When Life Gives You Chewing Gum

“Be careful,” he hissed, pulling away from me.
I stood with the brush, looking a little confused and quite awkward. “I thought you wanted me to try and get that shit out of your hair.”
He slowly leaned back in the chair. “Yes, but I want you to get it out, not yank it out!”
“Hey don’t take this out on me,” I chuckled, scooting forward to see if I could get a better angle. “I’m just a bystander.”
“I hate those bastards,” he snarled, slamming his fist onto my bathroom counter. I picked up his hand and cradled it gently.
“Breaking your own bones never helped anyone, darling,” I said sweetly, kissing his hand and replacing it on the counter. I turned to peruse through my sister’s wealth of haircare products, looking for something that might do the trick.
“You’re right,” he sighed, soothed by my actions, but clearly still agitated. “I just don’t understand what motivates someone to spit gum into someone else’s hair. I didn’t do anything! I was just sitting outside, minding my own business. I don’t think he even knew that I’m gay!”
I chuckled, and selected a product that looked appropriate. “Not many people know that you’re gay at all; I’ll take all the credit for that.”
He grinned; it was true that Mark and I had a very interesting relationship. Mark spent an unusual amount of time over at my house, holding my hand, cuddling me, and kissing my hand, but he was about as straight as a rainbow; that is, not straight at all. “For all they know, all you’ve ever been is just that sophomore that gets a lot of tail,” I teased, stroking his nose with a finger and going to open the bottle.
“You bet your ass I get a lot of tail,” he joked, winking at me as I sprayed the product into his hair.
My sister, Carmen, stuck her head in the bathroom, saying “Hey Taylor, have you seen the—” when she saw Mark, her expression quickly moved up the gradient from bored to mortified. “Mark, what happened to your hair??”
“Hi Carmen, chewing gum,” he hissed as his entire body tensed to the movement of my brush.
Whatever mission she had been on before was abandoned; she stormed into the bathroom, clearly determined that she was the real hero of this story. “Move, Taylor,” she snapped, pushing me out of the way; she was awfully lucky that I no longer held the brush. “You’ll only make it worse.”
“Probably,” I said playfully, moving out of her way. I was willing to admit that I had no clue what I was doing; quite honestly, I don’t care that I have no idea what I was doing. I had made it clear from early on that I was not going to put up with elegance; as a matter of fact, from age 6 I had everyone calling me Taylor, instead of my real name, Tatiana. And I maintain that it was a good choice.
“AUUGH!” Mark writhed in agony as Carmen viciously attacked his golden curls. “TAYLOR, I TAKE IT ALL BACK! YOU WERE NOT YANKING!”
“Told ya so,” I smirked, easing my way around to the door of the room; I figured that it was probably best to get out of Carmen’s way when she’s on a psychotic rage.
“Stop squirming,” Carmen hissed, pulling away momentarily to breathe. “Yeah, Mark, honey, we’re probably going to have to bust out the scissors…. I’ll have you know that I have cut hair before and I promise that I will make this look good.”
“Oh boy,” Mark sighed through his teeth. “Mom’s not going to like this.”
Carmen dashed out to get the good scissors from the kitchen, and I ducked out of her way and heaved myself up onto the counter, swinging my legs in a child-like idleness.
“Sooo…” I said, feeling a little awkward for some reason. “Seen any cute boys lately?”
“Only the one,” he murmured, looking up at me to make eye contact.
“Jason?” I asked. He nodded quietly.
We sat in silence for a moment; I could hear Carmen rummaging in the drawers down the hall from us.
“Darling,” I said softly. “You can’t keep hurting yourself like this.”
“I know,” he muttered.
“Jason is straight; he has a girlfriend; and I know he’s beautiful, and our best friend, but neither of us have what he wants.”
He sighed through his nose and didn’t say a word.
I reached down from the counter to stroke his cheek; his blue eyes didn’t meet mine, but looked away, filled with a sadness so deep that just looking into them, I feared I would drown.
“Don’t get caught up on him,” I whispered.
“I wish it were that easy,” he sighed.
Carmen busted in, brandishing the scissors. “Trust me; I know what I’m doing.”
“Oh, lord,” Mark groaned, and I admit it; all I could do was laugh.