5. "I'm Afraid I'm Losing You"

Darren's POV on Chapter 4 of As a White Knight on His Steed

2001

Isn't it ironic that after I'd spent an entire school year pining for Chris so badly that I'd actually been fantasizing that he could turn into a freaking cat to come visit me, when we finally got to see each other again he suddenly felt insecure about our friendship?

That was one of our rare out-of-sync moments, and thank God it didn't last. 'Cause to hear him say "I'm afraid I'm losing you" nearly broke my heart.

But one of the great things about Chris (and there are too many to count – trust me, I've tried) is how brave he can be about letting me know how he's feeling. And another one of the (uncountable, remember) great things about Chris is how quick he is to forgive me whenever I've (unintentionally – 'cause you know I would rather die than cause him pain on purpose) hurt him.

And have you noticed how convoluted and parenthetical my thoughts are, here? Well, that's yet another one of the myriad great things about Chris: he's Mr. Articulate. And one last (for the time being) great thing about Chris is that he can always make me laugh.

So when you put all of that together, it adds up to the fact that once Chris had told me that he was afraid that I'd rather have Harry for a best friend instead of him (which could never in a million, billion, gazillion eons be true) we hugged and talked about it until we both felt better, and then we turned that momentary pain into one of the best games we've ever created.

(Or, at least, one of the best games we've ever created that's suitable for children…)

It started the next afternoon during our riding lesson. Our instructor, Ryan, had just told us – for what felt like the thousandth time – "Remember to keep your heels down, so you don't lose your stirrups."

Chris called out in mock dismay, "Oh no! Come back, stirrups! I'm afraid I'm losing you!"

I had to do a double take. 'Cause after our talk the night before, although I knew we were okay, I didn't know whether we were okay enough to joke about it yet. But apparently we were. One look at Chris's grinning face, and I broke out laughing.

Ryan put on his serious, instructorly voice, and said, "Stay focused."

Which seemed to me like the perfect setup for my next line. "Oh no! Come back, focus! I'm afraid I'm losing you!"

Chris cracked up, clearly delighted that I'd caught on to what he was doing. I couldn't help blowing him a kiss.

Ryan rolled his eyes at us. "You guys are disgustingly cute. You're going to make me lose my lunch."

"Oh no! Come back, lunch! I'm afraid I'm losing you!"

"You both sound like you've lost your marbles."

"Oh no! Come back, marbles! I'm afraid I'm losing you!"

And then we couldn't stop laughing. I mean, we really couldn't stop. My stomach hurt, and then my back hurt, and pretty soon tears were leaking out of my eyes, but every time I tried to get a grip on myself I'd make the mistake of glancing over at Chris, and the way he was laughing just as uncontrollably as I was would set me off again.

Eventually, our other instructor, David, had to help both of us dismount, 'cause we were seriously in danger of falling off of our horses. He told us to go splash some cold water on our faces and come back when we were ready to behave appropriately. But even the realization that we'd just gotten kicked out of class couldn't sober us up. I've kind of blocked the next part out of my mind, but I think I might even have peed my pants a little…

Anyway, from that moment on, the phrase "I'm afraid I'm losing you" was guaranteed to make us dissolve in laughter. By the end of the week, it seemed like all of our friends were tripping over each other, trying to set us up with the perfect lead-ins. I'd never thought about how many things could be lost – losing sleep, losing a bet, losing your mind – it was all grist for the giggle-mill.

One thing you should know about Chris and me, though, is that we're always going to find a way to turn something that's world-class fun into something that's galaxy-class fun. So the verbal version of our running joke was just the beginning. That weekend, we found a way to step it up to a live-action version.

Every week, most of the campers went home on Saturday morning, and the new group didn't come in until Sunday afternoon. That gave the few of us who were staying for multiple weeks the luxury of unstructured time. We weren't allowed to go riding or swimming without an adult, but the counselors trusted us enough to let us go off for a walk in the woods by ourselves.

That first Saturday, Chris and I headed out on our own right after lunch. Have you ever walked through a redwood forest? Stepping out of the sunshine, the temperature instantly drops ten degrees. The duff is soft underfoot, and the trees seem to absorb all sound. It's magical.

Chris and I were strolling along peacefully, when suddenly he dropped my hand and went sprinting off through the trees. By the time I'd recovered from my surprise, he'd disappeared. After a moment's confusion, I figured out what he was up to.

In my most pitiful voice, I called out, "Come back, Chris! I'm afraid I'm losing you!"

No response. As I stood there, perplexed, staring off in the direction I'd seen him go, I was suddenly tackled from behind. I let out an embarrassing yelp as Chris and I tumbled to the ground.

And then we were rolling around, laughing like loons, trying to pin each other down. Chris ended up on top, since the element of surprise was in his favor, and plus he'd partially knocked the wind out of me when we hit the ground. I tickled him until he rolled away from me, and then I scrambled up and took off running.

The woods were perfect for this full-contact version of hide-and-sneak. All afternoon we took turns, one of us running off, the other calling out "Come back! I'm afraid I'm losing you!" and then looking around in the hopes of spotting the one who was circling around behind the trees before a sneak attack could be launched. There were no rules, other than the ones that evolved as the day wore on – most of which seemed to be designed to maximize the amount of time we spent rolling around in the duff together.

By the time we showed up for dinner, we were sweaty and filthy, with redwood needles in our hair and enormous grins on our faces.

Best PG-rated game ever.

End Notes: This chapter in my original story was too angst-ridden for my taste, so this was my opportunity to make some lemonade. Delicious, full-contact lemonade… Mmmm…

Wait – where was I? Oh, yeah – please review. :D