Follow the River

My jaw drops when my brain finally catches up enough to register what he just said to me. What he just called me.

I’m no stranger to the word faggot. Ever since I came out in high school, I’ve dealt with various levels of homophobia, even in a place as chill and accepting as Boulder. It’s rare, but it does happen.

But shit, I never thought it could cut this deep from someone I barely even know. Someone who, for some damn reason, I have this insane draw toward. Like a moth to a flame.

And by doing that? He drew a line in the sand, each of us standing on opposite sides.

Because I can’t respect someone who would say shit like that to me.

Ciaráin doesn’t wait for me to respond, just turns on a heel and continues down the path toward whatever building his next class is in like he didn’t drop a bomb on me, easily causing a rift between the two of us from this point onward.

I stare after him, his form retreating up the stairs and into the building, finally begi