Alex

Writing about Alex a few days ago got me thinking about him again.

I wonder what it would be like to be a year 12 kid today? I’m guessing things are radically different to when I was in year 12, with acceptance and all. (Well, I’m talking about my private school in the eastern suburbs. I hope it is more than that)

I don’t suppose it is as free as we all hope it will be one day, but...

Can two boys come out as boy friends in year 12? 

Imagine?

Would Alex and I if it were today? Maybe, is about the best I could say, obviously.

Alex with his floppy dark blond hair that fell down just over his eyes ever so slightly, and his killer smile, just ever so rising up on one side, that always made him look cheeky when he grinned. His school pants that fitted him so well, and how easily they came undone every afternoon up the Kew Municipal offices, or the sports store room, or down the bush walking room. His muscular back, his narrow waist, his round arse. 

How he'd hug me tight, before we parted and headed home. How he’d hold my hand, just momentarily as we made our exit from where ever we were. And how our fingers would slip from each other’s fingers, as we stepped into the open. And how he’d butch it up out in public, always kind of ironically, always with that cheeky smile. How he’d always look back with a nod, often bringing his hand up to his forehead, followed by a subtle wink. And a smile. Ah, Alex.

He got married and had 3 sons who he sent to our old school.

He dropped dead from a heart attack on the final green playing charity golf for heart disease, just over 10 years after we left school.

I wonder how much his heart did, indeed, ache over the years? Living that life? Because, I reckon he was as gay as any gay guy I have ever known?