“And there was something familiar about the cadence of the words. The language. It was him. I wrote:I know who you are. I recognize your voice. by kidzeroI felt a little dizzy after I sent it, maybe because I had been holding my breath. A new message pinged and the air rushed out of me like a deflated balloon.you shouldn't be talking to strangers anyway. who am I? by anonymousI didn't really know his name or anything about him, but I couldn't admit that now. I wanted to keep talking to him. I quickly typed:You are the Unidentified. The Unidentified refuses to be typecast, target-marketed, corporate-identified, defined. by kidzero”

“I thought all the way back to when I was a kid, not being able to tell anyone, not even my parents, about who I really was. I never had anyone to talk to, and I never looked to anyone to talk to -- because I didn't want to talk about it. If you're young and questioning and not able to voice it in safety, find a gay person in your community who you trust and respect, and get to know him and talk it all through with him. Find the big brother or the parent that you don't have at home and ask him to guide you and help you sort out all the emotions.”

“Do you want to tell me why I'm getting the silent treatment?' He asked gruffly, his breath hot on my ear. I hunched up my shoulders, pulling away. His voice had an effect on my body and I didn't want him to know that. 'I'm talking to you.''Barely.''I've got a lot on my mind.''Do you want to talk about it?''When have I ever wanted to talk about it?”

“Good," he said. "We need to talk." Suddenly, I didn't feel so relaxed anymore. Talk? What does he want to talk about? The part where I nearly died? I didn't want to talk about that. Because the fact is, that whole part, the part where I nearly died, well, I nearly died trying to save him. Seriously. I was hoping he hadn't noticed, but I could tell by the look on his face that he totally had. Noticed, I mean. And now he wanted to talk about it. But how could I talk about it? Without letting it slip? The L word, I mean. "You know what?" I said, very fast. "I don't want to talk. Is that okay? I really, really don't want to talk. I am all talked out. Jesse lifted Spike of his lap and put him on the floor. Then he stood up. What was he doing? I wondered. What was he doing? I took a deep breath, and kept talking about not talking. "I'm just--Look," I said as he took a step toward me. "I'm just going to give CeeCee a call and maybe we'll go to the beach or something, because really...I just need a day off." Another step forward. Now he was right in front of me. "Especially," I said, significantly, looking up at him, "from talking. That's especially what I need a day off from. Talking." "Fine," he said. He reached up and cupped my face in both hands. "We don't have to talk." And that's when he kissed me. On the lips.”

“Why am I talking about all this? Who am I talking to? I send out these words, these thoughts, simply because it is time. Time for what, I do not know and it does not matter because it is what I want and that is always reason enough for me.”

“I wondered what my father had looked like that day, how he had felt, marrying the lively and beautiful girl who was my mother. I wondered what his life was like now. Did he ever think of us? I wanted to hate him, but I couldn't; I didn't know him well enough. Instead, I wondered about him occasionally, with a confused kind of longing. There was a place inside me carved out for him; I didn't want it to be there, but it was. Once, at the hardware store, Brooks had shown me how to use a drill. I'd made a tiny hole that went deep. The place for my father was like that.”