RIP Brad and Heath, My Girlfriends Loved You...and So Did I

Growing up as a gay man doesn’t afford you certain opportunities that other adolescents typically pursue. Though most of your friends are probably girls it is still not acceptable to gush about how hot the latest teen movie or blockbuster heartthrob is. Your besties may understand you’re not like all the other boys but you still do everything in your power to avoid affirming their beliefs until you’re ready.
So instead of Josh Hartnett and Ben Affleck posters lining your walls you have to divert your attentions and mock desires towards the opposite sex. Since Cher, Bette, and Barbara are not acceptable pin-ups, you cultivate a love for the younger divas or current TV stars. My girl crush was Sarah Michelle Gellar. I was lucky that it allowed me to put up Cruel Intentions posters that also had Ryan Phillipe in them.
These fond memories of denial were brought to the surface in the wake of the tragic deaths of Brad Renfro and Heath Ledger. In middle school my best friend loved Brad Renfro. I think we saw Apt Pupil in the theater at least twice (which is no small feat, I’ll tell you) and I listened to her constantly gush about how dreamy he was. In high school she became enamored with Heath (as so many young ladies did) with his breakthrough role in 10 Things. One friend was so committed, that in the notes we passed, the code name for her current crush was always a play on Heath’s character in the movie, Patrick Verona.
Talking about these guys with my girls was the only time I got the chance to express even the smallest inkling that I shared in their affection. I wanted nothing more than to be able to tear posters from Tiger Beat and post them on my ceiling. I had to content myself to hoping no one would notice the lip prints on Ryan Phillipe’s face, that smudged the poster on the back of my door.
After high school, and coming out, it was now acceptable to share the same crushes with friends, unless they got irate when you continuously insisted their favorite was actual a closet case mo. Then you just have to let it go and let the ladies go on believing that his ‘confirmed bachelor’ status is because he’s waiting for the ‘one’ which she hopes will be her.
But with Heath’s role in Brokeback he became more than just the teen idol your friends worshipped in high school. He exhibited a model of confidence with his sexuality and ability that made no one question his orientation. He also beautifully portrayed the silent struggle that accompanies denying love and passion, a struggle that for some men and women can endure a lifetime. Ironically (or perhaps not) Heath’s character is not the one to meet an early death in the film; it’s his lover that leaves him on Earth to mourn alone.
The final scene where he stands holding a plaid shirt, that his lover had kept for so many years, evokes memories of those moments we recall a love we lost, whether it persisted for decades or lasted only an evening, and are left with little tangible to hold. Though these memories and experiences exist in the past, time seems to filter out all the hurt feelings, distance, feelings of regret or remorse, and sometimes presents a feeling so pure it feels as if you’ve been transported back.
Perhaps, it’s just called nostalgia, or perhaps I’m just a sap that hates to see young, talented artists go too soon. And though I am exceedingly sad Heath will no longer have the opportunity to make us laugh, make us swoon, or make us cry, I am quite glad that I will forever have the memory of the first time I saw Brokeback. Sitting in the theater with my mother, as tears rolled down both our cheeks, I knew she definitely understood our struggle and I began to understand the transformative power of love.
Though I don’t think I’ve experienced love with a man in quite the way it was presented, I am excited to see who the next heartthrob of my life will be. Until then, it is comforting to know that even an ex, out of touch for more than a year, would tell me that “you'll always have a soft spot in my heart... and a hard spot in my pants.” If that’s not an affirmation of passion, I don’t know what is.