Date: Fri, 19 Oct 2012 02:19:49 -0400 (EDT) From: Erik Pruett Subject: Please Don't Go - 4 - Young Friends The regular warnings apply. Don't read this if it offends you, or if it's illegal to do so. So, instead of doing things like going to the gym, doing my research paper or otherwise being a productive student, I've been writing this story. My friends tell me I should probably stop for a bit to do some of the paper, but I whenever I look at the syllabus, my brain gets tired. So it looks like I'll be powering through another installment. I'd like to say thanks to those of you who've written me to express your comments / questions / concerns for the story or just to say hello. Everybody's been genuinely pleasant. I'd be glad to hear from you if you enjoy this. But not if you don't enjoy it. :P Anyway, on with the show. Enjoy! :] --- When I wake up the next morning, I'm alone. I roll out of bed twisted in a cocoon of blankets, still wearing the clothing I put on last night, and as I look around I see no traces of Jaime. For a few minutes I shuffle about the house, looking to see if either he or Dad are anywhere around, but the place is empty save for me. When I get back to my room, I notice a note on my nightstand, tucked under my broken alarm clock, written in blue. Hey Sash. Sorry I ditched out on you when you were asleep. I fell asleep for a little too, then Mom called asking when I needed to get picked up from the party. I totally forgot I told her your dad was taking us. So, I had to run there myself and pretend like I'd been there for hours. It sucked. Anyway, a lot of stuff happened last night... we should probably talk about it. Just hit me up when you want to meet up, I've got practice till two this afternoon. Later. It's hardly the most romantic note in the word, or the most well-written. Jaime's handwriting is so tiny and scrambled it's barely even ledgible, but when I was finished I could almost feel my chest expanding. I fold it delicately, put it in my nightstand. Afterward I jump in the shower for a few. My hair is matted and gross, crusted near the tips with blood from a cut on my collarbone. After doing more than my fair share of crying and sweating, I feel grimy and in need of a shower. In the bathroom I pull off my shirt and jeans, examine myself in the mirror. There are bruises scattered about my torso, deep purple impressions against the deep tan of my skin. My face, save for the bruise along my left eye, is mercifully untouched, but my forearms are absolutely wrecked. At least I'd been smart enough to cover my head this time. I take a deep breath, sigh, and wish I had it in me to hate my father. But I don't. Nearly half an hour later, I'm squeeky clean, body smelling fresh and hair heavy with strawberry fragrance. I slip on a new pair of boxer briefs, a white pair of gym shorts, a blue tank top and my grey Vans. I run to the kitchen, snag a water bottle from the fridge. The clock on the oven says 1:35; just enough time to get to the baseball field by 2:00. I rush out the door, after leaving a note on the counter so Dad won't get mad, and go running down the sidewalk. I manage to make it there just in time to catch the last few minutes. Jaime is the team's star hitter. It's only middle school baseball, but already he's one of the best players in the entire state, and in Texas that's saying something. The high school coaches are literally counting the seconds until he'd be scoring homeruns for them. In just the ten minutes that I'm there for, he goes up to bat thrice, never misses a pitch. And in that uniform, his hair darkened an ever deeper shade by sweat and his skin practically radiating heat, he's an absolute vision. It's hard not to swoon when he sees me from the bench and waves. When practice is finally over, he says his goodbyes to his teammates, then bounds up the bleachers to see me. "Hey you made it. I thought for sure you'd be sleeping in today'", he beams. "Sleeping in? I fell asleep so early. I'm literally that awkward kid that passes out at the sleepover before everyone else", I complain. He just laughs. "I guess you are", he says, then in a lower voice, "so I guess you found my letter, then.." Suddenly, the ease and confidence I had seconds ago was replaces with the unpleasantly familiar uncertainty. "I uh.. I mean, yeah. What did you want? You know, to talk about?", the words sort of fall out of my mouth in the most awkward sentence ever spoken. This is going well. He smiles, not uncomfortably, but not the way he usually does. The ease and featherly lightness isn't there, it's heavier. I'm as nervous as I am excited to know what he has to say, but I can barely even believe any of last night happened. "Well, I mean.. you kissed me." "On the cheek. You kissed me on the lips", I say, and this time we both blush. "I know." For what seems like an eternity, the two of us are silent. Then he finally speaks. "Sash, do you like me?" "Of course. I mean, you're my best friend. I tell you that all the time." "No, I mean, do you... y'know, like... do you have feelings for me? Like boyfriend girlfriend... or I mean, I guess boyfriend boyfriend kind of feelings..." My mouth goes dry, with a sandpaper tongue I can't seem to form any words. He's looking at me expectantly, but otherwise without expression. I can't tell if he's mad, or happy or disgusted. I just stare at him, trying to figure out what the correct answer is, but before I even know it I'm falling into those emerald green eyes the way I always do, and they drag the answer out of my clenched throat without resistance. "Jaime, I love you." Even as I say the words, my mind begins preparing me for the shape of everything to come. I'm so afraid, my hands actually begin to tremble a bit, and I close my eyes, not wanting to see the look in his. A few seconds pass. It feels like an hour. A few more pass after that, and still, nothing. Finally I open my eyes, and he's just sitting there looking at me with a confused expression, not quite smiling. "You okay?" I nearly faint. "Well... yeah. Are you mad?" "Why would I be mad?" For a second I can only stare at him, my mouth hanging open a little. This is Texas, he and I are both boys. The fact that he isn't hitting me or telling me off, it's mindblowing. Slowly, he moves a hand to my chin and closes my mouth, trying in vain to supress a smile the entire time. "Sash, you're really weird sometimes?", he giggles. I open my mouth, but he cuts me off. "Seriously. Relax. I figured you might like me as more than just a best friend. When you kissed me, I guess that was the last bit of proof I needed, but I didn't want to assume and not ask, ya know?", he says, as though it's all just commonplace. "Well... is that weird? I can stop if it is, really. You're my best friend...", I mumble. All of this still feels like it's not really happening. My life is fast becoming a sitcom. He shrugs his shoulders. "You're the same Sasha that was my best friend last week, no reason why anything should be different this week, right?" "But... you kissed me! On the mouth!", I exclaim, literally pointing to my lips as though he needed help figuring out where they were. "Jeez dude, you trying to tell the whole world?", he says with rosy cheeks, "I know that. I'm the one that did it, ain't I?" "You got hard." "You... have soft lips." At this point he's back on his game, all smiling and lighthearted, and my face is a suitable shade of scarlet for the amount of embarrassment I feel. I hide my face beneath a veil of golden blonde and shove my face into my hands. "Hey, stop that!", he says. I start shaking my head no, back and forth. He complains once or twice more, and when I keep doing it he puts both hands on my shoulders to steady me so I can't rotate. My shoulders are so small they fit easily into his palms. Then he wraps his hands around my wrists and removes them from my face. "You're mean sometimes", I complain, unable to really see him past my hair. With one hand, he slips his fingers into my bangs and pushes them backward out of my face. That hand ends up resting on the back of my neck. With the other, he grabs the collar of my tank top and pulls me a bit closer. I can barely breathe. "That's better", he whispers. Then he leans the rest of the way in, and for the second time in twenty four hours, presses his lips into mine. It's as electrifying as the first. My body freezes, and for a couple seconds, the rest of the world just melts into a puddle someplace beneath us. His lips against mine, it's all I can do just to inhale. When I feel his tongue dance across mine, I can't help but moan. He presses himself further into me, so our chests are touching. Suddenly I'm leaning against the back of the bleachers, my hands grabbing onto the back of his uniform. His are in my hair. I'm trembling, but in a good way for once, and just as another moan escapes me, he pulls himself away. I feel dizzy. Love drunk, if that's even a thing. The two of us just sit there for a few moments afterward, panting breathlessly. I look up into his face, he catches my eyes and just shrugs. "Yup. They're very soft." Maybe it's the rush of endorphins in my blood, maybe it's the soreness from my bruises, maybe it's the fact that my life has decided seemingly on its own to make no sense anymore, but when I try to respond, the only thing I can do is laugh. And for once, that's enough. --- For the rest of the day, we aimlessly explore Austin downtown. Neither one of us really had much to say after the kiss. He had quickly left for the locker room to go change after, and when he returned, he was his happy-go-lucky self. His mother had been kind enough togive us a ride instead of making us walk, and after that we just functioned the same way we always did together; two best friends with no baggage or hangups between us. When it's finally time to go home, just before the darkness of night descends over the city, Jaime walks me back to my place. I don't much like the dark, and he knows it. By the time we get home, it's almost completely dark out. We arrive at my front step. Dad's car is in the driveway, but the living room TV isn't making a sound, so I know he's in his bedroom. "I just wanted to say thank you... you know, for everything", I mutter. "Don't mention it. I had lots of fun today." I look up into his eyes, always just slightly above mine. Even in the darkness they're shining, green and brilliant and overwhelming. There are so many questions I want to ask, so many feelings I want to express and things I need to tell him, but as per usual, the words just won't come. Instead, I raise myself up quickly onto my toes and give him a swift kiss on the nose. He looks slightly taken back, but he's smiling all the same. "I meant what I said today, so don't forget it, stupid", I quip. Then I skip fast into the house and close the door behind me before he has a chance to do more than giggle. Once inside, I listen to the sound of his feet against the pavement, feeling the distance between us grow as his steps get harder to hear. I think of everything that's happened, of all the feelings coursing around inside me, and even though I've got ten thousand unanswered questions crashing through my head, I smile. So wide and uncontrollably I feel like a moron. But at least I'm a happy moron.