Him

I've never really let myself be fully invested in anyone. I guess you could say it was programmed in a long time ago. Probably a cocktail of my parents' divorce, failed friendships and what I saw in the world. Who knows. The way I saw it, if you never give away all the pieces of the puzzle, there's never a finished product for the mean kids to destroy. I think there's only ever been two people who've almost seen it all. One guy and one girl.

It was easy to be friends with him. It was natural at 12. We had similar interests: we played sports together, liked the same music, lived a couple of blocks away, liked to get into trouble. He was everything you could ask for in a best friend. Our friendship grew over the years with only a few small fights. We talked about everything-girls, making out with girls, friends, school, family, life, religion, nothing was off limits. We talked to each other as if we were brothers. Of course, I thought of him as more than a friend at times but it went against all the defenses I'd developed so every time it surfaced, I buried it deeper than before.

Once, he asked me if I would ever consider being with a guy-being gay. Panic overcame every fiber of my being, Is he serious? Is this a trap? Could he know something? "No. Why?" I answered. trying to stay calm. "Just wondering. Why wouldn't you?" He pressed. "I don't know. It just wouldn't feel right," I replied. At that moment in my 13-year-old existence, I felt like I failed myself. I lied to the only person I'd ever felt I could and would tell anything to for no reason. I knew he'd been open to the idea but I refused to go there.

We stayed close into high school. I found a different group of friends but I always knew if I needed anything, he'd be there. He, myself and another friend from middle school would hang out from time to time. The three of us could not see each other for months and pick up right where we left off. Toward the end of high school, we all got together for a memorable drunken night. I had no idea just how memorable it would be. I got so drunk I lost pieces of the night-that never happens to me.

We were at a summer house with a bunch of beds in one room so we all crashed out together. As we laid down, we talked just like we did during sleepovers when we were younger. I stretched my hand out and brushed his by accident. I thought nothing of it. Then, his hand hit mine with a lingering touch. This isn't happening. In my drunken state, I didn't have the will power to pretend. I broke through and reached out. My hand brushed his intentionally. This time, I let my hand linger with a soft touch. Please let this be real. I hoped. Then it happened, his hand touched mine and held on. I grasped his hand tight as if I were holding the only real thing I'd ever felt. We laid like that for what seemed like hours. The next day neither of us said a word. We let it go just like our hands eventually had to the previous night.

I brought it up one night years later on one of our walk 'n' talks. We'd been doing them for almost as long as we'd been friends. I was confused and had been ever since that night. We both had girlfriends but I had to know.
"Are we ever going to talk about that night?" I asked.
"What night?"
"The night at the cabin," I advanced.
"Oh... What do you want to talk about?"
"I don't know, what happened... Why it happened."
"I don't know what happened. I guess our love for each other just came out in a different way. I can't really explain it. Let's walk a little more."
We walked into the darkness a little more idling in small talk. I could feel something different in the air. We walked up a hill and he stopped at the top. He turned toward me and we looked each other in the eye, our faces inches from each other. We leaned in slowly. My heart was beating out of control like a jackhammer at full power without an operator. Just centimeters separated us now...  Reality snapped back into focus. I pulled back. "I can't," he said. Holy shit. "Me neither," I returned. I couldn't allow myself to go there, especially like that-as a cheater. We walked back mostly in silence until he asked, "So, are you gay?" Still shaking, I responded "No. Just doing what felt right, you?" I almost hoped he'd say yes. "Na, I don't think so," he concluded. We never mentioned either night again.

Our friendship faded over the years. I convinced myself I'd given too much, shown too much of myself and went back to only giving enough to keep people satisfied but always wanting more. It was the only time I ever really crept close to the barricade in front of my closet door. After that, I put the whole thing in a box, threw it on the top of the barricade and ran in the opposite direction toward an imaginary world at the back of my closet.

I'm creeping back toward the door again and unpacking the boxes I used for leverage. Each is filled with something I never wanted to show. For the first time I'm not afraid of the things in here with me. Maybe that's progress, I don't really know. I hope so.

From my closet door to yours, hang in there and happy unpacking.