Later that night, when we were all settled in and the kids, Max and Ethan, were getting ready to go to sleep, Jessica called for me into the room.
“Yes babe?” I said.
“I think we forgot a box,” she said, and from behind her she handed me the little box that I had been trying to hide from her since we got together.
“That’s not—”
“What is it?” she asked, then handed it to me. “Open it.”
Even though I didn’t want to, I knew she really wanted to know what was inside. It was something I pushed aside for so long, and now I finally had to face it. Opening the box, I pulled out the picture in the frame.
After staring at it for a moment, she stared at me. “Is that…him?”
I nodded, and for some reason unknown, tears tickled my eyes. “The one and only.”
Right then, Max and Ethan ran into the room. Both boys sat on the bed, smiling and giggling. “What’s that, daddy?” Max asked me.
Knowing this time would come, I said, “Follow me guys. I need to tell you something.”
So my sons and my wife followed me into the living room, where I placed the picture on the wall right above the fireplace. Jessica looked no longer confused, but happy with me, and gave me the hug she knew that I needed.
“Who is that?” Ethan asked.
I smiled and sat both of the boys on the couch. Ethan, the oldest, was eight, and Max was seven. Now was a good time as ever to tell them what happened.
“That boy right there,” I said, pointing to the picture, “was my best friend. His name was Avery.”
“He sounds really nice,” Ethan said, smiling.
“Yes, son, he sure was.” Jessica smiled at me, reminding me that now was probably the right time to tell them the truth.
“Now, let me tell you guys a story,” I told them and sat on the couch. So I told them everything that I remembered about that year, everything that my little brain could possibly have held. By the end, both of my sons had tears in their eyes. Jessica left the room for a moment and came back with the box in her hand again. After I finished the story, she handed me a sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” I asked.
“Remember when you started writing? Well, I think this is the page that started it all.”
Sure enough, when I unfolded it, it was the same piece of paper that I used in the hospital to start writing my memoir.
“You know,” Jessica said. “I think it would be a good time to finally start working on that book you’ve wanted to write.”
Right then I knew she was serious and I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
“I guess I have some writing to do now, don’t I?”
Glancing at the picture on the wall and then looking at my life now, I really can’t help but smile.
Before I break,
You’ll catch my fall,
I know you’ll be there through it all.
Once I fall,
I know you’re there
To be there when life is completely unfair.
If I die
Before my time
Please don’t ever tell my story as lies.
Before I break,
Once I fall,
If I die,
You’re here for it all.
Best friend
I must say, thank you for the time
And just know that I’ll be there
Until the very end of time.
It may be right here
Or it may be in my heart
But I promise I’ll be there
Until death do us part.
NOVEMBER 28TH
Do you ever feel like something really bad is coming your way but have no reasonable explanation for the feeling? That’s happening to me now as I begin this journal. I’ve always considered myself a writer, but I’m not usually one to write about my feeling unless it’s through poetry. Right now, though, I feel like I really need to get some things out.
Today, my theatre class is beginning its first major production of the year, and Mrs. Burley asked me if I would write the screenplay. We were sitting in her office when she asked me and my heart nearly exploded out of my chest with anxiety.
“Really?” I asked. “Are you sure you want me to do it?”
Mrs. Burley nodded. “I think you would be a great fit for the job. I’ve read your poetry, which I think is absolutely beautiful, so I know you can do it. Are you in?”
Of course I said yes, but now I feel like it might have been a mistake. How am I supposed to come up with a completely original idea by the end of December? Assuming that’s even possible for a writer. Sitting here writing seemed like a good way to get the energy flowing, but there is only one thing on my mind.
Devon.
Devon is not only the director of the play; he is also extremely attractive, with his dark, luscious hair, and those gorgeous brown eyes. The only thing that seems to be a problem is that I’m unsure of whether he’s gay or not. Honestly, I’m not even sure if he knows that I am. I’m not really hiding in the closet but I also only mention it if someone asks, which he hasn’t. And because he’s the director, I have to work with him more than anyone else after I write the play to make sure he’s depicting it properly.
Now what am I going to do?
DECEMBER 1ST
A few days have gone by and I still have no idea what to do for the play. Devon asked me what the concept was and I nearly fell over with embarrassment. What the hell was I supposed to tell him?
We had been sitting in class when he came up and sat beside me. He was wearing a light blue polo shirt khaki pants, looking as cute as ever. When he asked for the concept, I stammered an answer.
“I, um…I-I haven’t really figured that out yet. I’ll have it by the end of the week.”
He smiled and patted my shoulder encouragingly. “Good job, man; I’ll see you later then?”
I said nothing while he went to sit with the class as they did breathing exercises. Why was I the one chosen for this? I guess it could have been worse, like being stage manager, because I’d probably break something important. Now the whole class is counting on me and I can’t let any of them down.
Especially Devon.
DECEMBER 2ND
Believe me when I say that writing a play is not an ideal practice. I think on Monday I need to let Mrs. Burley that I’m not ready for the job.
DECEMBER 3RD
So the strangest thing happened to me today—I was sitting in my room when my cell phone began to ring.
“Hello?” I answered.
“Hey, is this Avery?” It was Devon. What on earth was he calling me for?
“Oh, um…hi,” I replied. “It’s nice to hear from you, but how the hell did you get my number?”
There was a moment of silence of the other end of the phone before Devon said, “I got your number from Facebook. For future reference, it’s not always a good idea to leave your number online for the world to see.”
“Thanks mom. Were you calling to lecture me on internet safety or did you actually have something important to say?” I didn’t mean to sound rude, but that was sort of how it came out.
“No, I was actually wondering if you wanted to sit with me at lunch tomorrow so we could bounce off ideas for the play. Unless you already have an idea ready?”
Devon was actually asking me to have lunch with him tomorrow? I wondered if maybe it was just an excuse to be able to talk to me. “Honestly, I’ve got nothing right now. My brain’s been a little foggy lately and having the power of writing an entire play for our class is stressful. It’d be nice to sit down with someone and discuss ideas.”
“Awesome,” he replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow then.”
My heart feels so fluttery right now. Is that a good thing? Maybe this is a sign that Devon likes me, and if he does, I may finally have a boyfriend. After years of having nobody close in my life, I th
ink I deserve some bit of happiness.
DECEMBER 4TH
Today was a pretty interesting day to say the least.
When the day started, I was super excited to be able to sit with Devon at lunch to discuss play ideas, and I couldn’t help but take it as a hint of affection. The entire day I was scribbling love poetry and was feeling quite corny afterwards.
Lunch arrived quickly and I ran into my friend Klara along the way. She has brown hair and brown eyes, and wears lots of makeup, despite me telling her that she doesn’t need to because she was naturally beautiful. I guess a compliment like that means nothing coming from a gay guy.
“Hey, are you ready to head to lunch?” she asked. Klara was my lunch buddy for the entire year so far and I almost felt bad about ditching her for Devon.
“I’m sorry, I can’t today,” I told her. “I’m sitting with Devon to discuss options for the play, which needs to be done by the end of this month. I guess my creativity has been lacking lately.”
My intentions weren’t to hurt her feelings, but apparently I did because her smile fell as I spoke. “But we always sit together.”
“I’ll sit with you tomorrow, I promise. Just give me today to do this, okay?”
Klara nodded and walked away as I headed toward the cafeteria. Once inside, I found Devon and some of the popular kids sitting at a table near the back. This always seemed to be my problem; I mean, he was cool and was just a fool (ha, see I can rhyme!). What was I supposed to say once I got over there? “Devon, love me” didn’t sound like a good choice of words, but hey, I never said I was that blunt. Sometimes I wish I could be, though. So as I headed over to the table, I composed myself as best as I could.
Devon smiled when he saw me and said to his friends, “Hey guys, this is Avery Branson and he’s writing our play this year.” Everyone said their hellos as I took a seat next to Devon. I was at a loss for words because people weren’t usually this nice to me. This was something I’d never really encountered before and I sort of didn’t want it to end.
“So, do you want to toss around a few ideas?” Devon asked me.
“Sure,” I replied, trying to hide my nervousness. “I was thinking that…maybe we should do a drama instead of a comedy. I work better with dramas.”
“I agree,” Devon said. “Comedies are a challenge for me.”
Well, at least he and I were on the same page. “Do you want a dark drama or a more light-hearted one? I can do either.”
Devon seemed to think about it for a moment before he said, “I think something dark. Giving the audience some chills sounds fun.” He smirked a little at me then,
Right then, she appeared. And by “she,” I mean slut. This girl had long blonde hair, and was wearing shorts that seemed to go up to her bare ass. She tapped my shoulder and glared at me in a pretty/mean-girl kind of way. “You’re sitting in my spot.”
She looked at Devon for help, and he said, “Um, Avery, maybe you should go. We can finish this later, right? Arianna should have her seat.”
My jaw nearly hit the floor as an overwhelming sense of confusion came over me. “Yeah, sure thing.”
I left quickly, hoping to escape the embarrassment as soon as possible. What the hell had happened back there? Come to find out, that Arianna girl is Devon’s girlfriend, which shouldn’t have really been a shock, but for some reason it was. This means that Devon is only interested in me as a friend. Did I really make a fool out of myself thinking that Devon liked me? Did he get the vibe I was giving off? I really hope not.
Hang on; I just got a message—
So get this: That Arianna bitch just sent me a Facebook message telling me to leave her boyfriend alone and that Devon had no idea I was really gay. I really wish I could hit her right now! Was she trying to pin Devon against me when she doesn’t even know me?
The best thing I can try and do right now is ignore her, despite wanting to fight with her about it. Tomorrow I really need to discuss this with Devon privately without Arianna getting in the way of our forming friendship.
DECEMBER 5TH
As I write this, my hands are shaking so bad. The first thing I need to do is not let my anxiety get to me, to but to be honest, I am not sure I can calm down. Where do I even begin to describe what just went down?
It started with me deciding that I needed to talk to Devon, which was a decision I had already made the night before. I stayed up most of the night, until three in the morning to be exact, thinking of all the things I was going to say to him, and when I got to school I was just extremely tired.
The day started pretty normally, and in theatre class Mrs. Burley told me that Devon was resigning as director.
“Do you have any idea why?” she asked me.
I had a pretty good idea, but didn’t really want to talk about it. “I don’t know. I can talk to him if you want me to.”
So of course, since I had already planned on talking to him anyway, I made my way over to where he sat with his group of theatre friends and asked if I could speak to Devon alone.
“What do you want?” some kid asked. He was short and not even the slightest bit attractive, with a shaved head and lots of freckles, but apparently that’s what Devon looks for in friends.
“I want to talk to Devon,” I replied.
The guy laughed and Devon said nothing, completely ignoring me. The boy on the other hand, who went by the name of Mark, said, “He doesn’t wanna talk to you, faggot. He’s afraid he might catch the gay.”
As Mark said those words, my heart nearly dropped to my stomach. I stared at Devon and said, “Is that true?”
He wouldn’t even meet my eyes.
As I walked away, tears began forming in my eyes, and my friend Hannah came over to me and said, “What just happened?” She was kind of pretty, with black and pink hair, and had been one of my only friends this year. As the tears began to flow, she reached out to hug me.
“No,” I said, pulling back. “I just…I need to use the restroom.”
I ran out into the hallway and into the bathroom, and once I was sure that no one was in there I began to cry. That was probably one of the worst things ever said to me, but mostly because I ignored everything else. This coming from Devon and his friends…well, this was different. I felt hurt. My chest tightened up and I cried even harder, but I hated this pain I was feeling and I just wanted it to go away.
That was when I realized I could get it to go away.
I reached into my pocket and pulled out my pencil, but that wasn’t what I was staring at. I was looking directly at the metal part where the eraser was, and in complete anger, I ripped off the eraser and bit hard on the metal, making it nice and sharp.
I had heard of people doing this, but never expected myself to be one of those people. In that moment, I sliced the metal directly across my arm, drawing blood, and watched it drip down my arm. It stung and burned but it felt so…good. The relief was overwhelming and I swiped one more time, making sure I felt good enough talk walk back into class.
Now the only problem was actually hiding it. After dabbing the cuts with some toilet paper, I made sure the sleeves of my shirt were rolled down enough to cover my arms. Thank God long sleeved shirts were invented.
So after the long day of hiding my cuts, when I arrived home, I applied some peroxide to it and am now sitting here writing in this journal. I’ve messaged Devon twice, and even though he saw them, he wasn’t responding. This was pathetic. I feel pathetic, even though I don’t want to. Cutting myself was a mistake, and I’m shaking with guilt. Shaking with fear. I just wanted everything to go away.
Hopefully tomorrow will be better. I still need to come up with something for the play, but as of right now, that doesn’t seem as important.
DECEMBER 12TH
It’s been quite a few days since I last wrote in this journal, but right now I feel like I really need to. I’m crying right now, but I’ll get to that in a moment. I don’t really k
now why everything I do, I do wrong, but I really just can’t take it anymore. Not only am I sad, I feel depressed. I want to say that it started with Devon, but I can’t really say it did. I’ve always felt kind of off, and it seems to me that it wasn’t really until now that things were getting out of hand.
This whole last week I have been trying hard to write this play and it’s been causing my grades to suffer. Now any time I get a bad grade, I cut myself to relieve the pain and punish myself at the same time—I really don’t know how much longer I can keep this going. Just in this last week alone, I have more than thirty cuts on my left arm and I’m running out of room. Now my next target is my right arm.
And of course, Devon hasn’t spoken to me at all lately. I see him every day in theatre but all he does is ignore me. Hell, he won’t even meet my eyes anymore. It’s sad, really, because I actually did like him a lot. I felt lost, so confused, and completely and utterly alone.
At lunch, today, Klara and I were eating together when she said, “What’s that on your arm?”
I glanced down and noticed that one of my cuts was showing. “Oh, that’s my cat,” I lied. “She kind of went crazy with it.”
Klara glared at me and said, “Avery, I know when you’re lying to me. How did that cut get there?”
The truth was, I didn’t really want to lie to Klara—she was practically my best friend after all. “I kind of did them…”
“You what?” she asked and slapped me on the shoulder. “What is wrong with you? Have you lost your damn mind?”
Maybe I had, but I pretty much ignored anything she said. Most of it was her rambling on and on about how I was going to ruin my life, but what kind of life was this? I was getting bad grades, the guy I liked wasn’t even talking to me, and everything just seemed to be going wrong. I really didn’t want to do it anymore.
And that’s how I still feel right now. I once had so much going for me, but do I really still have these things? It really doesn’t seem like it, and I hate feeling like I am not good enough for anything or anyone. I just have so much pain and hatred building up inside of me and I can’t even begin to express why.
Before I Break Page 15
