Matthew
He entered my world like a brewing storm. At one point, he was just there, an object to look at, to dream about. He never spoke to me, never acknowledged my existence. I was just another victim under his cloud, getting soaked to the bone from the downpour. But then, he was everywhere: sneaking into my house at the depths of midnight claiming he just wanted to see me, crawling into my bed like a child with a nightmare, bounding up to me like a lost puppy in the school hallways. I soon realized he was not a storm, no; he was the sun, peaking through the clouds, waiting for the right person to brighten. And for some reason I could never explain, he chose me. So I basked in his glow, his everlasting light, with outstretched arms.
Only then had I noticed my feelings for him grow; unholy, impure thoughts. I made the mistake of telling my father who only gave me a black eye to show for it. He sent me to the church, who only seconded his opinion. As I confessed, the priest looked to me in horror. The thoughts I had were wrong, disgusting. He told me to pray, to beg our Lord for forgiveness. But I couldn't understand why I had to apologize for something I couldn't control. My mind screamed at me, saying he was right, that they all were right. I'm a disgrace, a freak, a sinner, a fag.
But my heart told me otherwise. My world now revolved around him, my sun, who was convinced that the things people said were just rumors. There was no way that his friend could possibly be gay; that the people who warned him were just mindless bullies who had no idea what they were talking about.
Little did he know.
And yet I held on to the fact that he stayed with me, still relying on me to support him even though he had a team of baseball players behind him to back him up at any given time. He chose me. He saw past what he thought was slander and continued to be my friend. My first and only friend who took the phrase "through thick and thin" to heart and I loved him in every way possible.
But soon enough, the rumors came around again, now directed towards both of us. I don't know what hurt worse; the blows I received from the tormentors or the heartbroken look he got when someone dared to say something to his face. The answer was obvious and I couldn't stand it.
I started to doubt him. Paranoia flooded my thoughts as the anxiety settled in my mind. I knew I was the reason he was hurting. I was causing him so much pain. I couldn't lose him though; not my best friend, not my brother, not my love.
I started to distance myself, feeling it was better if I let him go and forgot about our friendship, our beautiful, I'll-be-there-for-you-whenever-you-need-me friendship. It was my turn to ignore someone else, but he was not the one I wanted to get my revenge on. Never would I ever want to hurt him, but I knew it was better if we were apart. His peers would stop teasing him; stop harassing him because God knows he didn't deserve any of that. But I did. I was a repulsive bottom-feeder who deserves nothing that he could offer me. I wasn't worthy of his time or light, or anyone else's for that matter. I didn't belong here in this town or in his arms. Frankly, I found that I didn't belong anywhere.
But then there he was. Yet again, in my time of doubt, he proved me wrong. Enveloped in his warm embrace, I found the light after what felt like an eternity of blackness. I found my purpose, wrapped in his arms. For the first time in my life, I actually felt the warmth that he brought to my world. This fiery heat filled with passion that radiated off his every move fueled me to keep going. Every inch of my body sensed a certain craze. His touch, even in a non-sensual way, was intoxicating. I craved it, no; I needed it just like I needed oxygen to breathe. His arms folded over my shoulders as my sobs faded. This is where I was meant to be. This is my place in this horrid, cruel world, because the world didn't seem like such an awful place when I had him by my side.
Then, he said it; those three little words that ignited a flame inside of me. A simple phrase that seemed so powerful that it could cure the blind, let the paralyzed walk once again, and bring color to my once cold world. I know he meant it platonically, not in the way I felt for him, but it kept me going. It kept me sane when I was tearing at the seams, but most of all, it let me know that I was not in this alone. I had someone who would be there for me, for at least a moment's time, but it was enough.
His immune system was never the strongest. Yes, he played sports and was the strongest person I knew, but he was quite sickly; always in and out of the hospital. I was always the first to visit him though, even before his dad. I would always try to cheer him up, to make him feel better in the best way I could. But he never wanted the sympathy or the pity; he just wanted me to be there, so I was always there.
But things changed as we neared our seventeenth year of life. He was sent to a hospital in the main city and told me to stop visiting him. I was shocked to hear this, to say the least. I tried anyway though, hoping he was just being his overdramatic self, but they didn't let me in his room. The doctors and security guards physically restrained me from entering his room "upon his orders" they said. I tried a few more times, only to get the same results. Eventually, I gave up. I gave up on him, and it hurts everyday to know that I failed him.
But things changed; he changed. He left my life just like he came in, strangers, to a distant memory. He came into my life with a storm and left with a drought, but I could never hold that against him. He will forever be my friend, brother, and hero, Alfred F. Jones.