Page 57 of The Golden Boy’s Guide to Bipolar

Since I’ve kind of been neglecting Hunter as a friend, I offer to meet up with him before the open mic. I’m half expecting

him to ignore me since I’ve been a shitty friend, but he texts back right away saying he’ll meet me at the coffee shop an

hour early.

Before heading out, I stare at the promise ring and the cross necklace still left in my drawer. I take a deep breath before

grabbing the promise ring and putting it on.

Then I look at the necklace.

I decide I’ll put this one on when I’m sure I’m no longer manic. For now, I can accept a complicated relationship with God,

like Zo said.

When I arrive at the coffee shop, it’s clear why Jamal picked it to host his queer-friendly open mics as soon as I walk in.

There are flags everywhere, and not the American kind.

The progress flag, rainbow flag, and trans flag are plastered all over the shop.

Jamal told me that even the name, Brick Road, is a nod to an old euphemism people used to find other LGBTQ+ folk.

I guess being a “friend of Dorothy” meant you were gay.

So the whole coffee shop is Wizard of Oz themed.

A quick scan of the area shows me Hunter isn’t here yet. I get to the front of the line and order a cinnamon roll latte, then

wait at one of the tables. It’s only a couple minutes before he shows up. The barista greets him enthusiastically, and they

chat for a bit before he orders his drink. It’s not until after he orders that he notices I’m already here.

“What is up , Flores! How’ve you been?” he says enthusiastically. I don’t know if he’s just excited to see me after a while, or if it’s

the open mic or something else, but he definitely seems a little more cheery than usual, if that’s possible. I instinctually

go for the bro hug I’m used to from him, but then he extends his arms and pulls me into a full-on bear hug, squeezing hard

and almost picking me up off the floor.

“I’ve been... ,” I start as we both sit down. I’m not sure if I should wreck the mood by being honest or not. But I’m done

pretending everything is fine when it’s not. Hunter is good people. He’ll understand. “Not great, honestly. I’m getting better,

though.”

“Good to hear you’re getting better,” he says. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Maybe another time. Uh, what about you?” I ask awkwardly. Small talk is a little weird with anyone but Jamal for me. But

I do want to know how he’s been.

“I’m great, I’m great. So, hey, I have a question for you.”

“What’s up?” I ask, already feeling nervous.

“You know your friend Avery? Uh, do you happen to know if he’s, like... um, straight?”

I tense up a bit at the question. “Why does it matter?”

“This is a little awkward, but...” Hunter’s ears and cheeks go completely red. “I might have, like, a little crush....”

“Wait, you’re not straight?” I feel like I just took a pie to the face.

“I mean, I don’t know. I guess not? I’m just as shocked as you are, believe me.” He laughs all nervous.

“So you like Avery? Since when?”

“Well, we went to that concert together, you know? And we just kind of hit it off, and... I don’t know, man. I’m just kind

of figuring all this out. I guess I’m bi?”

I can’t hold back my smile, which makes him blush harder and retract his neck like a startled turtle. Why does he seem so

nervous to tell me? “I’m bi too, remember?” I remind him.

“Wait, you don’t like Avery too, do you?”

It hits me then that my defensiveness over being asked if Avery was straight probably didn’t give Hunter the best impression.

“Don’t worry, he’s all yours.”

“Oh, thank God.” Hunter holds a hand to his heart like he’s having chest pain.

“You must really like him, then, huh?” I ask.

“Yeah.” His face gets even more red, and he smiles so big I’m surprised his lips don’t crack.

The rest of the time until the open mic passes before we know it. Jamal is one of the first to show up, then Avery, Moni and

Abuela, Mami, Dona Violeta, Yami, Bo, and our friends from Slayton.

Hunter and I had saved some seats for everyone, so we can all sit together.

Jamal doesn’t notice the ring on my finger until after he sits down next to me.

I swear his sudden smile could light up the bottom of the Pacific.

I let the ring be the proof that I’m done hiding him away.

He takes my hand in his, right in front of everyone, and kisses the ring, then the back of my hand.

Maybe my PDA with Jamal gives Hunter some confidence, because he turns to Avery and asks if he wants to hang out again. I’m

not sure if Avery realizes Hunter is trying to ask him out or not, but he agrees nonetheless.

Then I notice Abuela and Dona Violeta go to sit together, and since I still don’t think they’ve told anyone else about their

situation, I pretend not to notice that they’re holding hands under the table.

But then I catch Moni’s eyes and see she’s also noticing Abuela and Violeta holding hands. Her mouth is dropped open in a

huge smile and she gives me a thumbs-up, mouthing the words “I did it!” even though she had nothing to do with this pairing.

A sign-up sheet for the open mic gets passed around, and with Jamal’s encouragement, I gather the courage to put my own name

on the list.

Jamal stands at the mic when the event starts, introducing the mission of the open mic, which is to amplify queer voices and

create a safe space for LGBTQ+ creatives to share their hearts on stage. He leads off the open mic with a queer love poem

about falling in love a second time with your first love.

A musician follows his act with a few gay love songs, inviting people to get up and dance. Yami and Bo giggle as they slow

dance together. Dona Violeta takes Abuela’s hand, hips swaying to the music, and Abuela reluctantly steps into rhythm with

her.

If you had told me a month ago that Abuela would be dancing and laughing like this for everyone to see, I would have said

you’re crazier than me.

Eventually Jamal calls my name, and the crowd looks around expectantly for someone named Cesar to come to the stage. I take a deep breath and force my feet to move one by one until I’m in front of the crowd.

I let out my breath and pull the spoken-word piece I’ve written out of my pocket, unfolding the paper in my shaking hands.

I can do this.

The first thing I learned after my bipolar diagnosis was to keep my mouth shut.

You don’t tell anyone when you’re manic that you can talk to God.

You don’t tell anyone when you’re depressed that you haven’t showered in a week.

You don’t tell anyone that you think your meds are being used to mind control you, because it’s better to be dead than crazy.

You don’t ask your mom for the day off school because God told you to kill yourself, and you’re afraid if you get out of bed

for class you just might. You don’t ask for the day off, because it’s better to be dead than crazy.

And most importantly, you can’t ask for help. They’ll think you’re crazy.

Crazy, according to Google: adjective. Mentally deranged in a wild or aggressive manner. Used in a sentence. ‘She went crazy

and assaulted a visitor.’

Noun. Mentally deranged. Used in a sentence. ’Keep that crazy away from me.’

Deranged: Adjective: mad, insane. Used in a sentence. ‘The gunman was deranged.’

So, for a long time, I kept my mouth shut. I don’t bother telling them I feel guilty killing mosquitos, or that I can’t hurt

the monsters playing Undertale. It wouldn’t matter if they knew I was crazy. So, for a long time, I kept my mouth shut.

No one needs to be reminded I’m crazy. No one needs to know how, even though I can talk to God and he talks back, I still

feel alone.

I don’t tell anyone, even when God tells me to kill myself, because I learned it’s better to be dead than to be crazy.

It was never the voices in my head telling me that, though. It’s my peers, movies, TV, comics, video games, Google, even myself.

But I’m not better dead.

I won’t stay silent anymore, so go ahead and call me crazy.

Maybe I am crazy.

Crazy... and alive.

Everyone snaps supportively, and I go back to my seat feeling lighter than I’ve felt in a long time. It’s not a “good” poem

necessarily. It’s unedited and rough, but it’s a big step for me. Jamal kisses me again, and I can’t tell if I’m still manic,

or if this euphoric feeling is real. The coffee tastes divine, the music has us all dancing, and the love is warm.

It isn’t until I hear God’s familiar voice in my ear, repeating the signal he had for me before, that I’m sure.

It is time to come home, my son.

So I am still manic. But it’s okay. No one here will let me hurt myself, and I don’t want to anymore. I squeeze Jamal’s hand

tighter and look around the room at everyone I love. Who loves me.

Maybe I’ll have a complicated relationship with God for the rest of my life. Maybe I don’t know what to call God anymore.

I don’t know what’s holy and what isn’t. Maybe God really is just the universe, or science, or all of it, including Jamal

and me and my family and friends and everyone and everything in existence. Maybe we’re all a little bit sacred.

Until now, I thought the thing I was most afraid of was going to hell, but I’m done pretending to be something I’m not to

find my way to heaven.

The world, God, and the entire universe can disapprove of what I have with Jamal, but my entire universe is Jamal. It’s Yami. It’s all of them. If there’s a heaven without them, I don’t want it.

I look around at all the people sacred to me. I know being loved doesn’t mean I’m magically fixed. It doesn’t mean my life

will be easy, or that I won’t one day hit another rock bottom and do all of this over again. But there will also be moments

like this. There will always be little glimpses of heaven I don’t have to die for.

And that’s enough to keep me going until I find the next one. I even look forward to it.