Alcoves
He was shuffling down the empty corridor praying he wasn't late, and knowing he was, when a strong hand grabbed him by the shoulder and yanked him into a deep alcove.
I'd never understood the purpose of alcoves in corridors. Large, empty space in the locker-less corridors. What's the point? Back home, St. Sebastian had statues in alcoves. Here, here they are empty. That day I learned why. October 27. The day that strong hand pulled me by the shoulder into an alcove when I should have been running into my first class of the day.
Strong hands gripped his shoulders, shoving him into the wall. Before he knew what was happening there were hands in his hair and wonderfully, surprisingly soft lips against his own.
I hadn't meant to kiss him. Or maybe I did. I don't know. I'll never know why. There he was walking down the empty hall. Temptation made me pull him, drag him, into my secret alcove, run my hands through his beautiful silky hair, and kiss him. Kiss him with all I had.
Hands groped, tongues clashed, bodies fit. Nearly the same height, nearly the same shape, the two bodies melded together perfectly.
I don't think he ever knew what he did to me. Eight months we were together, only the barest minimum of words were exchanged. Nobody knew about us. Nobody could. After our graduation that June I never saw him again. It's been two, long, empty, cold years. I still love him. I will always love him.
Hands fumbled with buttons. Hands fumbled with zippers. Hands fumbled. Lips crashed. Teeth smashed. Tongues fought. Bodies loved.
I was never able to tell him that I loved him. Love him. I see him every day. I stand in my alcoves and watch him. There was nothing I could do. I wanted to do everything but I was taken away that day, graduation, separated. I couldn't tell him. I wish I could. I've been watching a year and I'm still afraid. Does he still think of me? Does he love me? Does he want me?
One by one the people went down the aisle. Shock hands, received their diplomas, and walked back to their seats. The two boys watched each other, silently, longingly. The audience cheered, the crowd gathered. The two boys lost to each other forever.
The day of his funeral I went to the front and said one thing before walking out. Walking away. Forever. I won't ever go back. He can't be dead. But I said one thing that day. Those words have stayed with me all this time. I won't forget them. I won't forget him.
He taught me how to love, in an alcove, but he never taught me how to stop.
