Journey to Forever: Jeremy and Michael's Triumph

Michael was standing in the center of the kid's bounce house, bouncing up and down. He laughed as the other kids jumped on top of him, shouting "Airplane," or "Superman."

His mother watched from the bleachers. The chaperones were all in a huddle, whispering about what to do about Michael. They'd almost sent him home in the car with one of them.

"He doesn't like his seat belt," said one. "We have to pull over every five miles so he can get out and pee."

"And then he gets upset if we don't let him back in right away," said another.

"And we can't take him out for ice cream!" one of the moms said. "Not unless you want to clean up melted chocolate for an hour!" She made a disgusted face. "It's so gross."

Frankly, I was surprised anyone still wanted to take him anywhere at all. But I didn't say anything.

Michael's mom sat down next to me and sighed. "I guess it's just nice that they still want to be friends with Michael."

"They're good kids," I said. "They've been great with Michael today."

She nodded and stretched her legs out on the bleacher next to mine. She took a deep breath and stared at her son for a long moment, then turned to me and smiled sadly. "This is his first time at this kind of thing." Her voice was tired, but had that gentle lilt that parents use when they're talking about their kids: proud, happy, worried, afraid.

I remembered that feeling well; it's how I feel every time I go out with Michael now too. We've been together five years, since Michael was nineteen; we met when he was having one of his meltdowns and I helped calm him down by singing to him in French (his second language). Since then, there hasn't been a day that hasn't been better than it would have been without Michael in my life: even those days that are spent mostly crying or rocking because he can't control his anxiety anymore are worth it for those other days when he laughs so hard he makes himself cry -- or when he throws his arms around me and hugs me tightly, or when he tells me I'm handsome or smart or beautiful or kind. It's not always easy -- people sometimes stare; some people will say something rude or cruel -- but nothing is ever as short-lived as that pain feels now; because my love for Michael is a thousand times stronger than whatever hateful words someone may have uttered against us both on our way here today from Brooklyn today: walking through Manhattan together has never felt more like a victory parade than when we were stopped by police officers who thought we were on our way to a fancy party and asked us where we were headed -- but instead told us how much they loved seeing two guys holding hands together on the subway platform (even though they didn't seem terribly impressed with our pink hair). Their happiness is always there waiting for us to return home again after these days out together -- waiting patiently for us to return home again after our walks through Washington Square Park, watching theatre together at Lincoln Center, dancing around our apartment while listening to music together...

And there's no doubt in my mind that this day will be waiting for us tonight too -- because even if no one else knows it yet, I know that Michael feels the same things about me that I feel about him: not simply love; not simply passion; but those things mingled into something so sweet and pure and beautiful that sometimes it feels like drinking honey from a flower petal or eating a fruit from Eden itself.