This chapter was inspired by 'At Seventeen' by Janis Ian because I thought I had learned the truth at seventeen, at eighteen, at nineteen… And maybe you thought so too.
At Seventeen
Matthew leaned against the windowsill and watched the telephone. He willed it to ring. He tapped his fingertips against the chipping paint and frowned.
The television had lied to him. The movies. He had expected adolescence to be washed with friendship and laughter and kisses. Dancing. He had, at the very least, expected a 'happy ending'.
But high school was a little more desperate and raw than that. He felt alone in the crowded corridors.
He wanted to fit in. His classmates made it look so effortless, so simple, and it just seemed to highlight his own inadequacies. He was awkward. Slow. He tended to blurt out his insecurities in those uncomfortable moments of silence and, in that same breath, he was furious and sad and worried.
His lips were chapped, his curls were a tangled mess of disappointment, and his face mapped out new constellations in acne. He turned his back when he changed. He pretended to understand chapter five of his textbook and he drew in the margins of his notes and he chewed on his pencil.
He kept his head down and his shoulders hunched and he never, ever presumed that someone was waving at him.
It was easier.
"Hey!" Gilbert stormed into his kitchen, screened door squealing and slapping in the wind. He must have climbed over the fence. Again. "What the hell, man? You're late."
Matthew rubbed his eyes and smiled at his neighbour. It might have wobbled a bit.
"Nothing, it's nothin'. I was just… I was waiting for someone to call."
Gilbert glanced at the telephone.
"… Who?"
"I… I'm not sure yet."
Gilbert opened his mouth, closed it again, and waved it off. He was used to his strange idiosyncrasies. They had been neighbours for most of their childhood and all of their adolescence. Gilbert was one year older than him.
"Well, then. You might be waiting for a long time."
"I know."
"Do you want to come over in the meantime?"
"… Yes."
Gilbert pulled a face when he knocked on his window the next weekend and startled him. He leaned into the kitchen.
"Are you still waiting by the 'phone?"
Matthew blushed.
"… Maybe."
"… You want to come over?"
"Uhm," he coughed awkwardly. "Yes, please."
Gilbert smirked and somehow managed to convince him to crawl through the window instead of using the door. He scraped his knee and bumped his elbow but it made him laugh. Gilbert always made him laugh.
Gilbert helped himself to the refrigerator and sat on the tiles with his legs spread out.
"You're doing it again," he noticed, licking his fingers. Matthew blinked.
"What?"
"You're staring at the 'phone."
He shifted.
"It's…"
"Who are you waiting for, Matthew?"
"I just… I want to go out."
"Then go out," Gilbert shrugged. "Easy."
"No, I want," Matthew scrambled for the words, "I want someone to ask me out."
He stopped licking his fingers.
"Like…?"
"A date. I want to go on a date."
And when Matthew desperately tried to change the subject, Gilbert let him, but he watched him carefully, thoughtfully, for the rest of the evening.
Matthew jumped when the telephone actually rang. He cursed as he lunged for it and accidently dropped his hot chocolate. It splashed across the tiles.
"H-Hello?"
"Hi, Matthew."
He slumped against the counter and chuckled. He should have known.
"Oh, Gilbert, it's you."
"You sound disappointed."
"I just thought…"
"Do you want to go out?"
Matthew glanced at the telephone in his hand.
"You mean…"
"Out. I'm asking you out." Gilbert cleared his throat. "On a date."
"Uh," he stuttered. "That's…"
He had known Gilbert for most of his life. He was his best friend. His only friend. He had never thought of him like that.
But when he did think about it…
They might just be perfect together.
"Are you still there?"
"Why?" Matthew choked. His toes curled in the cooling hot chocolate.
"I'm tired of watching you wait. And I'm tired of waiting. So, uhm, do you want to go out with me?"
"Yes." He could not believe he had not seen it sooner. "Yes, of course."
"Then I'll pick you up at seven."
It was not a 'happy ending' but it was certainly a beginning and he could work with that. He could write his own 'happy ending'.
Author's Notes:
What? 'Tired of waiting'? Why does that seem so familiar…? Hmmm…