Chapter One

Just the beginning.

My mother was a hard-working, dedicated single mother. She worked full-time night shifts at a factory; she was the supervising coordinator for half the things they built in there.
I remember my dad from when I was younger, maybe four or five years old, and those memories have influenced my belief that love does not exist.
My parents met when they were still in high school. My dad was somewhat of a womanizer, which is how he wound up falling for my mom. My mom was always smart, and she loved control. After a few months of humiliating him, my mom finally decided to give him a chance.
They weren't anything like the perfect couple, or the odd couple, but just a regular couple going through everything a couple should go through. As much as my Gramma reassured me, I always thought their break-up was my fault. The world around me showed all the signs of finding "The One." Well, my mom and dad didn't find their One, but they did end up with me — well, my mom did, at least.
My Gramma said I was afraid to love, because I witnessed the worst possible angle of the emotions before I could see the wonders of the emotion. I always let her talk, but she always knew I silently scoffed at her claims about love being something real.
She always made it sound so convincing, though. As if love was something someone could achieve in their lifetime. She would tell me stories about her parents and the wonderful relationship they had. I remember one story of her how her father would come in from work every evening with a new bouquet of flowers for the dinner centerpiece. She even told me how she met her late husband, who died of lung cancer shortly before I was born. She described their relationship as an instant connection. Although they had their problems, she always pressed on by telling me work comes with everything, including love.
I never saw it as that. To me, love is just an excuse we use to try and find someone to alleviate us of our sexual and mental stress. We convince ourselves we need it so much, we'll negotiate and compromise where both parties are at an equal level of annoyance and appreciation. Hence, they are in a loving relationship.
That was how I led the first fifteen years of my life — rejecting the notion of a long lasting relationship of true love. I was very stubborn when it came to dating. I refused all invitations, offers, suggestions, and everything else that came along with revealing affection. I can't say I hated the idea, I was just against the idea. What changed my perspective was, as usual, that "perfect" someone.
Chase Matherson was fourteen when I first met him; and I had to admit an extreme infatuation with him within the first glance. I met him at our school's first rainbow group meeting, a gay alliance school club started by some flamboyant senior. Like me, Chase had been involuntarily selected to attend the meeting. The girls he hung out with guilt-tripped him into going, and I was manipulated by my friends to at least come and say hello. I had been open with my friends for about a year at that point. Although my popularity drooped slightly, all my good friends stuck around.
That meeting was the first time I met him, and he didn't say a word. I suppose more clarity should be brought into the situation — Chase was a mute. That might be one reason why I became so attached right from the start. Hearing his friends explain his situation gave me a feeling of wanting to help someone so beautiful.
When it was my turn to introduce myself, I was still thinking about his situation, and wound up giving a short three sentence introduction rather than the two-minute rant everyone else went on. As embarrassing as that was, it seemed to help break the tension.
People started talking a little more loosely and the first meeting was recorded as a success. I was more concentrated on going home to start writing a couple of essays after a few minutes, and my friends were also starting to become uncomfortable with the group. We left just short of the meeting's adjournment, but no one seemed to care.
As soon as I got into the hallway, the feeling of a love-smitten puppy had finally sunk in. As my friends chuckled about the group's enthusiasm and whether it would last, I kept reflecting on Chase's smile as he nervously waved at the others when he was first introduced.
The curls of his black hair framed his eyes, which seemingly saw past what they were looking at. The shy grin he gave showed a goofy side, but still, those eyes told a story he wasn't willing to share. It was like he was crying for help, without ever initiating a thought of it. He was obviously very bright, and that might have been one of the things I found so attractive. With my theory about what love is, I could say I was in love. I wanted him the way I needed something.
Walking down that hallway, I wanted to turn around and talk to him. I knew I would choke, and my mind would go blank, so I kept walking. I could hear the group get up and move down the hall, but I didn't look to see if he were there. I just kept walking, throwing my one-liners into the conversation as we strolled. I wanted to turn around and look at him. In a school of 4,500 people, I wasn't sure when the next time I would see him would be.
By the time I looked over to my friends, they already suspected something was up, and the look in their eye said they were going to find out one way or another what was going through my head.
Knowing they weren't overly impressed with the group, I simply smiled and smugly asked, "So guys, when's the next meeting? Are we going?"
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