NIGHTS IN DC

Have you ever just stared at the television in wonder? Not because it's a new plasma screen, or that it's 3D… but because there was something on that utterly captured more than just your attention.

That happened to me six months ago… and I still have a hard time believing where I've ended up.

Part One

TIM

The end of Senior Year…

I took out my phone. My screen was blurry and I tried to wipe the tears from my eyes before attempting to dial his number. I took in a deep stuttered breath. I needed closure. I needed to know that even though he was gone now, I would be okay. I wanted him to tell me that everything would be okay.

I looked at the screen again after wiping my eyes with my sleeve.

I was outside and the sun was just about finished with its dazzling display of pinks and oranges that hit the city of Boston's buildings. I was at the pier, across from the record store where I worked. I typed his ten digit number into my phone and waited for it to dial.

What am I doing? I asked myself. My heart started racing and my nerves almost took control and hung up the phone, But my sorrow stood in the way. It had been a year now since John and I broke up. My entire senior year I still obsessed over him as though he would return the next day.

Almost every hour I thought about him and what could have been if he had chosen to stay in Boston. I thought about how he used to look. I thought about how he used to touch me. I thought about what we had done the year before. I thought about how one day he was there and the next, he was gone.

When John suddenly left, it felt like his existence had been ripped from my rib cage. He had only told me a week before that he was leaving, never to return. I started to cry as the phone started to ring. Tears ran down my cheeks and I felt a storm brewing inside of me. Thunder clapping, showers falling.

I never got closure from John. I never got to say goodbye the way that I wanted, much less in the time frame that I had wanted. I loved him. I loved him more than my own family. I felt helpless when he left, without purpose. I desperately grasped at straws when he flew back to his hometown. I went on dates, I went on hookups. All they would bring was the reminder that I could not be with the one that I had loved before… John.

I heard a click of static as John picked up his phone.

"Tim." His voice was frail and he was probably asleep before I called.

His voice reached down my throat and grasped my lungs. "John…" I started weep. "John I…"

I wanted to tell him how much I had loved him. I wanted to tell him that I wanted nothing more than to have him rest his head on my lap while I play my guitar on my bed. I wanted tell him that I needed him here with me. I wanted to tell him that I needed to hear him say that everything would be okay. I wanted to hear him say it. I wanted him to tell me that even though he had left me and even though we would never see each other again, everything would turn out okay.

I paused as I took deep breaths. I looked up at the now dull purple and fading pink sunset trying to collect myself and gather the courage to speak again.

I couldn't. I hung up the phone and deleted his contact.

I would have thrown my phone in the ocean if it weren't the latest model. I became upset with myself. After three months without contacting him, I still gave in to the desire to be in his presence. I thought myself as weak. I was ashamed, embarrassed. I felt like I was that guy in the movies who for the longest time still couldn't get over his first real relationship. I felt like an absolute loser.

I asked myself if John was the best that I could have done. Back then, I thought he was. I shoved my phone into my pocket and looked out over the pier to the deep blue ocean. The sun had finally set and all that remained of its being was a streak of lavender that floated above the horizon line. Another tear fell down the side of my face.

What am I going to do?

I felt stuck. I felt like my life was on pause and all I could do was sit back and watch as I aged. I felt like a prisoner inside myself, counting the days like marks on a scoreboard, waiting for John to come back. But I knew he never would.

I walked back inside the record store and wiped my eyes one last time before closing and locking the doors. I turned off the fluorescent lights that illuminated the multitude of racks that held old vinyl records. The only light that remained was the neon sign that spelled "Records" in a vibrant red.

I walked out the back door, got in my car, and ventured home. I turned on the television and that's when I saw him...

Tom

My manager asked me if I understood. I looked at him and tried to smile through all of what I was feeling. I told him, "Oh yeah, absolutely." I looked down at the carpeting ready to weep. "Absolutely."

My manager left the room and said, "I'm sorry Tom, there just no room for it."

I tried to give him one last smile to prove that I was grateful for his counseling, but I knew it came out half cocked. I was angry, upset, disappointed. I was angry because all of what I feared had been confirmed. When I moved to Hollywood and started my acting career, I was worried that all the fame would change me from who I really was. For the most part I was the same as I had been since leaving my home country, England. But there was one big part of my life that my manager had just yelled at me to never reveal. My sexuality… I'm bisexual.

Only a few others knew, my parents and my friends back home. No one around me six months ago knew that I was bisexual.

I sat in my apartment's living room waiting for something to get me out of my couch. Maybe a knock on the door from one of my actor friends, or the scuffle of some fans outside. But nothing came after an hour of just staring blankly. I was so grateful for the opportunity to take part in one of the biggest blockbusters of the century, but I was so disappointed in this part of it. I tried telling myself that it didn't really matter that I had to hide one tiny truth about myself.. But I knew deep down that it was still wrong. Coming out to my friends back home had been difficult enough, but coming out to the world seemed like an impossible task. My manager pointed out to me an hour ago that I would most likely lose half of my fan base, that I would no longer be cast for straight roles, that my ratings would plummet and everything that had happened for me in the last two and a half years would be wasted.

I tried arguing with myself… Would it? Would all of this come to a halt if I told the world who I really was? It seemed that now more than ever, coming out as bisexual would have been embraced with open arms. But according to my manager, that wasn't the case, not in the slightest.

I finally got myself off of the couch, took off my sweatpants, and put on a pair of designer jeans that my stylist had picked out. Ever since signing the contract with Starlight Studios, I had been assigned a stylist, a security guard, and a manager. I felt like my stylist was more help than my manager. I zipped up the golden zipper and threw my T-shirt over my shoulders. I looked at myself in the mirror and put on a face that didn't belong to me, at least not that day. I put on a face that belonged to the cameras and fans waiting outside. I practiced smiling and saying things like "Thank you!" and "You're awesome!" Things that I would normally say to my fans. It was true, my fans were awesome and amazing, but that day it was more difficult than ever to say so. To me, having a following was such an honor, and I made sure to show my appreciation every day, whether or not I felt up or down.

I walked into the elevator and hit the button that brought me to the lobby of my apartment building in LA. My security was waiting for me and so was the black car across the street. So were the fans. At least fifty of them, all excited to see me and get my autograph and picture. I excitedly begged the bulky security guard to my right if it were okay to stay a minute and take a few pictures. He reluctantly said, "Make it quick."

The fans gathered around me and each of their hands begged to touch me. Some of them did. I put on the big smile that I had practiced in the mirror and gave my thanks for all of their appreciation. I signed what notebooks and posters they gave me. I hurriedly tried to take a picture with each of them and told them I had to get going. As my security helped me out of the crowd, I gave them one last wave, one last smile, and one last "Thank you!"

I got in the black truck, adrenaline pumping and wearing a smile. Meeting fans always had a mystical effect on me, especially on that day when I met my manager. Meeting my fans pulled my out of my sadness and for a while I forgot that I even had to hide my sexuality from them all. That was until, my somewhat girlfriend texted. She was my painful reminder that I was only allowed to date girls. It didn't help that my manager had set the two of us up.

TIM

Who is this? I thought to myself. This boy, he was on my television. He looked famous, but there was something about him that seemed… normal. He seemed like someone I knew. But obviously, I had never met him.

As I sat down after getting home from the record store, I watched the boy on television. It was some sort of interview. He was gorgeous. He looked like John. My eyes started to pool again after coming to this realization. I looked at my phone and saw that John had been texting me all night after I had called him and hung up abruptly.

Tom Holland was his name, the celebrity on TV. He was my age. He was on the late night show to promote some movie that he had finished filming.

I turned the TV off after the program went to a commercial. I was too tired to stare at boys that I would never get to meet in my small lifetime.

I slowly walked up the stairs in the pitch black of my house in the suburbs outside of Boston. I opened the door to my room, walked in, and locked it shut. I turned on the lamp that sat behind my dresser and my small room illuminated with a soft golden glow. There were clothes all over the floor, but I never picked them up. I never picked them up because I always thought to myself that there were a thousand other things to do. Go to work, take a shower, do homework, go out with friends, pick a college… there was no time for picking up discarded dirty clothes during my senior year.

I took off the clothes I was wearing and discarded them too on my floor. I snuck myself halfway under the covers. My bare torso was still revealed. My guitar was leaning beside the nightstand where my lamp was shining. It seemed so far away and I desperately tried to reach for it while remaining firm in my position. I grabbed it with the tips of my fingers and eventually wrapped my hand around it. I brought it up to my chest and started playing.

It was a song I had written. Admittedly, I wasn't a good singer. I could, however, play guitar. I had only been playing for six months, but after plucking the first metal string, I immediately fell in love.

From that point on, guitar and music in general had become my passion. My favorite genre became indie music. I always saw myself as a member of the indie music culture. I felt like one of them. No one knew me, but I was still happy to play.

TOM

"Thats a wrap!" my director Dave said. Dave gave me a pat on the back and told me that I did an awesome job that day. I made sure to shake his hand and I thanked him for the opportunity. I gave my co-workers, who had become some of my best friends, hugs and highfives goodbye, and got into the black SUV that had been assigned to me during filming as my transportation. Filming always gave me such a rush.

My security guard was driving, and in the passenger seat was my manager explaining that we needed to be at the hospital by three that afternoon for a shoot with sick kids. I was scared.

My manager explained, "Ok Tom, so you're going to have to keep your lines short and sweet, don't go into full conversation with any of them." I felt like he was trying to tell me that I ran my mouth too much and to keep it shut in front of the cameras, to not waste time. I had loved talking to and meeting my fans, but my manager stressed that he didn't have time for goofing around. He wanted the shot and that was all. I looked at him through the rear view mirror and told him, "Yeah totally, short and sweet."

I looked out the window. LA was such a vibrant place, but some of it was darker than the camera crews allowed the audience to see. That day on the drive to the hospital, I saw several homeless people on the streets begging for scraps of whatever people would otherwise throw away. I wanted so badly to tell my security guard to pull over so I could give one of them some money or a quick meal. I knew my manager wouldn't have allowed it, so we drove on. Too many times back home in England had I seen a homeless man on the streets and too many times I had not given him anything. And now, with a two million dollar contract, I still couldn't.

When we arrived at the hospital, my nerves were getting to me. I felt like any second I could just freeze. God I was so scared. Something was wrong, something was making me feel guilty about all of what I was supposed to be doing that day. Something made me feel like I had this big secret that would kill everyone around me if they knew. It was probably my manager's presence. I felt like a hostage.

We were walking across the parking lot and a few photographers crossed paths with us, as well as a few fans. I smiled and waved with my manager on my left and my security guard on my right.

My security guard always looked so mad. The muscles in his face seemed to always be flexing and it made me feel uncomfortable being around him. He did however have a few instances where he would crack a hilarious joke to lighten the mood. He knew that my manager got under my skin all the time. I remember crying in front of him about it once.

We walked through the doors and were greeted by an army of children either in wheelchairs or on some sort of life support machines. They had made posters with my name on them and had created one long banner that read, Welcome Tom!

Paper hearts and glitter made up the lettering.

My heart sunk. I wanted to cry. I saw all of these boys and girls around me and realized their circumstances. Most of them didn't look like they had much of a fight left in them; I remember one smaller boy holding up my action figure. He could barely keep his grip around it and his mother was kneeling beside his wheelchair. Tears swelled in my eyes and I felt the urge to rush towards him.

I never would have thought that getting cast as a superhero would have such an effect, especially on kids like the little boy in front of me, terminally ill… clinging to a toy in hopes that he may one day have the powers that I did on screen.

The film crew wasn't rolling but it didn't matter. My manager put his hand on my shoulder and I smiled at all of them, still staring at the skinny little boy with the action figure. My manager explained to all of them, "Thank you all so much! You guys are the real heros."

I pulled myself away from my manager's hand and walked over to the boy with the action figure and his mother. My manager started, "Tom…"

I asked the boy, "Hey I'm Tom! What's your name?" He clenched his action figure with two hands and looked at his mother with an innocent smile. She told him softly, "Go on!"

His voice sounded so frail and made me appreciate his gentle company so much more. "Max," he said with a grin.

I replied in a loud whisper, the way that most adults talk to small excited children, "Aww that's awesome!" I looked at his mother and asked, "Iis it alright if I give him something?" She looked down at him and then up at me, "Of course!" The boy's pale bald face lit up.

I reached in my back pocket and pulled out a glove that I had snuck off set that day. I gave it to him asking, "Do you know what this is?"

Everyone around us was looking now. "That's your glove!" I smiled and felt tears brewing in my eyes. "Mommy that's his glove!" She looked at him, ready to cry herself, and gently shook his shoulder, "Oh wow!" She exclaimed softly. I looked at her and tried to imagine the pain that she felt knowing that her little boy was slipping away.

I giggled at his reaction while saying, "Yeah, that's right! And as long as you have this glove, you can be anyone you want, and do anything you want!" I had to take a sniff to prevent my nostrils form dripping.

He put the glove on his left hand which was the one that didn't have sensors and needles in it. I shook his light hand and said, "It was nice meeting you Max!"

The whole ordeal lasted less than a minute, but it felt like I had spent an eternity looking at the sick boy Max and his mother squatting over him. I immediately realized how fortunate I had been. And then I realized why I felt so guilty.

Ever since I had the discussion with my manager about being bi, I had been in a turmoil. But All of the children and families around me had such bigger problems than mine. This made me feel guilty. I felt guilty because while the kids in the hospital faced death, I faced the choice to tell a secret. To me, it was obvious which one was more important.

I walked down the hall with my manager and he put his hand on my shoulder again, which didn't sit well with me. He looked down to me and said, "Tom what did I say?"

I tried to fake-laugh it off. "Sorry, I guess I got ahead of myself!" He walked ahead of me down the hall and my security guard appeared next to me taking my managers place. "Hey Tom."

I looked down at the floor and stopped smiling. "Hey." The two of us spent a while walking slowly down the hall and occasionally waving at some kids in their rooms.

My security guard spoke again. "That guy's a real asshole isn't he?"

I looked down the hall at my manager who was instructing the camera crew, clipboard in hand. "I guess so. He's just trying to do his job."

I spent the rest of the day briefly meeting fans and shaking hands and taking pictures and moving on to the next ones. Just like my manager had instructed. It didn't feel right and I wanted to spend a lot more time with all of them than I was, reassuring the kids that everything would be okay.

When filming was done, my manager, security guard, and camera crew all gathered in the lobby with the kids that I had met that day. We took a group photo; I was squatting between Max and another girl who had been missing a leg. As the kids went back to their rooms, Max's mother stayed. Crying, she grabbed both of my hands and said with a chopped up voice, "Thank you". She caught me by surprise and my eyes got wider and my eyebrows lifted, getting ready to apologize for being so privileged. I looked into her eyes and said, "You're very welcome." She let my hands go and reached for her purse that hung on her shoulder.

My security guard took an aggressive step forward and I looked at him sharply, almost saying, "Really dude?"

The woman looked at him hesitantly for a second but continued digging through her purse. While looking for something she started explaining, "Max has a birthday…" She dug out a notepad and pen. "On June first…" She shook the pen and made hard scribbles on the pad, probably trying to get it to write. She continued explaining and writing. "I know you're busy with filming and all." She handed me a piece of paper with her number and name. "He just loves you so much, and it would mean the world to him."

I looked at the piece of paper, knowing that I probably wouldn't be able to make it. I gave her a smile and told her that I'd see what I could do.

We left the building at five o'clock and as I was walking away from the hospital I saw Max's suffering mother staring at me through the glass that said emergency in red.

I got in the black SUV and tucked the note in my back pocket. My stylist would later find it and set it on my bed the day before Max's birthday.