach, I said--"

"Just the last set, Laurens."

He sighed, took a couple deep breaths, and began the last set.  When he was finished, von Steuben said:

"See?  One set at a time.  Take one step at a time, my boy.  They need you."

"'IT'S NOT REALLY A FAMILY, the Reagans,'" said Alexander, "'I read People, there aren't any connections there, no love, they don't ever even speak to each other except through their agents. So what's it like to be Reagan's kid? Enquiring minds whats to know.'"