short story

I teared up today while watching a movie about the developing brain in my psych class. It was monotonous and so very powerful at the same time. The movie that is. I was watching babies giggle and cry and sleep. The next thing I knew a tear slipped down my face right between my cheek and nose. The beauty of it all made me think of you.
I remembered the curious way the meat over your hips never exactly faded away. I remembered the way your back looked when you wore that blue swimming suit. I remembered that time you told me you wanted to taste each other without pleasure. God. And then I sucked in my breath and waited for the moment to pass. But it didn’t. Your moon face would look up at me. Goddammit, you were always following me. Always following. I’d tell you, “Think for yourself. I’m tired of your parents doing it for you.” The optimism of a 16 year old is extraordinary. I forgot we were gay in Indiana. I forgot your parents always beat the shit out of you if you didn’t obey. For a moment I forgot how much I loved you. And then you quit eating. I’d yell and scream at you. I’d gorge on chips, and meat, and ice cream, and pasta in front of you. I’d dramatically moan how good it all tasted. For once you ignored me. And then you died.
And now I remember asking you to follow me. Follow me to California. Just get away from them. You don’t realize how they are. I think you heard me. I think you were practicing for when the time actually came. Following that is.
My dorm bathroom always smells really good. Not like chemicals or bodily odors or anything like that. It always smells like fresh air when I walk in. And then I go back to my room and sit at my desk and read and read and read and read. And I know I’ll eventually come home. And I’ll miss you a little bit more than I already do. But for now I sit here and wait.