I was a queer kid ever since I was four years old, asking my mom’s office manager Kate how to spell ‘He-Man’ on my mom’s typewriter:

I lived for fantasy stories growing up. By the time I was in fourth grade, I didn’t have any real friends; my friends were Frodo, Gandalf, and the High Elves. It all started when I found my dad’s copy of The Lord of the Rings. I finished the entire trilogy in a month and was so enthralled by Middle Earth that I started writing my own version of The Lord of the Rings, a not-so-original tale entitled The Blue Star — about a blue necklace that turned the wearer invisible. One necklace to rule all necklaces!

A screen cap of the actual story, which is 40 pages single spaced in Microsoft Word Circa 1997, with that gay lil’ clip art.

My story had everything: a pair of adventuresome hobbits named Faren and Talen, a white wizard named Sonotour who rode a white steed named Diamondaire, and a creature named Golum! Finally, I wanted to show my story to someone, so I took it to my school librarian, who taught me a magical new word…plagiarism. Whoops. I had been doing something bad. But wasn’t it fan fiction? Homage? Either way, my first episode of queerness got torpedoed, and I fell into a depression and shelved my writing.

By sixth grade, my parents decided their heavy-set, sullen, growth-spurted son needed some fresh air. So they sent me to Lavin Basketball camp. I imagined this was a camp for fellow nerds like myself to learn how to play with a ball! What I didn’t know was Lavin Basketball camp was a Nazi training ground for the future NBA. A month-long sweatshop for over-achieving aggressive boys who knew how to dribble.

Lavin Basketball camp existed in an all-vegan town in rural California (yes, those actually do exist). This was the beginning of my hatred of all-vegan and sports-related. A siren would go off every night for some reason and we joked that it was the “meat siren.” And when I say “we joked,” I mean the voices in my head, because no other kids wanted anything to do with me. I got sick with a 102 degree fever and begged to go home, but my parents decided that if I stayed, it would help make me “a man.”

It culminated on the last night when my roommate decided to throw a pizza party. I offered to pay for the pizza, and as I was tipping the delivery guy, my roommate slammed the door and locked me out of the party. As I sat, crying, slumped against the door, I created a ritual in my mind. I started roleplaying…at first under my breath, then shouting loud enough for the whole basketball camp to hear:

“Beam me up Enterprise! Beam me up. Beam out of this this hell!”

“I’m the white witch of NAAARNIA…would you like some pizza boys?”

“It’s a trap, Frodo! Don’t be a fool of a Markle!”

“The black riders are coming! And they’re bringing MEAT!”

Neo! You’re living in The Matrix, also known as your head!

“(Lightsaber sounds!)”

“YOU SHALL NOT PASS, BASKETBALL BOYS!”

“7 of 9, you are my sister.

That last reference was a combination of famous lines from Star Trek: Voyager and Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back intertwined. I had combined all these fantasy stories and characters into a single intergalactic history in my mind. A universe of fan fiction that I would weave every night before I would go to bed, eventually spanning over 10,000 years. It sounds insane, but at the time it saved my life. It was a meditation. A shield. An escape pod. And though those basketball boys never got busted for bullying, this boy had found a magic carpet to take him boldly, where no boy had gone before.