by Amanda Miga
With my back to the wall, I drop my backpack and let my feet slide forward until the earth meets my jeans. Facing the parking lot, I think how Eric and his goons were so close to touching me. Touch would've made them helplessly attracted to me or disgusted in themselves for what I make them feel. The problem is I don't like losing control when I touch someone. My body wants to take advantage of the sexual opportunity, as if a primitive instinct kicks on. Trying to find the will to stop is very hard. I've found myself in situations so shameful I can’t bear to look at the faces in the halls anymore. Being cornered, felt-up, kissed, groped, beat-up, tied down and worse—raped; all because of their curiosity or obsession from a simple touch or standing too close for too long. No matter how good it feels, the guilt is all I'm left with afterwards.
I can't imagine what would have happened if Eric had gotten his hands on me. I've worked so hard to avoid situations like this but here I am worrying: What will happen after lunch? What will happen in P.E.? What about tomorrow? I can't sit out classes forever.
The bell sounds waking me from my daze. Students with the privilege to leave school grounds for lunch pour out of the school. I envy anyone with a car to escape. Cutting classes for the rest of the day doesn’t seem like a bad idea, but there’s always tomorrow. Where will I go anyway? Not home.
“Please don’t tell me the rumor about you is true?”
“Which one?” I look up above my head. Josh is hanging over the wall with his blonde hair falling over his eyes.
“What do mean which one?”
I close my eyes. “Which—one?”
“The new one, what do you think? Everyone said they saw you at the principal’s. I suppose you’re hiding from Anderson. I think he’s still getting an ear full.” The sun hits Josh's blue eyes as he scans the surroundings. “His gang usually leaves for lunch.” Josh climbs over the wall and drops besides me. “So you’re safe for now.”
It’s never safe.
The clean smell of detergent wafts into my nose reminding me that I'm the dirty version of Josh. We're similarly dressed; black jeans, skate sneakers, but Josh’s clothes are new; not borrowed. Josh’s punk tee is made to look old. All of my shirts are traded in at the thrift shop. Like me, he's labeled a loner, but he's friendly and doesn’t shy away from simple hellos and handing pens to pretty girls. We're more or less invisible to everyone which is what I prefer. We’re content on our own, but we have each other when we want company. It’s a low maintenance friendship I'm grateful to have.
We had first met at the local bookstore. Josh had approached me while reading comics and found we had that in common. I'm always polite to strangers outside of school. I welcomed the friendly conversation thinking I'll never see him again until meeting happened regularly at the store. I didn’t want to come off as rude when keeping my distance. I had told Josh I have haphephobia; a fear of touching. I assume it’s enough to deter any questions on my odd behavior. Josh didn't ask questions. He simply accepted the half lie.
Josh knows the rumors about me, like I'm a vampire, gay, homeless, or that I'm mental and on meds. Hanging out with me will only bring down his reputation from new kid to Ramones' homo boyfriend. Josh doesn't seem to care what anyone thinks of him. I wish I was strong like him. He doesn't judge; he just hangs out and talks without a worry in the world.
“So what happened?” Josh reaches into his pack for lunch. The brown paper bag triggers my stomach to growl.
“Does it matter? All he had to do was look at me and I’ve been marked for termination.”
“He’ll get bored. They always do.”
“It’ll only get worse.”
“Look on the bright side. You’re a ghost. They’ll have to catch you first, right?”
“They nearly did.” I watch a group of girls pile into a red car. “I can just sit here all day.”
“You can. I’ll let you borrow my iPod. I added The Clash.” Josh tears open a bag of chips and offers some. I stare at the bag with Josh’s fingers wrapped around it. Is he kidding?
“I can’t. I have a test in Bio.” I eye the bag as Josh sets it down and unwraps his lunch.
“You’re worried about Anderson. Fuck’em. I think he’s on his last strike. It won’t be long before he’s suspended.”
“There are other Andersons.” I shift uncomfortably.
“Nah, you’re like a ninja. Swiftly making your way through the halls, no one ever sees you. You can’t catch a ninja. You just need those metal stars.”
“Throwing stars.”
“Yeah, so you can cut Anderson into shreds. Leave a scar on that mug of his.”
“Mortally wound him.” I take a chip and throw it into my mouth.
“Black Shinobi. I’ll be your sensei.”
“Master Jah-Sho-Wa.” I laugh.
Josh has a way of making me feel better even if he's wrong. I can never escape people, because people bring rise to my burden. Joshua Masterson is different. He’s the best part of my life, the only person I feel comfortable with. But even getting comfortable is dangerous.
The corners of my smile drop at the thought of losing him as friend. Having gone through so many friends in the past, I know if I'm not careful, Josh will want nothing to do with me, or worse—he’ll want everything to do with me.
“Eat, Gabriel-san.”
My mouth waters as Josh splits the sandwich his mother has made for him. Josh places it on a napkin in the space between us, allowing me to pick it up. I'm grateful because most days I have no money for lunch or no lunch at all.
"Hey, you can crash at my place tonight. Mom's making your favorite." Josh sets a soda can between us to share. “Spinach Lasagna.”
"Anything your mom makes is my favorite." I take a good look at the deli meat piled on thick, before taking a big bite. Thank God for Josh.
The savory meat sloshing in my mouth and the fact I don't have to go home brings my heart to a great relief. I’ll never ask to sleepover. It’s bad enough saying yes every time Josh asks. Some days I pray for the invitation. Most times my prayers are answered and I stay at Josh's house. Today of all days I need a real home to go to.
“Hey. Don’t worry about it. You know my folks love having you over.” Josh’s sympathetic voice lures me out of the daze. I realize I've stopped chewing.
“Sorry.” I swallow, feeling the ball of food stretch its way to my hollow stomach.
“I always tell you, you don’t have to be sorry.”
I know Josh's parents take pity on me. They know I come from a very troubled family. My clothes are filthy because my mother never washes them. I'm always hungry because she never makes me anything. I don’t know my father. My older brother ran away. And my stepfather is evil. Home is not home.
I feel like I'm taking advantage, but I don't want to go home. Home is where the worst things have happened. It rivals Eric Anderson and his assault team like they’re a picnic in the park.
Josh doesn't know that.
Josh doesn't know anything about home; only that I have a troubled home life and the details are off the table to talk about. Josh takes the hint and for this, I'm grateful.
***
Gabriel
My body slouches against the school's concrete wall, surrendering to a moment of bodily peace. I managed to go to every class without Anderson seeing me. Pretending to be invisible is impossible while all eyes bear witness to my existence like the front cover of a tabloid magazine.
Is this what it’s going to be like every day?
I notice my jeans are ripped below the pocket. If I wear these tomorrow, people will definitely identify them as the same pair of jeans. I sigh, digging my fingers between the frayed black threads. My fingers hit the plaid boxers underneath. I’ll have to go home for another pair. Maybe Josh will let me borrow his. Is that weird?
A hand on my shoulder startles me out of my trance. The heat lingers for a moment, and then travels down my spine like a warm shower.
I stagger away to see Josh
is laughing. “Jeeze, Anderson has you wired.”
“Asshole. What the fuck?” I rub my neck and shoulder as if I have a muscle sore.
“Come on. It’s me.” Josh grins. “It’s a joke.”
He knows better than to touch. What’s with him today?
“It’s not funny.” My voice shakes. My body collapses against the wall. Did he touch skin? It's still warm on my skin.
“Sorry.” Josh’s smile slowly drops. “I didn’t think it would bother you that much. I’m your friend. I thought—"
“You thought what?” I spring from the concrete wall. “—that you’re not included?” I grab my backpack and sling it over my violated shoulder. “Whatever, let’s just go.”
My insides want to explode, but walking will release that energy. I pretend I didn’t hear my only friend say under his breath, “Maybe you should get over it.”
***
Gabriel
Before heading to Josh's, we stop at the bookstore to read the latest in graphic novel releases—a ritual I love. We read comics cover to cover, alone in the far corner where no one bothers us. Reading is an escape from the real world, something to get absorbed into. The fantasies are far from my mom, stepfather, school and myself.
In a story, I can be normal; an outgoing guy, the one everyone wants to be friends with. The one everybody talks to. I can be a superhero that can actually touch, save innocent people and destroy the bad guys. I can have tons of friends. I can kiss girls like a normal guy.
In reality, I'm as insignificant as the dust ball underneath Mr. P’s desk. Who cares about the kid in the Ramones hoodie? I'm no one special.
Sometimes I come across a character that hauntingly reminds me of who I really am; a mutant burdened with a strange defective soul in a hyper-sensitive body. Usually it's a minor character that dies in the first chapter. An Eric-Anderson-type kills me, but the novel is really about someone like Josh. He’s more of the hero type; honest, charming, exciting, all of which I don't possess. I'm a lying, frightened beast whose unquenchable thirst for others is never satisfied. I'm the one he kills.
I look up at Josh’s face obstructed by the book he’s reading except for his blue eyes which are already watching me. For a moment too long we stare at each other. I switch my eyes back to the comic and then back to Josh who's still lingering on me. Why did he touch me? In the back of my mind I wonder if everything is okay between us.
“You hungry?” Josh lowers his book. His blue eyes haven't blinked; their still strangely glued to me. There's an intensity that wasn't there before. Maybe it's the store lighting. I suddenly feel awkward.
“Yeah, I’m always hungry.”
“Let’s get out of here.” Josh's smile tips up to one side. A small dimple appears. Did he always have that? Maybe I'm over thinking it.
Chapter Three
Gabriel
I love the walk to Josh's house. His neighborhood is on the nice side of town where people walk their dogs, wave hello and tend to their yards. Passing Craftsman style homes, I smell hyacinths, moist earth and fresh cut grass. I hope one day I can start a garden of my own, maybe even get a job as a gardener or landscaper. For now, I'll enjoy what my senses pick up.
The loud buzzing of chainsaws and a truck growling causes my stomach to turn. I don't like the sound of chainsaws. The abrupt noise cuts the air unnaturally. There’s always a poor tree dying from angry metal.
Just as I had dreaded, there are men in bright yellow vests, cutting away at an old oak tree. From how thick the trunk looks it’s pretty damn old.
"Why are they doing that?" I clench my backpack strap.
"Who knows? Maybe it's in someone’s way."
"Maybe they’re the ones in the way," I mumble.
"What?"
"Nothing." I don't expect Josh to understand. Most people walk through life numb to stepping on flowers and killing trees. Being a social exile helps me see through the fog; I'm not plagued with everyday habits that subdue the senses that come so naturally. It’s part of being a human to take care of the other life forms around us. A dandelion is a weed, but to me it’s an edible companion plant which benefits the soil, the air and attracts pollenating insects. An unwanted flower that everyone kills is a flower I can relate to.
I can't bear to look as we pass the blaring chainsaw.
My heart aches and wishes the trees soul to leave before the metal chains dig into it further. The ground we walk on is being disturbed. I know the other plants and trees can feel it too.
I grind my teeth. Why are people so cruel?
We distance ourselves from the killing as we approach Josh's house. I'm grateful for the distraction. His house is something out of a fifties movie. A yellow house with white shutters, white picket fence and a golden retriever named Goldie. She loves me. It’s obvious after my first visit that my condition doesn't hurt animals or at least Goldie. She’s always interested in what I smells like which is usually pretty awful according to Mrs. Masterson. She’s always kind enough to wash my clothes. Mr. Masterson always welcomes me to a seat at their table. Josh must have told them about me, since they always let me eat at the end of the table to provide distance for my touching phobia.
I love being at Josh's. The family accommodates me; accepts me without really knowing me. They provide the feeling of a real family. The Mastersons really care for me. It's the closest to affection and real love I've felt without the guilt. Still, I don't belong here. There’s always the possibility of getting too close, I’ll end up hurting them.
"Hi, Gabriel!” Mrs. Masterson holds up a garlic clove. "From the garden."
I like that the Mastersons have a vegetable garden. It’s the vegetables they use that make everything Mrs. Masterson cooks taste pure. "With that extra special ingredient—blood, sweat and tears," Mrs. Masterson jokes.
“That’s three ingredients, Mom.”
"Hush! Show him the peppers, Joshua."
Josh rolls his eyes, he clearly doesn't care about the peppers, but I do. I follow Josh to the backyard.
The Masterson’s yard is like the Garden of Eden. One step through their double doors is stepping into heaven. Moss devours the cement walkway. Berry bushes engulf a less pleasing metal fence. The summer plants are still growing; their high stems and their leaves are uncurling for the blooming season. When the flowers appear, we'll be able to smell them in the house. To anyone, the garden may seem overgrown, but Mrs. Masterson lets the plants take on the natural shapes and lets them break out of their spaces.
Josh kneels and lifts the leafy jungle to reveal shiny red and green finger-like flesh dangling from their vines.
"You should just garden with her. Maybe you could save me the agony. She always makes me prep the ground with horse shit." His nose crinkles as if he can't stand smell it. I don't mind it at all. I would love to do that, but Josh is probably kidding, so I laugh with him.
***
Gabriel
Four days’ worth of grime washes off my body. A gray stream escapes into the shower drain as if I had been coal mining. If it had only been that, but I had slept in a number of places since I was last at Josh’s; one of them being an empty train car in a junkyard.
No staring at cold metal walls or struggling to keep from freezing. Josh has a warm bed for me on the other side of the door. We'll stay up much later then what should be allowed on a school night. The late-night movies air past midnight. I'm welcome to anything I want to eat from the Masterson’s fridge. Reading the comics Josh purchased makes the time tick away. Sleepovers at the Masterson’s are never long enough. I’d rather stay at Josh’s as long as I can before I have to go to school or worse—home.
Tonight feels off.
The filthy water coming off me finally runs clean; it’s time to come out, but I feel awkward. Taking a shower never felt this weird before. With Josh just outside the door, I'm starting to wonder about our closeness. What’s worst is borrowing his clothes until his mom brings my washed ones. Any other night I
would've stayed in my boxers, but tonight I wish I had my own clothes.
I listen as if a presence is at the bathroom door. Why am I so nervous? It's just Josh. Turning the doorknob I see him in bed flipping through channels.
“I thought you died in there” He doesn't even glance at me. “I was about to call my mom.”
Maybe I'm overreacting. “Just what I need, your mom walking in on me.”
“Better than my dad.”
“True.”
My backpack sits between Josh’s bed and the sleeping bag that has become a permanent fixture. The heavy pack is used to measure the right distance and acts as an obstacle in case Josh decides to get up in the middle of the night, which thankfully he never does.
Sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, Josh moves beside me. A warm sensation on his arm alerts me he’s too close, so I shift away from him.
Josh turns off the television which darkens the room some. He’s staring at the remote. His hair hangs over his eyes.
The awkward silence is starting to worry me. My nerves are giving me stomachache.
Josh places his hand between us. The warming sensation strokes my side, so I shift away again. Is Josh doing this on purpose?
This is longest friendship I've ever had. In the past, my friends dump me. They would tell me they weren't gay, or that I make them feel uncomfortable. Most of them felt ashamed that they felt those feelings toward me at all. It wasn't their fault; there's something wrong with me—it’s my fault. No one can ever tell me otherwise because it’s a fact. I could only hope that Josh will keep his distance. But too many close calls worry me, the signs are all there. I don't want to believe Josh will end our friendship, but he's starting to get curious which is worst. I feel eyes on me, he persistently moves into my space knowing very well how I don't like to be 'touched'. Simple things, everyday things, friend things like walking close, arm nudges, and now he’s handing me things so our hands would touch. I'm not stupid. Josh is either trying to help me or he's testing me.