I was stoked to hear about the 2022 movie, "Close." After watching the trailer, I was instantly sold. Two boys are shown to be close friends, even physically affectionate with one another to the point that their classmates assume them to be gay.

How I wish there could be someone here, of a similar position in life, with whom I could fully relate. Someone with whom I could bare my soul, with whom I could freely express brotherly intimacy – a soul brother, one could say. That is what I crave.

At first I thought the book would be an interesting "tell-all" about the making of the film, but what I got was a provoking, hilarious, disturbing, and twisted foray into the relationship between Greg and Tommy.

As a Side B Christian, it's obvious that I am attracted to other dudes; trust me, I wish it weren't so. As I consider my attractions to other men, what isn't so obvious is the fact that it's not always sexual. Of course, I do have sexual feelings toward other men, but that's only part of the story.

It was the first song I'd ever heard that touched upon my most simple yet desperate longing; buried beneath the pangs of my sexuality, a clear yet unattainable desire – to have a best buddy, someone who tells me he wants to be with me, someone to goof off with, someone to sit beside in a country field. Someone by my side when I'm hurting.

Handsome Devil is a very gay movie, but for once a gay movie not focused on sex or even romance; instead, it leans heavily on themes of vulnerability, authenticity, bullying, trauma, masculinity, and most of all, friendship. It checks all the boxes for a Side B sleeper hit.

At its core, Luca is simply about a friendship between two boys. It was refreshing to see a deep, loving friendship between boys; so few movies really show this. In a culture obsessed with romantic relationships, this was wonderful to see. But Luca has also brought some controversy. Some have accused Luca of queerbaiting – that is, hinting at or even promising LGBT+ representation, only not to deliver for fear of the reaction.

Growing up, I had few friends; those I did have were not the greatest. I brought up one boy, Jack, who I'd considered my best friend from first through third grade. I hadn't talked to him since high school. "I'm not sure what's happened to him," I said to my friend. "He could be dead for all I know." On a whim I looked up my old best friend on Facebook, and...yep, sure enough, he was dead.

Before visiting him, I can't remember our ever talking about what would happen at night. Cody had a bunkbed in his room, even though he lived alone. The top bunk was made for me when I arrived, but I didn't sleep in it once. It just sorta...happened.

For the longest time I felt afraid about the locker room setting. Part of my fear and shame came from body-image issues, as I was the "fat kid" most of my life. Part of my fear also came from my same-sex attraction – the fear for potential arousal. I was curious how the other guys looked but also ashamed and scared to be around them or be seen in my nakedness.

I couldn't go back through this whole crap again! I couldn't go back to being worried every single minute over how to pay for my apartment. I couldn't go back to not eating for a day or two. I couldn't go back to being tempted to selling myself to the first "generous" guy that came my way. I felt the heavy weight again, and I felt like a total loser.

A point came in our relationship when I realized just how dependent I was on him and just how one-sided our friendship was. For my own well-being, I needed to step away from the relationship. What follows is the lament and reflection I wrote in saying "goodbye" to our friendship.

We hadn't seen each other in a while, so we caught up on each other's lives. Then came the confrontation. The tone changed, and he wanted to get some stuff off his chest. He told me he didn't appreciate my butting in on their relationship and trying to save our friendship. That if he had to choose between our friendship or his girlfriend, he'd choose her.

One day, we finally grabbed lunch together, and I just poured out my heart to my best friend. I pleaded for him to take his relationship slowly and not to forget about me. While saying that, something just clicked in my brain. I started tearing up; right then and there, I asked my best friend to forgive me for being a jerk.

My daughter had been injured by an accident — something that had no one to blame or fault. And in that time, I needed to know that it was all going to be all right. I needed to know that it would work out. I needed hope. And I needed to restore my faith in that hope.

I didn't want to lose my best friend to this soon-to-be relationship. I already knew what it felt like to be left alone, tossed away like an old rag doll by a straight relationship, forgotten. I don't know how many times this had happened to me, and I wasn't ready to go through it again. Especially by someone I thought would be my best friend for a long time.

I knew I needed a miracle even to get out there, and now this triggering text message was stuck in my brain as I got ready. I packed my clothes for the weekend but needed to get some food in my stomach before the semi-long trip.

I felt sick to my stomach that one complicated situation made me lash against someone who was very dear to my best friend's heart. I felt the whole situation was my fault, and I couldn't do anything to make it better.

I came to see how often the word "brother" was being used around me. The word was being thrown around constantly. And I saw that I was one of the ones who used "brother" the most. In my desire to embrace this new brotherhood, I had actually started ruining the word for myself. I had worn out this once meaningful word until I couldn't even bear to say it anymore.

My biggest fear was that my best friend was going to force our friendship to end all because of this girl, pushing me away from his life. It was the fear that whatever friendship we'd built in the past he was willing to tear down, trample to the ground, and pretend that I never existed at all.