Us kids

It wasn’t that he really believed it was the wrong way to do things, it was just that something didn’t feel right about the whole thing. He was doing everything the way they had told him to, but nothing responded. Nobody responded either. Plodding along to his hell every day, he was mesmerized by how much success other people had had by not even doing anything. And he knew it couldn’t be him, because he had never… Well, nobody had told him it was his own fault, and being a logical person, he considered that it might be him, but he had never gotten that impression. It had to be his time for success soon though, there was no way that he could be in a rut forever. He’d even stooped so low as to beg for help—well, not quite beg, he thought, only ask nicely—but it still hadn’t done him any good.

Black hair dropped into his face and his brown eyes were downcast. If I knew him, which I didn’t, I might have been able to say if it was exhaustion, boredom, or depression. He’d speak to me almost grimly, with a weather report or an exclamation as to his own well being. Of course I never heard of his failure from him, always from another source, but it was still real to me, and maybe more of a worthy cause because he didn’t know that I knew. Why this was so, I didn’t really know.

He had made a few mistakes, sure, but that was no reason for this. What had really gone wrong? He couldn’t get off of this, and then he noticed someone watching him. After so long of mistaking that watchful glance, he paid it no attention. It didn’t matter to him anymore. He got up and left his neglected brown eyes still downcast.

I invited him over for help on some homework after a summer of infrequent conversations, quiet coffees, and hastily written e-mails. I don’t try to claim it was a healthy friendship, but it was something to do and be that summer. When I invited him over, he was the same as usual, hopeless, tired, and still plodding on. My mother actually made me make dinner for us, all I wanted was some help with my homework, but she had to make it into more than that. He was a nice kid, but...

He didn’t know what to make of her conversations with him; her interest when he was so bored with himself. Friends had come and gone and she was still there, pushing and pestering while he tried to keep his mask up. He’d even been able to mask what his eyes showed. Of course, she could see into his voice, but it was almost pleasant for someone to make the effort to understand after so long. But no, even she couldn’t know.

After dinner, he and I went into the den so I could get my books and papers. The light was low and when he flopped down on the futon, he looked so dark, like a shadow of someone real. I just had to stop and set everything down and sit beside him. I guess I just knew that there had to be another side than the quiet depression I had seen so much of. Like a broken baby bird, there was so little I could do for him, but I still wanted a sign of life. How much death could he foreshadow?

She wanted something from him. He was just so tired though. Was it his fault? And then when she sat beside him as if he was keeping her from something... He figured if she was going to keep this façade of friendship up then maybe he should give her a reason. And so with suicide on his lips, he let the first tear of weakness slide down his face. It was all hers.

Once he started crying I knew I had gone too far towards getting him to feel. Life had been so hard, and he had obviously felt enough. I could only guess what jealousy had done to him. I waited so I wouldn’t interrupt him if he decided to talk. Once I knew that I’d have to go first, I nodded to myself. His eyes were closed so I took my thumbs and wiped the tears away, then holding the lids closed, I kissed his forehead and then his cheek, and letting go of his eyes, I kissed his lips. I would have used words instead, but I guess he just looked like he needed more than that, and I knew I could give it to him. Knowing how hard he had worked and finally given up on ever having a girlfriend, I didn’t know how he’d take it, but I could only hope for the best, thinking of my own loves.

He would have whimpered out his death wish to her, there on the couch, but somehow that kiss made the world worth it. Maybe despite all the other losses, it wasn’t really his fault. When she put her arms around him, he slid his around her. The touch wasn’t of a lover’s though, he knew this with a sinking feeling. But the thought that brought him up to the surface was that she loved him as a friend anyhow, enough to want him to survive his adolescence and self-doubt.

The two of us sat on the futon in the dusky light from the desk lamp with our arms around each other until his tears stopped and dried and I knew I could let go. We parted that night with no homework done but a lot towards our friendship.

I didn’t make anything of it and she helped me to be able to think on my own. Without her, I’d surely be dead. I can never thank her for that night in the den. The End

Back_to_Story_Page