Starting Scraps

I heard a knock on the door and rose from the kitchen table. Twin goblets of red wine and a meal fit for king laid there cooling and congealing. Simon had just called to say he would be late. Perhaps, he had gotten off earlier then he expected. It was our tenth anniversary and he would try hard to come home. Then again Simon had a key.

" Coming." I adjusted my shirt collar and wiped a wet hand on my jeans. Sandy blond hair and brown serious eyes regarded me through artfull glasses. The knock came again . I reached the door opening it in a fluid motion.

" Hello, Mitch." A petite woman with long black hair and startling blue eyes stood in my door way. " You don’t remember me?"

I looked past the plastic surgery and composure. The hair was dyed and she wore contacts. I knew her still, even after all these long years of avoidance and repression.

" Monika."

" Can’t hide from you." A nervous titter arrived at the end of the sentence, taking me by surprise. " May I come in?"

"I suppose." I stepped away from the door allowing her to sweep into the apartment. Clear eyes surveyed my middle class home, the modern furniture and all the photos of Simon and I on various vacations. A part of me wanted to say: "Do you see! I made a life without him! You didn’t win!"

Instead I offered her some coffee which she declined, but accepted a seat on the slate grey leather couch. She seemed to curl into her seat, shrinking away from me. Non-confrontational, that had to be a first.

" May I ask to what I owe this pleasure?" Proud that I kept the edge out of my voice. Monika lifted up her head and locked eyes with me. A chill crept over my flesh.

"Then you don’t know yet." Her voice was eerie and distant. " Earlier this afternoon, the authorities broke into a drug den arresting nearly twenty people. The most startling thing about the incident was the body of a thirty year old, murdered and hidden in a back room. He has been positively identified as rock and roll superstar Lysander M ."

She went on to describe all the grizzly details. Eighteen stab wounds , missing limbs and the fact that there seemed to be no motive. I stopped listening, the blood pounding in my ears was overwhelmingly loud. Lysander M, in a previous life, had be Lance Allen. My partner in crime. My first lover.

" Why come to me? I would have heard." I asked a little breathless. She smiled a little and started to dig in her purse and finally drew out a notebook.

" He told me you know. About him and you, I mean. I always suspected, but I wasn’t sure. When I finally asked he told me everything was in this notebook."

"Shit." I stared at the tattered journal and she nodded.

" He wanted you to have it if something ever.. " She choked and pushed it towards me. I gave her a tissue which she took thankfully.

I looked over the book and recognized it faster then I had Monika. It was a marble notebook. A single school picture of a stoic punk graced the cover. Underneath four words were written in four different magic markers barely visible over the black and white pattern.

" The Years of Lance" I had writtin it myself. The entire content was about us. A few pages of our freindship, a ton on our romance and sparse few from the period after. I had given it to him as a wedding present. It had been a present of spite then, a teenager’s last stab at a biting retaliation to rejection. Obviously, it had not been taken that way. Instead, it had been lovingly preserved, it’s pages showing only the slightest tinge of yellow.

" He’s never let me see." She explained. " I felt that it wasn’t my place to pry. I was just wondering if maybe you could read it to me." She was all the high school Monika I remembered now. The cool collected woman in mourning had melted into the hot headed jealous teen I once knew. Somehow that was comforting.

" There are something's that are personal.".

" You can be selective. Please." She pleaded. " You’re the only other person who will remember him. The music will fade. The stories will fade. Only you and I will remember." Tears came down her perfect face. " He didn’t want children. He said that that was all he needed to be remembered by." She was talking about the book which confused me.

I thought about it for a minute. Feeling an overwhelming wave of nostalgia, I opened the stiff cover. The first page was filled with cramped blue writing. My own from the way back time of being seventeen.

" I sit here typing...."

<><>

I sit here clicking half heartedly at the computer. It was ridiculous. A pile of ripped and crinkled tree waste already filled my waste bin. I had so many words and none of them are working. It’s easier to write in this journal that I know no one else will see.

How do you write this letter? The letter that changes forever what you are and what you will stand for. A letter that could very well alienate myself from the rest of society. Or maybe I was blowing the whole thing out proportion.

Really, coming out to just one person was no big deal. Nothing to get upset about, nothing people didn’t do everyday and lose their lives and their relatives and their friends....

No, I think I had this in proportion. I thudded my head multiple times against the desk in an attempt to loosen some brain cells.

It didn’t work.

" You are no help." I spoke criticizing the computer. It glared at me and for a moment I thought perhaps, it might actually have a few words to say on the subject.

The letter did get written, so many times revised that I couldn’t tell if it was good or not anymore. Eventually I printed it out and sealed it in an envelope. Only time would tell what impact it would have.

The next morning it was harder to be blasé about it.

He was standing in the door smoking a cigarette. If I had told him once, I had told him a thousand times that those things would be the death of him. Did he listen? Of course not. The security guards never seemed to catch him. Another of the small miracles that followed Lance Allen around.

We’ve known each other for nearly eight years. Since the first day of fourth grade we had hit it off. Friends forever. Then came middle school. He got tall and gorgeous. I got lanky and needed glasses. He was on the basketball team, I was on the high honor roll. I played video games with Newt, he played strip poker with Alice Handle in the janitor’s supply closet. Some how we kept the friendship alive, but it was certainly hooked up to a lot of machinery and often I had felt like pulling the plug.

High school was something else entirely. Girls began to look at me with interest and my acerbic wit started to make up for whatever my looks lacked. Lance was forgotten. He couldn’t get onto the JV basketball team and while smart, he had always been quiet. Without girls willing to throw themselves on him, he seemed confused as to what to do with them. Not that I was much better. I had begun to find that my interest in girls was slim to none. Often, I found myself brushing them off once the conversation became sexual. It was a confusing time. That was when I rediscovered Lance. We were thrown together quite by accident. Assigned to a project for Global in January, we came upon common interests and started to hang out together again.

Summer had come and with it, freedom. I went to sleep away camp and learned more about myself then I ever really wanted too. It wasn’t an easy few weeks, but when I left, it was with a better sense of who I was and why things didn’t always seem to fit.

I got home and Lance was waiting for me. His summer had been crappy he said. His hair, once cropped close to his head, hung gelled to his skull. His eyes, an intense green, were angry as he chewed on a piece of beef jerky. He had spent the bulk of his time with this girl, Monika, who he thought he loved, only to find himself alone by August and Monika with some putz named Snake.

I kept quiet. A trend that continued in to our junior year. This year. And I kept his school photo in my wallet. And I thought about him all the time and how I wanted to ease his sorrow. For Monika wandered the halls and continued to make his life a living hell.

That brought me to this moment. Here frozen, watching him take another drag. Spotting me, he smiled and dropped the cig on the floor putting it out with his foot. He knew I hated the smell.

There wasn’t a way to turn back now. Feigning cold I shoved my hand with the letter into my pocket.

" Hey." I said.

" Hey." He pushed his hair behind one ear. " Didja see the band last night?" He played bass for a local band, I Like My Pain in the Afternoon.

" Yeah. You were good." I mumbled. I had seen it. In my head. I had seen dozens of his shows and they were all good, so I felt justified in the lie.

"Cool. Hey can you hold this?" He shoved his chem book at me and leaned down to tie the long laces on his beaten Doc Martens. Seizing the opportunity I tucked the note into his book. Feeling somewhat relived as he took it without seeing the manila paper peeking out from the pages, we parted.

The rest of the day was nerve racking. On odd days we had no classes together and I spent the time picturing his various reactions to it. Most ended in me being friendless and shamed or in worst cast scenarios dead. It was an undeniable fact that he could kick my ass, even if I was taller. The pit in my stomach grew and I was barely able to choke down my lunch.

At the end of the day, I waited at the Drug Free School Zone sign. We walked home together from that post every day because he liked to light up in front of it. I waited for five minutes, watching the Friday exodus of students and teachers alike. As the last car speeded out, I turned and began to walk away.

" Where the fuck do you think you’re going?" Came a gruff voice behind me. A black glove with the fingers cut out to reveal slender pale digits with the nails drawn red with permanent marker.

" I thought you weren’t coming." I said under my breath. Slowly and barely breathing I turned around. He held my letter open in his hand.

"Do you mean this?" He shoved the letter into my hands.

I read scanning the lines for what he meant.

"Lance,

You’re my closest friend. I want you to know that I learned things about myself this summer. I’m gay. Not sure when it happened it just kinda did. When I came back you seemed so caught up with the Monika incident that I never even thought about telling you. Last week, I went back to our old fort in the Carver woods and thought about it for the first time. I like you a lot and I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but I keep getting these feelings that won’t go away when I’m around you. Please don’t hate me. "

He had underlined the last four lines with about three different color markers. For a minute I couldn’t look up, afraid to see his face, his eyes. For all it was freezing, I began to sweat.

" I asked if you meant it." His voice was tenor and cracked. Still not even glancing up, I summoned my courage and answered choked.

" Yeah, I meant it."

" Look at me, Mitch." He sounded impatient. I picked my head up and found him staring at me.

" I’ ll go." I turned and walked a few steps before I heard the gravel kick up behind me.

" Wait." He caught up with me and clapped a hand on my shoulder.

" I don’t want your pity, Lance." I shrugged his arm off and kept walking, trying not to notice his hurt statement.

"Stop being a moron." With a long leg he tripped me. In an impromptu wrestling match I found myself pinned in the frozen grass.

" Get off of me!" I pushed but, he wasn’t budging and I wasn’t that good a fighter. Like I said, he could easily take me.

" You listen to me, asshole!" That got my attention as I stopped struggling. He had never cursed at me before.

" What?!" His face was close enough to mine that I could smell the mint Binaca he used to mask the scent of smoke.

"I have been waiting for you to make the first move for about six months and I am not going to let you fuck it up now because I didn’t answer you in a nanosecond. You have to give a guy a break. It isn’t every day you do this ya know?"

" W-w-what?" I managed to stutter out. It was hard to think when he was pressed that hard against me.

" Oh, for Christ sake, Mitch!"

He leaned down and kissed me. Hard.

" Oh." I said when he broke it. Suddenly, all the butterflies in my stomach dropped dead and the pit dissolved in stomach acid. He got up and brushed off his jacket. With a smile he helped me up. We walked to our street in a tense, but important silence. Outside my house, I paused.

" What are going to do?" I asked, almost frightened of the answer.

"Well, Mitchell we are going to find a lot of dark closets." With a wink and a flick of lighter he was gone.

Somehow, this unsatisfactory answer was satisfactory enough for the moment. I smiled through the rest of the day and that night I didn’t need to dream.

()()()

So that is how it started, my perfect six months. We were together and that should have been enough, just like in the movies. It wasn’t of course, not really. I felt like I was always looking over my shoulder even when we were apart. There was a tension that while at first exciting was now draining. The hiding was hard.

We started to fight. I was declining rapidly into an ocean of paranoia taking precautions that didn’t even make sense like not sleeping lest I cry out his name in a dream.

If I was bad, Lance was worse. He wasn’t one for fear, he wanted to tell everyone. That was mostly what we fought over. Afterwards he would leave, smashing something on the way out and find some place to be alone.

It would have gotten worse if it wasn’t for Jenny. Jenny was one of my closest friends. It was after one of our fights that I told her what was going on between Lance and me. Really, looking back, she probably knew before that. Normal friends don’t act the way we did.

I was crying. I had begun to do that a lot. The fighting plus lack of sleep were slowly draining at my ability to deal with life. I was out in Carver’s wood leaning on an old tree. We had come here in an attempt to capture those first sweet months. I made a comment about his cigarettes and he had gone off on me.

" Jesus, Mitch! I can’t take this anymore! If I wanted someone to nag me I’d talk to my mother!" in the middle of the forest his words rang clear and several animals took flight.

" If you didn’t give me reason to nag, I wouldn’t! Lower your voice someone will hear you."

"You have turned into one crazy fuck, you know that? We are out in the middle of the goddamed forest, Mitch! The only one who can hear us is us!" he narrowed his eyes and stared at me. " That's it isn’t it? Sure. It makes sense. Its not them, you’re afraid of. Its you. After all this time you still don’t want to admit it to yourself."

" That isn’t true." My blood ran cold and my pulse sped up.

" God damn it! This whole fuckin’ time I thought it was something about me but, I can see now. Its your own damned self! If that why we’re doing all this hiding then I’m through! I will not be a slave to your self delusions."

That was when he walked away and I stunned just stood where I was. Eventually, I walked a little ways to a tree and sat down. Still in shock I cried feeling detached from the tears. I must have been there for an hour before Jenny found me.

" Hey." Was all she said as she sat down next to me. " I heard some yelling from the road, then I saw Lance storming out onto the freeway and figured something is up. You guys always fight like that?"

" Sometimes." I grunted non-committal. Maybe Lance was right. Maybe it was just me.

" Ah ha." Was all she said. God bless that girl. I wondered how long she had put up with us, knowing most likely what was going on. We sat for another ten minutes before I worked up the courage.

"We were talking about things and he called me paranoid."

" About what?"

" Us."

" As in you and me?"

" You aren’t going to give me an inch of slack are you?" I asked.

" No. You don’t deserve any. You’ve been keeping me in the dark a long while and I would like to stop guessing."

" Me and Lance are, were," I amended, " trying to make something work."

" What?" She hadn’t been bluffing about the slack.

"A relationship. It isn’t working out."

" Why not?"

" I didn’t want to tell anyone about it."

" That it?" The sound of incredulity was thick in her voice.

"No. Yes. Well that’s what spawns everything else I guess."

" Why couldn’t you tell me?"

" Fear?" it was more of a suggestion then an answer.

" What fear? What happened?"

I told her everything. How when we had first gotten together it had been all fun and games. Finding clever ways to trick people. How gradually it became obsessive with me. It made it easier for me to breath, telling her everything.

" You make it sound so horrible." Jenny said once I was done. " What made you do anything at all in the first place if you didn’t want anyone to know?"

It was good question and I wondered if I had the answer.

" Have you ever wanted something so much that you would do anything to get it?"

" Sure. I would have killed for a car."

" No, I mean really. Something that you would truly do anything for, even betray yourself?"

" No, I don’t think so."

" Then you wouldn’t understand. I needed it so much that I could taste it. This need to be near him and with him. There is something to the way he moves and talks, a glint in his eye. It doesn’t matter why. I just needed him and now I have him and I’ve made it into a royal mess."

" I think you need to remember why. Maybe then you’ll have an easier time of it." She patted my knee and stood up to leave. " If you feel that way about it then perhaps you should show him you’ll do anything."

That was all. That was enough. That night I told my parents. They were much better about it then I thought they would be. Much to my chagrin they weren’t all that surprised. After having a long talk with them I felt much better. Around midnight, I slipped out of my room and walked down the street, avoiding the pools of light filtering from their poles into the humid summer night.

I climbed in through the open window. The spring weather was bordering on summer and the Allen’s air conditioning was on the fritz. The room was dark, but I had come to have infinite knowledge over its various pitfalls. The bed had been tossed clear and Lance was spread over it. He hadn’t gotten out of his clothes. Jean shorts and black t-shirt. I watched him sleep for a time, kneeling next to the bed.

I thought for a while about what to do in confusion. His chest rose and fell. He turned his head towards me. His eyes were still closed but, I could feel them on me.

" I told my parents, you fake." His eyes opened and gave a half smile.

" What gave me away?"

" I saw your light on when I was walking over." He got up stretched a little. He made room for me on the bed which I took gratefully.

" What made you tell them?"

" They deserve to know...and what?" He asked as I settled against him. I sighed

" And you were right. Tell whoever the hell you want."

" Thank you." He kissed the top of my head. I left again soon afterward, knowing that something had gone right.

**

The hospital lights buzzed over head as I entered the hospital. It was three in the morning. The phone call that had got me out of bed a half hour ago still rang in my head. My clothes were rumpled and my shoes untied. Glasses were perched precariously on my nose. As I paced through the long corridors I finally got to the intensive care unit. The waiting room outside to be more exact. Mrs. Allen ( I never even thought about calling her by her first name Ann, she had been my fifth grade teacher) was holding four year old Rob on her lap. Greg, home for the summer from college, was holding Alice’s hand. I had known Alice since she was a week old and I was only two.

" Hello." I said mutely.

" Hello, dear." Mrs. Allen said absently. " Lance is by the snack machine."

I nodded taking that as a dismissal it clearly was. I ambled down the corner. I had a feeling that Lance was no where near the snack machine. I was right. Eventually, I found him in an empty room. His back was towards the door, I knew already he was crying.

Trying not to make to much noise I walked to the bed and slid my arms around him. He jumped and turned around to face me. It was a sad sight. His hair was wet, but un-gelled and wispy. His eyes were red and puffy from crying. His shirt wrinkled and stained.

" Lance, what happened? You were so upset on the phone I didn’t understand."

" Its my dad." He hiccupped around another tear. "He was getting real better you know? Mom doesn’t have to lock the liquor cabinet when he visits any more. He was just coming down to see us." here he paused again to gulp for air. I took his hands in mine, stayed silent. "He said he wasn’t going to drink, but he stopped at a friends who was having a party and had a few I guess. A mile into town he rammed head on into a truck." Another pause for breath. "The truck driver called 911 and they pried him from the car." He stated to sob again and I held him.

I felt awkward holding him then. Always he had calmed me when I was upset, even when we were little kids. Always I had broken down. This was beyond new and I tried to remember if I had ever seen him cry before. Nothing came to mind.

" They had to identify him from his wallet because he was so messed up. They called us and I called you." He sniffed and wiped his eyes before getting up." I shouldn’t have called you. ."

That made me angry enough to get over my shock.

"Do you think I can’t handle it? That I should just stand by while you suffer? I don’t think so. I’m going to stay whether you like it or not." I think my words surprised both of us. I got up from the bed and opened my arms. He went to them gratefully. I held him for a long while and as he cried I wondered what I was getting into.

Footsteps in the hall made Lance’s head shoot up. Taking the hint I backed off and sat back down. When they trailed away a breath I didn’t know I was holding left me.

" Who haven’t you told?" I asked casually. This was no time to fight.

" Greg." He didn’t make eye contact with me.

"You can be such a hypocrite!"

"Leave me alone."

"Why didn’t you tell him?"

" I didn’t tell him because he just got back from college and I don’t know how he’ll take it. Greg’s always been phobic."

Greg had always been hateful, spitting curses out like rain. Having him leave for college had lessened tension in the Allen household a thousand fold. He was like their father in that respect. I had known Mr.Allen before the divorce. When sober he was the nicest guy on the block. Drunk he would curse anything in his way and that included his young sons and daughter. Alice still refused to come out of her room when he visited.

"Come on let’s get back to the lobby." I fought to keep the chill out of my voice. Lance hadn’t meant it as an insult, he was afraid just I’d been. Still it kinda bugged me. On the other hand his father was dying, I think I could let it slid.

Waiting was torture. I wasn’t family so I couldn’t go in with them to visit. Instead, I puttered around the cafeteria and rejected eating. I moved through maternity and passed the babies. I stood for a long time looking at them until a glance at my watch told me I had to get back to ICU.

Then more waiting. I talked with Mrs. Allen about my memories of Mr. Allen and brought her dinner. She picked at it at Lance’s insistence, most of it stayed on her plate. Greg took Alice out for a drive.

Lance was unable to settle in a single spot. He paced until Mrs. Allen begged him to stop. For a while he played with Rob and that brought him some peace. Once the toddler was asleep he flipped through magazines at a rapid clip. I was about to say something about it when Greg and Alice returned with the doctor.

" Hello. Are you Ann Allen?" He asked in smooth voice. He had very little hair and round glances.

" Yes, I am." She straightened up in her chair and woke Rob. Lance stood up and walked several paces towards the door frame where the doctor had taken momentary refuge.

" I have some bad news. Tom was in a coma for some hours and we have been trying to revive him. Only two minutes ago he slipped away. I’m sorry, miss, your husband is dead."

" My ex husband." She choked out feebly, clutching Rob tight in her arms.

I made eye contact with the doctor and felt a momentary kinship with him, witnessing the private grief of the family. He left and I looked around the room. Mrs. Allen was struggling to explain to Rob what was going on. To his credit he tried gallantly before breaking down along with his mother. When they returned, Greg held Alice as she wept tremendously. He didn’t send a single tear and when he caught me looking he mouthed the words: " Good Riddance."

Lance stood in the same place by the door. His eyes were glassed over. I sat where I was, ever aware of Greg’s eyes.

I got out of the hard plastic chair and walked slowly over to Lance. I kissed him lightly on the forehead and held him. He paused for only a moment to glance over at his older brother and then at me. Comprehension dawned at once and he slid his arms over mine. Shielding him with my body from the sharp eyes of his brother I let Lance cry. At some point I cried to, I think.

<><>

There are few days in this life which one can claim to be perfect. That July 15th was one of them for me. Mr. Allen had left the land of the living two weeks ago and now resided six feet under. For the most part the Allen family seem to have gotten over their despair.

I hadn’t seen Lance since the funeral a week and a half ago. Mostly because of Greg. Today was free though. Greg left to vacation in Aruba for a week with his college friends, a trip he had been looking forward to for months. Alice had slept over at a friends house and was going the next town over for a day of shopping. Rob had been taken by his grandparents for the day and Mrs. Allen taking full advantage of the empty house was going to the spa for some R and R.

That left Lance alone. I had known about it and planned for this day for a week and Lance had no clue. I called him at eleven and invited him over for a lunch and a swim. Relying on the fact that he would assume lunch was at my house and the swim in the community pool, I set about my work whistling.

He arrived at twelve in cut off jean shorts and a ratty black t-shirt. He wore beaten brown sandals that at one point might have been Birkenstocks. A beach towel was thrown over his arm. In direct contrast to his outfit he had spent his time making a hundred small braids in his silky black hair, ending in beads that clicked together softly when he walked.

" How long did it take you to do that?" I asked as I emerged from my room similarly attired.

" About three hours." He threw out causally. " Hey, where are we going?"

" You’ll see." We walked for a while in summer silence. All around us I could here the soft buzzing whispering of the bees and the scent of a thousand different wild flowers reached into my head. The sun beat down onto my back through the thin cotton shirt and warmed my skin inside and out.

I led him by the path that laced through the woods, past the point where we had our big fight, past the tree house we played in when we were small and over to the left by a quarter mile. I had rediscovered the spot last week when walking seemed the only occupation I could involve myself in. I had a summer job of course., as a cashier in the local bookstore. That still left me with hours to plan as I wished.

" What the hell?" Lance stood stunned and it was just the reaction I had needed. I gazed at my own handiwork.

The brook ran all the way down the face of the mountain. It was at its widest and deepest here. Nearly five feet across and deep which was pretty impressive for a brook. On the bank where we stood I had laid out a blanket, a cooler and a bag. Under Lance’s watchful eyes I unpacked from the cooler: sandwiches( ham and cheese, his favorite), a few cans of coke and a huge pack of Oreos. From the bag :sun tan lotion, a ton of magazines ( all last months issues from the store), a battery operated boom box and a case full of carefully selected CDs.

" I figured we could both use a picnic." Was the only explanation I could offer. " Have a sandwich."

He took the preferred bread and lunch meat. He checked between the slices and sniffed it delicately as I stifled a laugh. I knew what he was checking for. Lance refused to eat any sandwich that lacked ketchup or held mustard. Finding it to his approval he bit off a huge chunk and set about chewing it. After swallowing he set the sandwich aside. I continued to plow through my lunch well aware I was being carefully observed.

When I was done I set about stripping off my t-shirt and shorts. I felt his eyes bore holes in my back but, I successfully ignored him. Left in my bathing suit, I immersed myself in the cold water. I heard a splash and when I returned to the surface Lance splashed me.

We played in the water for a while, developing a curious game. We would swim fairly blinded in the water and try to touch the other swimmer. It was simple, but laced with potential. Finally, blue lipped and freezing we climbed the back and wrapped ourselves in the waiting towels.

I stubbornly refused to make the first move. He was the one in need here and I would wait as long as possible.

" I’m cold." Lance spoke suddenly, the first coherent words he had uttered since we had got here.

" Then go sit in the sun." I offered, blatantly ignoring the come on.

"I can’t believe you set this all up." He changed the subject and I wondered if he had the same resolve I did. Well, that would get us no where.

" It wasn’t hard." I replied. He chuckled a little. Innuendo is a bitch.

"Still, it was the thought that mattered." He turned his head to look at the sun and the beads clacked together on his head to make a delicate music.

" I always have time to think." I was trying my hardest to appear detached. It wasn’t working.

" Were you this vague when we started going out?" I didn’t let his question surprise me.

" Were you this stupid when we started going out?" It wasn’t the most clever thing I could think of but, it would have to do.

" I’m still cold."

" There’s still the sun."

Stalemate. We sat a while longer staring at the brook, the sky or the trees. Anything, but each other. Had it been that long? Even before his father’s death there had been finals and before that studying for finals. A week before that he had been sick with the flu and a week before that I had it. He had gotten if from me actually. So two months since the last time. That was long enough to forget, to feel shy all over agian. Not to mention this was the first time in six months we had been somewhere were no one could find or catch us. What if we couldn’t just be with each other without that danger? Was that all that was of us? On the go make out sessions in the closets?

"I can’t believe you did this." He repeated. We sat side by side though I don’t remember him moving.

" I told you it was no big deal."

" No, I can’t believe you manage to scramble my sensors so bad I don’t know which way is up."

He leaned those critical inches forward and took my mouth in his. Our tongues danced as we clung to each other. He’d never kissed me so thoroughly. My eyes, my nose, arms, hands, finger each received special attention. By the time he returned to my mouth my whole body ached. How far would this go?

The answer was soon forth coming.

" I can’t." He said when my exploration went to far. I accepted.

The sun was heavy in the sky when he fell asleep in my arms. Some of his braids had come on done in our fervor and jutted from his head at odd angles. Smoothing them and watching his peaceful face, I too fell asleep.

When we woke we packed quickly returning to our separate homes. In my own bed with things surrounding me that I had since I was a child I tossed restlessly. I realized I had felt more at ease in the woods with only another body next to mine.

And that was one of the few perfect days of my life.

<><><>

About halfway through the summer I slept with Lance for the first time. We didn't have sex. We were both way to afraid to push it that far. There was just sleep and I would wake up with my arms around him in the middle of the night and think:" this is how it should be"

It wasn't hard to do. It was an arid summer and the false cold of our house was too frigid for my taste, so my window was open. The first time was a week after our picnic. Quiet had settled around the Allen's as Greg had decided to spend the rest of his summer bouncing from friend's house to friend’s house. There was some type of fight between him and his mother that I never really understood. Before he left he decided to take his older younger brother out for a night on the town.

" I'm worried." Lance told me over the phone. " I don't like how he's been acting lately and this whole thing is right out of the blue."

I tried to reassure him, but I was worried too. I think I wound up scaring him more. When he said goodbye and hung up the phone, a familiar pit of dread took up residence in my intestines. I spent the rest of the night restlessly reading a cheap thriller novel. Eventually, I gave up even this half-assed attempt. Throwing the book across the room in frustration, I crossed to my bed and slammed down on it.

There was a concerted effort for sleep, that quickly showed itself to be hopeless. I kept wondering if he was all right and if I had done the right thing by telling him to go. Of course, nothing was to be done about it now and everything was probably fine. Sure, tell that to my stomach.

My bed was a shambles of tossed pillows and twisted sheets when a figure climbed through my window. I was up instantly and fumbling for my baseball bat. My parents had drilled me on what to do in case of a break in. We were a paranoid family to say the least.

" Put that thing down, for God's sake." His voice was tired and sad. The bat dropped to floor and landed on my foot. I uttered a few explicative words while attempting to maintain dignity.

" What happened? Was it Greg?" I asked when the pain subsided.

" Yes and no. Can we lie down? I'm tired."

It took several moments for us both to get comfortable on the twin bed and more then once one of us almost fell off. Finally, we faced each other my arms around him and his soft words rained in my ear.

" It seemed all right at first. We went out had a bite to eat then went to the bowling alley. I felt like we were little again. We laughed and joked. Then while we were bowling, he cracked this real homophobic joke. I didn't say anything, but I didn't laugh either. That seemed to really get to him and the rest of the night was like a living hell. He kept saying that God was against men who had sex with men and that they would go to hell. I guess he was trying to egg me. I should have just let it be." He sighed and shifted. Almost out of habit, I fingered his braided hair.

" If I had left it alone nothing would have happened, but on the way home he mentioned you. He said that he thought you were a fag and that you were trying to hit on me. He said I was stupid to keep hanging out with you. He said that it was bad enough you were Jewish, but if you were a faggot I should stay the hell away from you. That's when I lost it. I went totally ballistic.

" I told him that he was a fuck off bigot. I think I said a couple of other things I don't even remember. For a minute he was just really quiet then he pulled the car over and told me to get out. As I began walking home he shouted out the window that I wasn't to think of myself as his brother any more."

He paused for a moment and my thoughts clamored in my head. He wouldn't defend himself against his brother, but he wouldn't tolerate the big oaf mouthing me off. I kept my mouth shut for the moment.

" When I got home he was already loading stuff into the car and my mom was inside crying. I tried to be quiet, but she looked up and saw me and began to cry even harder. She kept saying that we were both her boys and she didn't want to chose between us. I can only guess what he said to her. I held her and felt horrible. Greg pulled away from the house at the speed of light. Mom went to bed and I came here."

" I'm glad you did." Meaning many things at once. He seemed to understand and after a few minutes of comfortable silence, he asked sleepily, ' You mind if I stay here?"

I never got a chance to answer, he was asleep before I could. The restlessness of the hours before were gone and I fell into deep sleep. He woke up before me so that when sunlight pried open my eyes my arms were empty.

That set the pattern. Three or four nights out of the week, Lance would climb through the window and spend the night. He always claimed it was because his air conditioner was on the fritz and every morning he was gone by the time I woke up.

Like everything else that had come before I accepted and appreciated it as one of his many oddities. Occasionally, when I couldn't sleep I would watch him and wonder in amazement that I was this lucky. Some nights neither of us could sleep, we would watch Nick at Night and eat popcorn while I rebraided his hair. Our senior year of high school seemed a century away.

()()

" That’s all I can read to you." I closed the book firmly, pinning Monika with my gaze.

She hadn’t stopped crying since I started reading the passages and it was hard to concentrate on what were my most precious memories while she sniffed and moaned. I wanted her out.

" I understand. I will be missed soon anyway. There must be a thousand reporters outside the house." She rose swiftly and exited the apartment with grace.

The phone rang, just as the door was closing behind her. I sprinted to get it.

" Hey, darlin’." The deep Irish accent soothed my turmoil.

" Where the hell are you?" Grateful that he was calling, keeping me from thinking of other things.

" I was dragged into this new case because I knew the victim." I could hear the tired edge to his voice and immediately felt contrite.

" Who?"

" You don’t want to know. It’ll ruin you’re night."

"If it’s Lance, I already know. I had a very strange visitor already." I must have sounded tired because he answered quickly,

" Are you all right? Do you need me to come home?"

" I’ll me fine, Simon. You’re the best homicide detective they have, they need you."

" Mitch...." He trailed off uncertainly.

" We’ve been together this long, waiting one night for an anniversary won’t kill us."

" I love you."

" Yeah, I love you too, ya big mick." We laughed a little and talked a bit more, before I got off.

I ambled back to the living room, this time with a cup of wine and went back to reading the carefully tendered pages, documenting the few truly happy moments of my adolescence.

()()

It has always been my theory that the crappier the weather the better the chance that something amazing was happen. I got that theory from August 2nd, the summer before our senior year of high school.

It was raining, the type of hard rain one gets after a long hot streak. There were puddles everywhere and anything sad enough to get stuck outside was drenched. Inside the air conditioner chilled me. Lance was mindlessly watching some day time talk show, sometimes absently curling a braid around his finger. The book in my lap was an excuse to stare at him. Feigning interest in its contents, I watched in fascination at his body. I guessed it was a good thing that I was this attached to him.

A jolt of lightening smashed through sky, blinding me temporally. When I readjusted them, I gazed out at a blanket of darkness. There was a flashlight under my bed which I extracted without hesitation. I flicked it on and then quickly moved it away having blinded Lance.

" Now what?" He asked morosely.

" Well, the lights are out and my parents aren't home. What do you suggest?" I pitched my voice low and suggestive. I could almost hear his smile though I couldn't see it.

"We could read by flashlight. Push over." He climbed over to the bed where I was sitting and lay down on his stomach. Grabbing my flashlight he began an intense study of whatever novel he had scooped from the floor. With a sigh I took my spot next to him, following his eyes through the book.

It took me a moment or two to realize that it wasn't one of my books. I read sci-fi junk or a murder mystery. This was something else entirely. A few pages later, a blush started to crawl across my cheeks. Lance had gotten his hands on one of the most sexually explicit romance novel he could find in his mother's bookshelves. When he saw I was looking away he started to read it out loud.

" As his hands slid over her body, moans seemed to come from all directions..."

" Stop it!" I shoved the book out of the way and then after a second thought pushed him off the bed after it. For a few moments, there was only laughter from the floor. Silence finally prevailed and a hand hit the bed followed by the rest of the guitarist.

"I'm sorry." He managed to say around his giggles.

" You're forgiven." I said vaguely, trying not to let on I was just as amused.

" So readings out. Any suggestions?" A few thoughts ran through my head but, I wasn't really willing to voice them.

" No, not really." I drummed my fingers against the mattress. "Ouch!"

The last was because he had launched himself on top of me. Roughly, he turned me over and began to ruthlessly tickle me. It didn't take long for me to become entirely on able to speak or breath. Taking this as a prime opportunity, Lance leaned down and took my lips with his.

It was hard to enjoy while gasping for breath, but soon I joined in the friendly wrestling with equal zeal. There's something about the dark and kissing that really go together. Even when I went with girls I thought it the best setting. My earlier embarrassment was forgotten and I happily ignored the rest of the world around us. A crack of thunder caught me so unaware that I started. And landed on the floor. Lance still partially entangled in my arms landed on top of me.

An extended bit of time was taken up by wheezing and laughter. I wasn't hurt or uncomfortable for that matter. In the eerie vague light that still lit the sky through the clouds illuminated his face. There was look of contentment as he stared down into my eyes. I felt that if I tried hard enough I could read his mind and I was glad that he might be able to read mine.

Then came that part that will forever remain a part of my life, no matter how old I am. Sharing this great moment, he leans down and whispers quietly in my ear.

"I'm so in love with you." Tears welled up in my eyes as I croaked out a response.

" I'm in love with you too."

()()

A breeze came through my open window and I wondered for a moment if that was what had woken me. The air was turning slightly chill in bitter reminder that school would reopen in less then a week. I wasn't up for the lies. This summer was so perfect, if it ended then maybe we would end too.

A shiver over took me and I realized why I had woken. Lance wasn't there. My sleepy brain took a few moments to remember where he was. Away for the weekend. I tried to fall back to sleep, but it was no use. What would I do during the year when we could no longer sneak about on summer nights, when the winter chill grew to cold to leave a window open?

These musings kept me from sleeping and after a while I gave up. The sun was beginning to ascend in the sky. I threw on a pair of shorts and padded, barefoot, onto the patio. I stood there on the damp wood watching the sky explode in Technicolor. Disregarding the wet deck furniture, I perched myself on the railing.

Thoughts ceased to torture me as the light warmed my bare skin. I gloried in the summer morning, happy to just be for a bit. I discovered I was glad that Lance wasn't there. I hadn't had much time to be with myself between him, my parents and work. Only a week ago, Lance had proclaimed that he loved me and I had never really gotten around to internalizing it.

What did that mean to us? Love was a word used all the time, thrown around easily. I loved hamburgers, I loved my cat and I loved my mother. Three different types of love. What did Lance feel for me? I had little doubt of my own affection. At that point in time I would have done anything for the bassist. My feelings for him were intense and unshakable.

So, the question was what was Lance professing? That he enjoyed my company? Or did he really mean love? The point suddenly became very important to me. Obsessing for a bit, the wind took my hair and I closed my eyes.

" What light through yonder window breaks? This the east and my love the sun!" A breath left me and I denied to open my eyes for a moment.

" Come on up, Romeo."

A few seconds later, a familiar warm body pressed against mine on the railing. I felt his hand on my leg but, ignored it, watching only the gently rising sun. All thoughts of love left my head and I began to dwell on lust which was certainly rearing it's head at the moment.

" I got back last night. I didn't think you'd be up yet." A tense silence rose between us.

I finally risked a glance at him. He had a fine profile. The clingy black braids made him look more ethnic then he was. A fine upturned nose and smile lingered on his lips. The corner of his green eyes were just visible with a light that made things happen all over my body.

" Did you bring me anything?" I asked pedantically to break the silence. He laughed and pushed up the sleeve on his t-shirt. There was a skin colored patch.

" I'm quitting smoking for good. Apparently they’re bad for you." We locked eyes then and the warmth in them settled my question.

" What made you decide?" I asked and his eyes returned to the horizon.

"Because a long time ago you told me you could never love a smoker."

I caught up one of his hands and enmeshed his fingers in mine. I don't know how long we sat like that staring out at the trees. All I know was that I happy and horny as all hell. When I finally dismounted from our perch my ass hurt. Watching me carefully, Lance picked his way off the railing as if afraid of hurting himself. Landing softly, facing me he reached up to cup my face and take my lips in his.

I knew he loved me then more than any words can convince. Tasting his mouth free of tar and nicotine, I felt lighter somehow. Later, we went back to my bedroom and fell asleep in an agreeable tangle of limbs. I didn't wake up once.

<><>

The first day of school came about more calmly than I had expected. As a senior I only took four or five classes. I had an old beat up Toyota to call my own and to go in where I pleased. The summer lingered long in the weather and on the first day I wore shorts to school.

In other words, there wasn't a necessity for my worry there was plenty of time for us. Sometimes, we would just meet for lunch and those were good times, ripe with laughter. I got in early acceptance to NYU, Lance was going to UCLA. We didn't talk about what would happen then. I think we both assumed that the time would never come.

That fall was swift and brisk. The afternoons were beautiful promises wrapped in multi-colored leaves. It was so enchanting that I was able to accept the reappearance of Monika into our lives.

The whole thing was very gradual. A hello here, a smile there until in November it seemed only natural that when we all went out, all included Monika. I never thought much of it except, to feel a sort of pity that she was realizing only now what she had left behind.

On one occasion, Lance, Jenny and I went out for lunch of a Friday. None of us had anything pressing to do in the afternoon so we sat for longer then usual. Predictably, the conversation took a macabre turn. It was Lance's fault mostly.

" The bands working on this new sound, you know? So we came up with all this great material. But, the one song that every one likes from it is the worst piece of crap about how destiny will swallow you whole or something. Acker wrote it." As if that explained everything. For the most part it did. Acker was the lead singer of I Like My Pain in the Afternoon and he had serious mental issues. He had named the band.

We went on to discuss the end of the world and all the things in it. I didn't pay much attention to the bands new sound. I should have. It was important and important to him.

<><>

Lance couldn't get comfortable. It was an interesting thing to watch. First, he just sat on the floor leaning against the bed. Then he shifted so he was laying on the floor. After a while his legs were over the bed and soon he had launched himself unto to the bed, still squirming slightly.

" Tense?" I asked wittily from my chair.

" I can feel every muscle in my back tying into knots. I've never been this nervous before."

" You never get like this before a gig."

" This isn't usually, Mitch. This is one time chance and Acker is gone with mono and I have to fill in cause I'm the only one who knows the words. This is ohmygod panic button full attack sirens blaring fuel injection heaving full blast. Wait, am I making any sense?"

" Not really, but that, at least, I'm used to."

" You're a real help." He said from the floor. With a sigh I sunk out of my chair and shimmied over to where he sat, head drooping,picking at the my carpeting.

My hands found the tensest muscles and began to knead. He arched against my hands and I let one wander down, pinching his spine. I found every tight sinew and beat it into submission. By the time I was done, Lance was purring. Instead of getting up, I kept my hands on his shoulders. He leaned back until it seemed like he was asleep on my chest. Black beads clicked together as he turned his head up, opening clear eyes he smiled.

" I'm all better now."

" Good cause I'm beat." I leaned back as if to sleep but a hand caught the back of my head.

" No sleep until I'm done with you."

There wasn't any argument on my part and if I had known it was to be the last carefree make out sessions I would have tried to stretch it out longer. But, I didn't know that things were about to get serious.

<>

Ripping vocals dripped from every corner of the room that night. The band rocked, clicked and jumped from cord to cord. I stood enthralled with the rest of the audience as he wailed through song after song. I, who had only heard him practice about eight hundred times, felt as if I was listening to brand new songs. It was as if after months of lusting and wishing the band had just clicked. The lighting made him appear as if on fire. He never stopped moving until the very last note had faded from the air and he was alone. For a moment he was my Lance again, real and sweet. He looked for me in the audience, seeking my eyes. I gave him the biggest thumbs up I could manage and he smiled.

Do I even need to say that he got signed? The agent was just as enthralled as the rest of the audience. Lance's career could really take off. The agent would have to scout around for a month or so to find a label and then he would be the big time.

Which left the big gaping question: what would happen to us? After his talk with agent Lance came looking for me.

" Hey, Shining Boy." It was an old pet name I used from when he put so much sparkle gel in his hair that he nearly blinded half the audience. Tonight it sounded different. It made more sense somehow like he had grown into it.

" The agent signed us! Mitch this is going to change my life! I might even be famous." But, your already loved, I wanted to say, isn't that enough? I didn't. Cause that’s just not the type of thing you say in a situation like that.

" I'm not feeling very well." I said instead. " I think I ate to much of that creamed bologna from your fridge."

" You should go home." He was instantly concerned. " I could walk you.."

" That okay. You go have fun."

" Mitch, don't be like this." He pleaded.

" Be like what? I'm just not feeling well and I'm going home. " I stood and began to walk away, feeling his eyes concerned and angry on my back. I couldn't tell him how I felt. I just couldn't. I might be gay, but I was still a guy and guys don't share. Yeah, great excuse Mitch. Pull the other leg, its got bells on it.

I lay in bed a long time looking up at the ceiling that night. I wanted to beat my head against the wall for being such an asshole. Here it was Lance's big night and I couldn't even be happy about it. The flip side was that I was still pissed as hell. This was supposed to be our year. I wasn't ready to lose him and I couldn't go with him. I don't know when I started crying. It wasn't anything like the sobbing from the beginning of our turbulent relationship. No these were quiet tears of pain. Life had taken charge and taken leaps I couldn't follow.

I slept eventually. Around two o'clock in the morning I woke to the feel of a warm body against mine. I turned resolutely away. An insistent hand began to stroke my face, but I gave nothing in return.

" Mitch." I didn't reply. " Come on, man, talk to me."

" I don't want to talk. If we talk then we'll figure out that this was inevitable and blah blah. We'll dissect everything down to neat little squares and its over. Everything's over. Let me just hold on for a bit longer." I pleaded with air in front of me, not willing to turn and see him staring at me.

" It doesn't have to be over." He whispered close to my ear. Please, don't say it, I begged silently. " You could come with me." He had said it and now I would have to reply. I couldn't keep the bitterness away.

" That bullshit, Lance and you know it. Its okay now in our little world away, but once you hit it big, its all over. You can't have a little fairy friend on the side, Lance. It won't hit it off with John Q. Public." It sounded awful and I felt awful the minute I said it.

" That isn't what matters to me, Mitch. I could stay here." Now he had really said it. Tears of pain slid down my face and I sat up and looked out the window. The first snow littered the ground matching the cold barrenness I felt inside. I started talking again, softly more to myself then him.

" Don't make me be the one, Lance. I can't be that person who stopped you from being great. The one who stands in your way. If you stayed you’d resent me forever." I shivered but brushed away his warming hands. I didn't want to be warm.

"I just don't want this to be over." I heard the tears in his voice and turned to see identical silver droplets falling from his eyes.

"Neither do I."

And what more was there to say then that? Three weeks later he was gone. We spent the time before he left trying to pretend that it wasn’t ending and failing miserably. He left early on Monday morning while I was in school. When I got home that after noon, I found my room ransacked. He had taken all the things he’d left there over the last year and some of my things too, including a beaten old acoustic guitar, that I’d told him for months I’d learn to play and never did. Gone with the wind. It sucked all the breath out of me for months. Prozac was prescribed and eventually, I dredged myself out of my depression and tried to glue myself back together.

I would receive phonecalls. Late at night with breathy whispers of regret and longing. These too would fade in time until I found myself waiting by the phone at midnight for the call that never came. Brutal and raw.

I heard from him only twice after that. The first time was an invitation to the premiere of the band, now re-named Fall from Glory without explanation, at some back of beyond club. The second was the wedding invitation.

I didn’t go the premiere, but I went to the wedding. I was a senior in college by then and while I still remembered my first love, I was a far cry from the Mitch of high school. Lance was different too. I had seen him occasionally on television and in the news, but up front he was different. After the ceremony there was a reception line and when we shook hands, his looked frail, but his grip was vise like.

" Thank you for coming, Mitch." To anyone else it sounded innocuous, but to me I knew that it was a many leveled thing. That’s when I forgave him for everything. The leaving without saying goodbye, the years of silence and marrying the girl that had once betrayed him. And he repayed me. Later at the reception, he approached me only once to introduce me to a young man with a heavy irish brogue.

" This man saved my life once." Lance told me and I could smell alcohol on his breath. The young man rolled his eyes.

" I took down a fan that got a little rowdy. I’m a police officer." He told me.

" Ah. I’m Mitch. A childhood...friend of this idiot."

" Simon."

We shook hands and when I looked up, Lance was gone. That was the last time I saw Lance Allen alive, but his legacy to me will live forever.

I set the journal down on my coffee table. I don’t know yet what I want to do with it. These memories are a part of me, but a part set aside. I couldn’t love him like that anymore. I didn’t have room for more then one all consuming relationship and Simon had the added bonus of being in love and here. I can hear his key in the door now. He’ll come in and tell me about his day, maybe some of the less gory details of the case. We’ll eat the by now cold anniversary dinner and retire to bed, him too tired to make love, but more then willing to snuggle. The warmth and joy between us isn’t the rambunctious, lustful love of my youth. Simon’s shock red hair and uniform aren’t the raven braids and black leather. They can’t be. I don’t want them to be.

"Mitch? What are ya doin’, luv?" Warm arms slip around me, brushing a tear from my face that I hadn’t felt fall.

"Just remembering. He’s really dead?"

Simon pulled a grim face.

"Couldn’t be deader."

"Oh." Silence for a moment.

"I made the chicken that you like. " I told him. "Want me to heat it up?"

"I swear, you are the most fantastic man alive." A kiss on the cheek and I melt into a little puddle.

"Do I get a present?" I asked him as I sashayed into the kitchen, putting a plate into the microwave. He trailed behind me and watched me with hot eyes. Hmm....maybe tonight had more potential then I thought.

"Only me. I left it at the station. Sorry, babe."

I smiled at him and sat on the counter, lifting an eyebrow.

"Sure it won’t be stolen?"

"Babe, no one wants to steal a package off the gay detective’s desk. Especially not one the shape of that present."

We both laughed and later, when we were curled around each other, him asleep, me drifting off, I realized I hadn’t taken the chicken out of the microwave. I detangled myself and padded naked into the kitchen. Working quietly, I salvaged what I could for leftovers and chucked the rest in the garbage disposal. Remembering the glass of wine in the living room, I went in to retrieve it.

My eyes caught the journal, the formidable green eyes staring out at me in teenage defiance, softened only by the slightest smile. Reluctantly, I picked it up again and felt the softened corners with my fingers. I kissed the picture lightly and tucked the journal among my other books in the end table of the couch. These things have their place and the dead don’t care as long as they’re remembered.