I've known Xander all of my life. Ever since we were about 10 years old. I remember being in elementary school when Xander moved to South Carolina . He was the "new kid" in class and he looked scared to death. I remember how much I liked him when I first saw him. I was kind of an outcast, and it was even worse that day because I had a black eye and was bruised up and down my back; my dad's handiwork from the night before. Xander talked to me anyway; when he inquired about my injuries he accepted my explanation that I had "fallen". He just seemed to understand. I asked him to sit next to me at lunch and that was it. Our friendship just seemed to blossom and bloom. Truthfully, I had a big crush on him. Later in life, I told myself I grew out of it, but I never really did. I admired Xander; I always wanted to be around him.
Later I learned that we both came from somewhat abusive families; my father was a factory worker and his father was a lawyer. While my father was physically and verbally abusive to me and my mother, Xander's family just didn't care less. His dad worked all the time, traveling the country constantly, and his mom was out running around and doing god knows what. So, I spent most of my free time at his house after school; we'd have sleepovers, play video games and tell each other our deepest, darkest secrets. We had a lot in common, and since we didn't really have parents to raise us, we made a blood pact that we would always be there for each other, no matter what.
I wouldn't call myself gay, but I've always had feelings for Xander. He's like a brother to me, but he's more than that. He knows my every secret, my every fear, and all of my flaws. I know his. We fight, then we make up. No matter what, we're always there for each other. We grew up together, and had managed to shut out pretty much everyone else. I knew I loved him, but I tried not to let the thought linger. I just told myself we were so close and such good friends, that my mind was playing tricks on me.
I think the real reason I tried to suppress my feelings is because of my father. If he ever found out I was gay he would literally kill me. He considered himself a man's man and was very narcissistic. If I did anything that reflected bad on him, it would fuel another abusive episode that we were so acquainted with. Me being gay? Don't even think about it.
As we got older, we made other friends and had our circles at school that we ran in. We both got on the wrestling team in high school, and while neither of us were spectacular, we had a lot of fun.
Eventually, we both started dating girls, like we were "supposed" to. We were both decent looking guys; he was about 6'0, I was a couple inches taller. He had soft brown eyes and a rounder face; I had cold blue-gray eyes and a strong chin. We were both pretty athletic and muscular. Xander would go and brag to his friends about all the girls who liked him, and I would do likewise, but we were both just big talking virgins and we both knew it. I just couldn't find anyone special enough, and neither could he.
We had done some sexual stuff with girls, but the truth was, Xander turned me on more than any girl I met. Again, I just chalked it up to raging hormones. I allowed myself to fantasize about him, though.
We went through so much together. I couldn't imagine living without Xander. So when he told me he might be moving away, naturally I flipped out.
It was April of senior year, and we'd been discussing our plans for college. It was one day after school, when we were driving home, that he dropped the bombshell on me. I knew he had been acting funny that week, but I didn't know why.
"James....I got accepted into UCLA."
I looked at him, to make sure he was serious. Yep...his jaw was set and square, his brown eyes straight ahead.
My heart sank, and my stomach turned. I wanted to burst into tears, but I kept my composure. "Why are you going to California, X?" I asked him. It didn't seem like a smart decision to me. We were small town kids; Xander wouldn't be happy in California. He took a deep breath, and let it out in a shuddering sigh. "Have you ever just wanted to, you know, get away?"
"Well, yeah, but you know why I stay here."
He glanced at me, as I tried to keep my face blank. "Your grandma, I know."
That was one of the reasons. Much as I hated my dad, I loved my grandma, and she was in her 70s. She lived in the town nearby, and I really didn't want to leave her, knowing she might not be here when I return.
That wasn't the only reason, though. Xander was a big part of what kept me here.
He noticed my hesitation. "Well, why else would you stay? God knows I've got nothing to keep me here. My family doesn't care, I don't have a girl, nobody cares." He uttered those last words as we pulled up in front of his house.
I was so upset, my head was pounding. I couldn't let him see me lose it, though. If he wanted to go, who was I to stop him? We both climbed out of the car, and I grabbed my bag and took off down the road towards my house. Much as I didn't want to be home, I couldn't keep my cool and face Xander right now.
"Hey, man, where you going? I thought we were gonna chill?" He looked at me confused.
I looked back at him, standing there. He wasn't all that much to look at; about 6'0 tall, brown eyes, dirty blonde hair, slightly muscular and solid. Like me, he had dirty blonde, wind blown hair and a perpetual tan from spending all summer on the beach.
Was I really going to lose the one person that I trusted, the one person I really knew? I choked back a sob, but a tear ran down my face. His eyes widened in surprise as I quickly wiped it away.
"I gotta get home and take care of some shit," I told him gruffly, trying to sound as masculine as possible. "I'll call you later."
I turned and walked away briskly, but I knew that he was still standing there watching me as I left.
Home was the last place I wanted to be. Mom was downstairs, frantically trying to get the house clean and dinner on the table so that Dad wouldn't flip out when he came home. I helped out as much as I could, knowing that no matter what we did, it wouldn't be good enough. I was right.
Dad came in the door around six, came straight to the kitchen and started barking orders at Mom. He criticized one thing after another, from a piece of lint on the carpet, to the slightly underdone spaghetti noodles, to the fact that my mom's hair was in a ponytail and not fixed. I kept my head down as I ate and kept quiet. He had Mom in tears by the end of the meal, as usual. He then retired to the couch, where he expected to be waited on hand and foot.
It was an old, familiar tune. I hung out in my room, working on school stuff. I had learned by now how to be invisible. I didn't speak to him unless I was spoken to, and as long as I stayed out of his way he'd ignore me. I felt bad that Mom was getting the brunt of it tonight, though. Every so often, I heard him scream at Mom for one thing or the other. Each time I heard his shrill, demanding voice my stomach would tighten with anxiety.
I really wished I could be at Xander's so I wouldn't have to deal with this. He was probably missing me, too. I knew how lonely he got when he was all by himself. In all the time I'd known him, I'd only met his parents a handful of times. Usually his Mom was passed out on the couch, drunk. Now she worked, but cheated on his dad so much that she was always with a different man. They pretty much just left him to his own devices. I don't know what's worse; having parents around who want to torment you and beat you, or having parents that simply don't care at all.
Around ten or so it finally went silent and I figured Dad had passed out by now. It must be exhausting to live the life of a dictator. Mom came in the room a little later and sat on the bed, smiling at me. Her face was tear stained, and she looked exhausted. I went and sat beside her, hugging her into my arms and kissing her cheek.
"Why don't you leave him, Mom? I'm eighteen now, I can take care of myself."
She sighed and smiled sadly.
"Don't you worry about me. I can take care of myself."
We sat like that, for a few minutes.
"What's bothering you?" she asked me softly. I was surprised that she had noticed. But then again, she usually did. Tears came from my eyes as I leaned against her.
"Xander's moving away."
We didn't speak. We held each other silently. Eighteen years old and still crying to Mommy. Geez.
Xander called about twelve, which was not uncommon. I watched my vibrating cell phone turn around in circles on the desk until it finally stopped ringing.
Xander drove his car by my house the next morning and honked once. We usually rode together. I waited until he went on to get in my car and drive myself to school. All day, I kinda walked around in a daze. Nobody seemed to notice. I avoided Xander as much as possible. The last bell rung, and I was at my locker stuffing books into my bag when I felt a tap on my shoulder. I whirled around, expecting to find Xander.
