It is an early-morning, chilly and hazy day in the San Fernando Valley as the hustle and bustle of Thursday seems to electrify the cars as they whiz by Jeremy. For late August, it is rather chilly as the sun rises off the eastern Verdugo Mountains. He left his house early, around 6:30 a.m., heading west towards Glenoaks Blvd, before turning towards the Alameda Dr. 7-Eleven where he sometimes stops to buy an energy drink.  He is normally driven to school by his mother; but last night he told her he wanted to walk alone and get his mind ready for his football game later that evening. Choosing a different route to Scholars Preparatory School where he is a sophomore this year, he seems more discreet than usual.

Pulling his thick, black hoodie over his head, he passes Kent’s house and slouches slightly as if not to be recognized.   Hoisting the green camouflage backpack behind him, he turns on the headphones as he nods to the music. His favorite song “Você Partiu Meu Coração” (“You Broke My Heart”) automatically begins to play as Jeremy sighs deeply.

“Kent usually has his window open,” he mutters to himself, “I better not let him see me today.”

Momentarily picking up his pace, he is caught up in yesterday’s painful memory as he left football practice. He couldn’t even muster up the courage to talk to Kent about it, much less his mother or anybody else.

The shouts and jeers from earlier in the day echo endlessly as the music attempts to drown them to no avail.

“So, hey Jer,” hollered someone from the stands, “I hear that you like it hanging!”

“What’s the deal with the rumors about you and Paolo having hooked up, huh?”

“No wonder we never see you with a bae anymore!”

“Oh, but it’s cool now to be part of the LGBTQ community, right?” loudly someone hollers, “even if you are the quarterback!”

No matter how loudly, he raised the volume, his air pods couldn’t drown out the taunts and the shame he felt as he ran to his mother’s waiting car. He was nauseous and confused.

“You seem winded son…are you okay,” he remembers his mother asking.

“Why…. you are sweating profusely, and you’ve got the hoodie over your pads…what is going on Jeremy?” she demanded.

The only conversation he remembers is telling her telling her to drive off as quickly as possible.

As he had dreaded, later that evening, his phone buzzed with notifications of a video and taunts on social media.  Crawling under the bed, he falls asleep without dinner and a usual shower.

Paolo is the new boy in town who is quite popular with the cheerleaders.    He and his family moved to Glendale about 8 months ago from Brazil. He is a tall, dark handsome Junior with long, curly hair that he at times will wear in a man bun.  He is also a top-notch athlete.  Quiet and reserved, Paolo and Jeremy struck an immediate friendship due to their many similar interests, specifically their taste in Brazilian music.

Their fathers had met at the local YMCA on Louise St. as well and therefore, the families had recently begun having BBQs together. Their mothers had taken a liking to each other, and it wasn’t unusual that they would be shopping at Nordstrom, or the Galleria and their Capitol One Café was a Sunday ritual now.   It was not unusual to see them walking home from school, carpool with their families, and just recently, both had been spending quality time singing Karaoke to their favorite Brazilian artists. Paolo liked samba and bosa nova and Jeremy liked sertanejo mainstream music. He had almost memorized all of the lyrics to “You Broke my Heart,” and he fondly smiles and remembers how once he even danced to it.

This morning, he had veered somewhat from his usual route towards a cross section of the 134 Freeway and fumbling in his hoodie pocket for his phone, a hand-written note carelessly falls onto the pavement.  He had been to this area many times before and he forgot how the winds could pick up at any minute this time of year.

Dear Mom,

I’m sorry. If you are reading this, it is because I am no longer living.  I couldn’t go on living with the daily slurs, the daily gawks and jeers, and your inability to understand that even though I love God, I am sure that I like both boys and girls.  I could’ve possibly already loved a boy.   I overheard you and Dad talking about me the other night as you came home drunk from that party at your pastor’s house.  It was 3 in the morning, and I still wasn’t asleep when you came home, and I heard you tripping and falling over the coffee table. “I know I won’t see him in heaven because he likes boys,” you shouted at Dad. I didn’t hear Dad’s reply but I’m sure he agreed with you. 

Anyway, I hope that my body wasn’t too mangled when you went to claim it at the morgue’s office.  I’ve been planning my departure from Earth for a little over a month now, but when I heard you blurt that out, I knew that not even you would understand me. I even talked to God about it, but I’ve yet to get a response.

You see, Paolo suddenly realized that he liked girls more than me and he is no longer talking with me. Yes, we had a great friendship; but one day, he suddenly told me that perhaps it was best we didn’t talk anymore.  Maybe he wanted to fit in with the rest more than be with me? Maybe it’s because of his parent’s strict upbring? Who knows, but at one point, he told me that he was catching feelings for me. We briefly kissed but quickly stopped, yet I felt something for him, and I believe he did too.  What am I supposed to do now? God isn’t going to allow me in heaven anyway.

Tell Kent that I truly love him as a brother and that I admire his loyalty to me.  Tell Karlie to be her own person and follow her footsteps of becoming the world’s best gymnast.  Tell Dad that there are other things in life more important than bringing home the money and going to my games from time to time.  Tell Fido that I’ll wait for him.  I truly felt his love as I walked him daily.  Tell him that it’ll be me waiting at that rainbow bridge.

I prayed before leaving the house today because I’m scared. I pray that God forgives me for what I did. (From what I’ve heard in church since I was a kid, I’m not sure of this either). Again, mom, I’m sorry for what you are going through.  I love you.

Your son,

Jeremy