Kyle From High School

by Jeremy Jenkins

  I let out a psh sound. “A little bit dramatic today, aren’t you?”

  “Always,” he said with a smirk. Then it fell right off his face.

  His shields had lowered, and suddenly I was standing in front of that lonely boy again. I wanted to help him; to be there for him. I felt the overwhelming urge to… to protect him.

  I wanted to give in and tell him that yes, yes I would be happy to be his boyfriend—as long as we did everything in secret, and that I could make sure he wasn’t just executing the steps of an intricate plan. But a stronger part of me stood up for myself; urged me to make him work harder.

  Make him win my trust.

  No; not win my trust.

  Trust had to be earned, little by little.

  But hadn’t he already done that over years and years of friendship? I had a record of memories—all the times he stood up for me, all the times he helped me, the small acts of kindness I witnessed from him...

  Those things were all filed away in my mind inside the “friendship” drawer, not in the relationship drawer. Did this mean we had to start over? Start fresh with a new sheet, where I could tally up all of the things he did and then decide whether or not we were doing something worthwhile?

  Phil’s dark, calculating eyes landed on me again. “I can see you’re still mulling it over. If it’s not an immediate yes, then I know what the answer is…”

  He turned to leave the kitchen, and again, I felt like I was being led into a trap. He was guiding me down a long emotional hallway into the darkness, and I didn’t know what room we’d arrive in on the other side.

  Phil stepped out of sight.

  A tingling anticipation swirled in my gut like confetti. My inner child reached out for him, longed for him to come back in the room. But my inner child was imprisoned in a cage of rationality and ego.

  I had to protect myself.

  I knew Phil was a manipulator.

  The sounds o Phil putting on his shoes—the snaps and clasps of those fancy Calvin Kleins—sounded from the entryway.

  I bit my lip and glanced at the Chiwara sculpture.

  Sure, Phil is manipulative, but you know he’s harmless, the antelope seemed to say. And besides. Hasn’t it been great having him as a friend all these years? What would happen if you took things a step further? Nothing would change…

  Again, I pictured that Taking Back Sunday music video with the lion taking down the antelope.

  Don’t think that, the sculpture said. You’re both lions and you know it. You’re just good at pretending to be an antelope so the lion will chase you.

  Shut up, I thought at it.

  It stared at me with its blank, almond-shaped bronze eyes.

  The creak of the front door sounded from the other room, and I knew my time was running out. As soon as he left this house, my opportunity window would close—

  “Phil, wait!” I cried.

  But the door had already closed.

  7

  Phil

  I walked away from Kyle’s glowing McMansion, down the brick steps and into the night. It felt like there was a heavy brick hanging out in my stomach as I passed the manicured shrubbery.

  Something swirled in the back of my mind. I could feel its nebulous, dark energy, but I couldn’t figure out what shape it was trying to make yet. I knew my inner darkness was reacting to the rejection, and I needed to get it out of my head. Take it out on something, or else it would manifest into some kind of wicked plot…

  I hurried down the subdivision sidewalk and passed my own house, all of its windows lit up like jewels in the night.

  Dad was home.

  Hillbilly Mafia.

  I let out a bark of laughter at that ridiculous accusation.

  But as my eyes grazed over the shining SUVs lined up in the driveway, an uneasy feeling fluttered in my gut. Then I soothed myself under the blankets of reason:

  Dad was clearly just having some kind of get-together at the house. He was a social guy; he had those all the time. They were probably out on the lake, drinking or something. But there was always a chance they’d be right there in the living room, and my dad would make me join them in all of their boring conversations about gossip and business and money.

  I didn’t care about any of that. All I cared about was art and Kyle.

  No. Just art.

  I couldn’t let myself care about Kyle; not in that way. I’d just asked him to be my boyfriend and he came back at me with all that ‘I don’t trust you’ bullshit.

  I stuck my hands into my pockets and passed the entrance to my house.

  I wasn’t ready to go home yet; no. I didn’t feel like being social.

  I wasn’t done moping, and tonight, the air was warm. Fireflies drifted about. It was the perfect time for a teenage boy to lick his wounds in the darkness.

  Alone.

  “Phil!”

  I turned around and saw Kyle running down the sidewalk from his front door to the sidewalk.

  My heart leaped with giddiness at the sight of him, but I quickly crushed it.

  He’d already given me his answer with that look on his face.

  I don’t trust you.

  Yeah, yeah. Someone like me didn’t deserve love, I knew it in my bones.

  He rushed up to me, panting.

  “What is it?” I asked, blinking at him, trying hard to keep the misery out of my voice.

  Aloof. In control. Kyle needed to understand that—

  His lips collided with mine.

  I pulled back and broke the kiss. “What are you doing?”

  He smiled, his teeth shining bright in the darkness. “I don’t know.”

  “But… but Kyle, we’re out in the open,” I said, gesturing to the subdivision.

  “I don’t care,” he breathed.

  I pushed him away, but it was halfhearted. “You need to care. Perception is everything around here—”

  “Whose perception?” he asked, fixing me with that defiant stare.

  I let out a slow breath.

  When Kyle looked at me like that… when he fixed his clear, endless gaze on me in that way, I felt stunned. Literally stunned; like he’d swung a war hammer and pounded me into the ground like a stake.

  “Everyone’s,” I said, working hard to keep my tone flat.

  I needed to come across like I was in control. It felt like my life depended on it—

  Appear weak when you are strong, and strong when you are weak.

  Why was that quote from Art of War popping into my head now, of all times? Why could I feel my defenses going up? They didn’t need to go up, I was only talking to Kyle.

  Kyle, the guy looking at me on the dark sidewalk like an Edward Cullen lookalike or something.

  I watched his lips part as he let out a slow breath.

  “This… this part doesn’t count,” he said, holding out his hand.

  I looked down at it and grimaced. “But you said no.” I looked up into his eyes. His endless, pleading eyes. “I don’t want to do the yes-or-no dance with you. Look, what happened between us is in the past. It’s something that happened, and we know each other well enough—and respect each other well enough, I think—to know it was nothing. It was just us guys… experimenting. Most guys do it, I think.”

  He took my hand, and I felt my cheeks heat. This wasn’t going according to plan—I didn’t have an agenda. It was terrifying to look out into the darkness blindly.

  “I think we can both agree it wasn’t just an experiment,” he said with a smirk.

  And there was so much happiness and acceptance and… and sheer goodness coming from his eyes that I felt all the Art of War quotes melt from my mind.

  I was naked out here in the dark with him.

  And with Kyle, I could actually let myself be naked with him in this way. We had so many years of friendship built up around us, that it felt… well, it felt natural to let my defenses down.

  It was little more than the tide going out; all the soaked heaviness pul
ling out from the sands of my soul.

  I let out a breath and felt something heavy fall off my shoulders.

  Kyle leaned in and kissed me on the temple.

  “Is that a yes?” I asked.

  “To being your boyfriend?” he said. “Yes.”

  “Just like that?” I said, interlacing my fingers through his. “But… but—”

  “But you thought it would be harder than that? You thought we’d have to do this dance around each other, filled with teenage angst and wondering what the other’s thinking? Poor communication and misunderstandings, drama and all kinds of bullshit?” He chuckled. “Maybe with anyone else, but not with me.”

  For the first time in… in years, I think, a genuine smile spread across my face.

  We walked together in the dark, down the sidewalk, holding hands. The way our fingers and palms fit together… it just felt right. Like his hand was made for mine, and we’d been wasting so much time not holding each other’s hands.

  How had I been just friends with him for this long? It felt like I’d been starving myself; depriving myself of everything we could be.

  My cheeks hurt from trying so hard not to smile.

  Fireflies danced around us as we followed the dark sidewalk snaking through our subdivision.

  I turned to look behind us, watching our two houses fade away into the night.

  “Are you thinking about being with a guy?” Kyle asked.

  I looked down at my shoes, the silver Calvin Klein buckles gleaming in the moonlight. “I mean… it doesn’t really bother me that much.”

  “Me neither.”

  “You know…” I said as we walked under a set of dark tree branches caging the moon, “I’ve always suspected you were a little bit bi.”

  He let out a chuckle. “I think I am. Though, I don’t think it’s a big part of my identity or anything.”

  “It’s not a big deal,” I said.

  He smiled, his teeth gleaming bright white in the darkness. “It really isn’t.”

  We walked a few steps in silence.

  I could sense the question lurking in the darkness, just waiting to jump out—

  “How about you? Are you… well, bi? I’ve always gotten straight vibes from you.”

  I looked up at the moon. “I think I’m straight. I don’t know… like, I don’t notice guys. Ever.”

  “You notice girls, though,” he said.

  I tuned myself to him closely; listening and watching and waiting for any change in the energy coming from him. But there was nothing. It was just a simple question; not an opening for me to wound his ego.

  I liked that. I liked the simplicity of the question; there were no threads attached. No silk strings pulling apart in his spiderweb.

  “I don’t really notice anyone,” I admitted.

  “Right, because they’re all pawns in your game,” Kyle said.

  I frowned, but when I turned to him, I saw that he was smiling.

  It wasn’t a jibe; it was just a jest.

  “I don’t like that I manipulate. I wish I could turn off this thing in my head that makes me think two, three, four steps ahead. But the only time it ever quiets down is when… is when I’m with you.”

  He smiled, and even through the darkness, I could see the blush on his cheeks.

  “Well, thanks for the compliment, I guess. I think.”

  “It was a compliment,” I said with a smile. “You make me feel… relaxed. Like I don’t have to think about what you’re going to do.”

  “That means I’m predictable.”

  “Predictable isn’t bad,” I said. “It means you’re stable. I know what you’re going to do. And most importantly, I know that you’re going to do the right thing. You’re a better person than me, Kyle.”

  “Don’t say that—”

  “It’s true, though,” I said. “You’re… you’re all good and everything. And me? Well, I’m just—”

  “Don’t be so hard on yourself,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “I’ve known you forever. And you always do the best you can in any given situation.”

  I felt something uncoil in my chest, like a slinky loosening up tension. “Well, I’m glad you think so.”

  “It doesn’t matter what I think,” he said. Then he stopped and turned to me. “Do you think you’re a good person?”

  “No.”

  The answer came without hesitation.

  Kyle tilted his head to the side in a come on sort of look. “Dude, I’ve known you our whole lives. I know you’re a good person. You act like this villain or whatever, but you have a good heart.”

  I scowled. I didn’t like the label he was putting on me.

  He must have read my face, because then he asked, “Why don’t you like being called good? Just suck it up and deal with the fact that you have a good heart. Seriously, Phil, all of us closest to you know you’re a good guy. Own it.”

  “Whatever was good in me died on that day,” I said.

  Kyle bit his lip. “You mean the day at the barn—?”

  I nodded once.

  He went silent.

  We continued to walk, still holding hands.

  “How did that affect you?” I finally asked.

  “I don’t like to think about the past,” he said. “You can’t do anything to change it—”

  “So you bury your head in the sand?”

  Kyle shrugged. “There’s just no use thinking about it. I mean, we can’t un-see what we saw. There’s no point in thinking about it anymore—”

  “Well, I don’t think about it,” I said through gritted teeth. “Not consciously, anyway—”

  “You let it define you, though,” Kyle said. “You’re saying you’re not a good person because of it. Like, really? So what, yeah, we saw some fucked up shit that day. Get over it.”

  A smile lifted the corner of my mouth. “You’d make a terrible therapist, you know that?”

  He chuckled. “I disagree. I think I’d make a great therapist.”

  “What in the hell makes you think that?”

  “Because you know what therapists do? They sit there and make you think and talk about the worst things that have ever happened to you, over and over. And you know what that does? It makes you think and talk about the terrible things that happened to you over and over. Before long, that shit gets braided into your identity—”

  A pang of guilt swirled through my chest. Had I made a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be?

  But he didn’t stop there. He said, “They make you cling onto it, as if holding it closer is going to make it go away. No; in my opinion, all that shit needs to decay naturally with memory.”

  “You must have had some bad therapists.”

  He shrugged. “Probably. My mom made me go to one a few years ago—”

  “What! You never told me that,” I said. Again, it felt like Kyle was in the midst of unfolding for me; showing me layers of his mind under all of his leaves. My interest crescendoed.

  Kyle nodded. “Yup.”

  We took a few steps further in the dark. The word hung in the air, glowing like a firefly. Tempting me to reach out and capture it; store it away in my jar labeled “Kyle.” I thought I’d captured every bit of information he had to offer, but it turned out there were still things I didn’t know about him.

  There were probably things I’d never know about him.

  And that thought… it renewed my interest in him all over again. It was like washing a handful of tarnished pennies in the sink, watching all the layers of green patina ebb away to reveal gleaming copper underneath.

  There were oh so many pennies left in the water…

  I squeezed his hand as we kept wandering through the night. For the first time in maybe… ever, I didn’t feel a need to be anywhere or do anything. I was fine just being here with Kyle; existing next to him. There was nothing I had to do. No one I had to talk to to get so-and-so to say such-and-such to what’s-her-face.

  These
moments were just made up of simple little enjoyments. He was just… here. And we weren’t playing that game he mentioned earlier—that dating game where the two players are locked in a competition to see who could care less.

  I cared. I cared through all of my layers, down to my very soul.

  This bond with Kyle? It was simple. It was easy. It was natural.

  It felt like it had always meant to be this way.

  My inner strategist was nowhere to be found. He’d checked out for the night.

  And oh, it was so delicious to feel the freedom from his fingertips. I wasn’t just a piece in his games anymore.

  I could just enjoy the night breeze, the fireflies, and the assurance that Kyle would always be there for me, no matter what. He always had.

  Something hot sparkled under my eyelid. Must’ve been the pollen in the air or something…

  I made a motion to wipe it away.

  Kyle looked over at me and I could see the question painted on his face:

  Are you crying?

  But he did not ask it out loud. Didn’t need to. He let me keep my pride.

  And that made like him and trust him even more.

  Our subdivision was long behind us, obscured behind the acre of trees stretching up toward the evening sky. The path opened up to the long dirt road, squaring up field after field near the lake.

  “So many potholes,” I said, eyeing the porous path in front of us.

  “The road to hell is paved with good intentions,” he said with a smirk. “And hella potholes.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “Hella? Since when do you say hella? What are you, some dude-bro from San Francisco?”

  “Jeez, didn’t know that would provoke such a reaction out of you,” he said with a wink. “I dunno what made me say it. Probably because my mind is on hell a lot lately. And by lately, I mean just today. Mr. Vale assigned the class a paper on Dante’s Inferno—”

  “That’s one of my favorite books,” I said. “I have this illustrated version—”

  “Ha! Why does that not surprise me?”

  “…because I’m an artist?”

  He chuckled, then kissed me on the ear.

  SMUCK. “Hey, that’s loud!” I said, rubbing my ear. “…but I don’t mind.”