SPRING 2020

I'm thankful for the four wheel drive feature on my rental as I ascend into the hills of L.A. The narrow, winding, residential roads, like miniature switchbacks and the impossibly steep incline is something I've never grown accustomed to, even when I lived here myself, years ago.

My heart stalls for a moment when the familiar steep pitch of the house comes into view and I turn into the narrow driveway tucked between a towering privacy fence overgrown with vines and the two car garage. I sit for a moment, listening to the soft purr of the idling engine, trying to build up the nerve to face him. It's been so long since I saw him last and my hands tighten on the steering wheel as I close my eyes, cringing away from the memory.

I take a deep breath. Then another. You flew all the way here from New York. You can make it another fifteen feet, I tell myself. Patty would have never asked me to come here if she wasn't genuinely concerned. Right? I finally settle on the idea that he may not even answer the door and that gives me enough courage to finally emerge from the vehicle. I'm met with the slight chill of the overcast air and pull the sleeves of my deep purple sweater down over my hands. As I bypass the house and head around to the guest house I hear the low rumble of thunder pour into the valley. My breath catches in my throat somewhere between a laugh or the sudden urge to cry as the last words he said to me are swept from the dark corners of my mind.

"Were like a storm, you know? Beautiful, exciting and powerful. That's us, Sid. But storms can also be unpredictable and devastating. We've been standing out in the storm with our arms open and face to the sky for so long. God dammit, I love you. I love you. But we can't keep each other safe anymore."

I stop in my tracks for a moment, pressing my fingers to my lips, trying to keep the tears at bay as I listen to the thunder roll again. The fucking irony.

I make it to the door of the guesthouse. A simple, charming, one story studio apartment with a pitched roof to match the design of the main house. My heart is suddenly wrapping against my ribs when I hear a stream of music play, stop and play again. After a moment I realize he's most likely editing as that comes with the familiar annoyance of listening to the same several seconds on loop. I tap lightly on the door. A full on knock feels too aggressive. I hear the music stop for a longer beat than before and then after a moment it starts up again. Is this a headphones situation or am I just being ignored?

I knock reluctantly. Nothing. I sigh and look around as if I'll find a resolve to this conundrum sitting nearby. Just in case he has headphones on I ball up my fist and politely pound on the door. I hear the squeal of something scuffing across the floor.

"Learn some door knocking etiquette whoever the hell you are! Not answering means go the fuck away!"

Even though it's a stream of profanity, It's good to hear his voice again.

"Bo, it's me, Sidney. I know you're trying to work but I just-"

My sentence is cut short when the door opens and there he is. His blonde hair is longer than I've ever seen it; hanging around his blue eyes, full of shock and confusion. The beard is new too. Not very long but certainly past a 5 o'clock shadow.

"Sid?" He whispers to himself.

"Hi," I stupidly reply.

"What are you doing here?"

"I know, it's so random. I'm really sorry. Patty's worried about you. She said you wouldn't answer the door for anyone and you aren't taking calls."

"And you're here because..."

I shrug. "I guess she thought maybe you'd answer the door for me?"

"My mother had you fly across the country so I would answer the door?"

"Well, It worked...so...yay."

He sighs deeply, closing his eyes and squeezing the bridge of his nose. No doubt he's furious.

"Look, I'm sorry I bothered you," I say, feeling like a complete fool. "I know she over worries, I should've known better. I'll let you get back to work." I turn to leave.

"Sidney, come inside," he says gently. I look back. His eyes are soft and somewhat apologetic.

"It's okay, really. I can just go."

"It's storming, Sid," he gestures towards the sky. "Please, just get inside."

I stand there, stunned that it's raining and I don't know when it started. I look at Bo standing in the doorway. In a way he's a stranger now. Yet, he's still as familiar as home. A storm has arrived, I follow him inside.

A lot of people know Bo. Well, they don't really KNOW him. They know his face and his name and the person he plays on the stage. From time to time, his mask slips a little and a glimmer of his truth is revealed to the world. Not enough to really know him, but enough to make the world want more of him.

I know him. I know all of him. I have for a very long time. I've been cleverly placed in the lines of his shows. Pieces of our personal life have been on display for the world to see, hidden in plain sight. He's loved me, he's hated me, and at times it was both.

But when the world sees him on stage, lit up and animated and they cheer from the rafters, I still see the funny but shy, awkward and beautiful, bold yet vulnerable boy next door. My best friend. My first….just about everything. And our story is no less intriguing than he is. So, here it goes…