My Mexican-American mother would prefer I call you Mr. Saenz, but I enjoy literary parallels too much to always be respectful. I hope you do not mind.
Thank you. I want to start by saying thank you. You have written my favorite book, the book I used to come out to my parents, and the book that is bringing me back to myself after my first heartbreak. It is a very special thing to be an author. I may not entirely know myself yet, but I have always I wanted to be an author. So much that it is the scariest thing I could ever imagine. So thank you for being brave.
I first read Aristotle and Dante when I was close to fifteen. I don't quite remember my age, but I remember everything else. My dad and I went to Barnes n Noble together. It was at a time where I didn't know how to be around him. He is both the funnest, kindest man I know and the angriest. I think I am too much like him. Or I don't know yet how to be okay with both of us.
But we both like books. Even though he hasn't read one in decades, we both appreciate them. I love books like my mother. And both my parents love stories. I used to tell the plots of the books I was reading to my dad. I always cherished how freely I felt speaking during those moments. I am a good listener like my dad.
He bought your book for me. When he asked, I told him it was about two Mexican-American boys falling in love in the 80s in El Paso, Texas. The next morning, he asked me if they had fallen in love yet. I think a part of him knew what I was. But I also think sometimes it is harder to see it in girls than with boys. We wear our love more freely and at all times. It can be tricky to tell our love apart as something different.
I read all night. I was very good at not sleeping back then. I cried many times. I was also good at that. I still am. I am so much like Dante in that way. And I am very okay with that now. Not always, but now.
I read until sometime in between Legs and cracked ribs. And the unthinkable happened. My book was missing 20 pages.
I flipped back and forth. I counted. I did not read ahead. And I couldn't believe it. I was so raw. So greedy in my consumption that I felt hollow. It was one in the morning. And my only choice was to sleep. And so I went to bed incomplete.
The next morning, the first thing I did was show my dad. I have always been very careful showing my emotions, but in that moment, I let myself be desparate.
Have they fallen in love yet? No, but they were about to I think.
In the car, I told him about what had happened so far. I remember being reluctant. But I always needed to share the new story living inside me. I will always be grateful to the people in my life who don't read.
When I got to the part about the car in the rain, he told me that Ari was absolutely already in love with Dante.
I never felt very confident explaining myself. It is a forceful insecurity of mine. But love makes us do things. And so I explained the book situation to the cashier. I felt protective. My dad seemed to have an easier time reading between the lines, but the story was inside of me.
I finished the book. I devoured it. I cherished it. I was seen by it.
When people ask me what my favorite book is, I always say that one because it was the first time I saw gay and Mexican-American in the same story. I think when we are young we hang on to identity words like life rafts because we found a piece of ourselves floating around in the universe and that is everything when you don't know who you are.
-
I read the Inexplicable Logic of My Life soon after. It had come out earlier that year or the year before. I fell in love with your writing. I really did. I reread Inexplicable when I was sixteen. Aristotle and Dante was too sacred at that point. An idol to be undisturbed. And I had an idea for Inexplicable. It was my senior year of highschool and for theater class, all the seniors got to direct a scene for a showcase. My copy of Inexplicable still has green sticky tabs littering its pages. I decided on pages 247 to 252. Poetry. Poetry?I fought for the most talented girl to play Sam and the most earnest boy to play Sal. I had to write a letter to my teacher about why is was artisticaly important to include the f slur in the script. My actors loved the scene. Especially Sal. He was younger than me and Sam by two years. A gay black boy playing a white straight boy with a gay Mexican-American dad. We would look at each other and understand how inexplicable we could live through this thing called pretending. I think he was giddy to be so close to his gayness through his art. Just like I was.
I appreciate them both so much and more than anything for taking such good care of the poetry.
It was during this showcase that I came out to my parents. Introducing the scene, I declared myself on stage. My voice was shaky and I didn't know how to walk right. But it happened. I was crying backstage I didn't watch the scene, but I was told Sam dropped her pencil and Sal picked it up. Pure magic. My crush asked me if that was planned.
This was October. A month before my seventeeth birthday. Close to exactly four years since I found out about myself. My friends had known about me. They didn't know the weight of what I did until I was crying backstage. My friends hugged me. And later my family hugged me. I believe in moments that feel literary. It happened and it was beautiful.
-
I have to confess I did not read Diving Into the Waters when it was published.
Too self obssessed about my own love story to care much about anyone elses.
If you could love me
This thing like life
Would it be as if the entirety of what is
and what was
made Love to me
Saw me bare
and told me it was safe
Or
Is it sweet
because the whole of humanity
Loved nothing more than to
Lie
Do I care the difference?
It has always been the way of writing
That you bleed and wait for smarter people to decide what it means
It is the way
That we do not know our own ideas
They simply claw at our throats
It is not the way of writing that you know why you bleed
and what for
If we knew
there would be no reason to see our blood
I like giving myself away
to everyone around me
I like it because
for the while
I am the strongest person
I do it
because I can
because I have had to
and so I can
until
standing in a room with you
as myself
becomes more
than I can take
"Are you okay?
"Yeah, I'm just tired."
I wish bugs knew
how to stay off
sidewalks
-
So I could
stop looking
down
"We both need to eat something if we're going to get anymore work done"
I steal myself. I'm so tired I almost sigh, but stop myself before drawing attention to myself by exhaling the big breath I took in. I let it out slowly and quietly. There's that salmon in the fridge. That sounds nice.
We both rise. "Salmon good with you?"
"I'll get right on it." They smile. I laugh a little.
"No really it's okay." It is. I can do it. I would be doing it for myself. Alone. Probably.
Their smile stays headstrong. "I got it. Salmon in the fridge. Seasoning in the cabinet." They open the fridge. "Vegetables even!"
"I told you I got it. Seriously, we've both been working hard and I don't mind." My voice is not serious but insistent.
"I heard you." They have a kind voice. It makes me want to cry suddenly. I smirk instead. I feel steely.
"It's my apartment."
They lean in slightly. I've always been tall. It feels thrilling to meet someone's eyes on equal footing.
"And I will not burn it down. I promise." Their voice is so nice I want to shiver.
"I can do it."
They smile in a way that makes me feel eaten. "Let me be nice to you. Please?"
I don't know how to not crackle like burning paper and so I nod.
"Thank you."