I stand at the intersection of my high school hallways, with my varsity jacket draped perfectly across my sculpted shoulders and my white t-shirt tucked perfectly into dark denim jeans. I stand still, letting the throng of students cut a path around me as they make their way to their first class of the year. I watch with weary resignation as the crowd parts around me without the slightest resistance. I hold back the urge to roll my eyes.

The first day of school – the LAST first day of school. I’m a senior now – and this is my terrain. I’m ready for this.

My thoughts are interrupted by the crackle of the loudspeaker as Principal Kiley’s monotone voice comes booming into the hallways. It’s a good thing his lack of enthusiasm isn’t contagious.

“Good morning Washington High School students. Welcome to the first day of the 1999 school year. We’re sure this will be a great year. The announcements are as follows: If you lost your schedule, see your guidance counselor in the main office for a replacement. Try-outs for fall sports will be held this week – the schedule is posted outside the gym. And finally, I’d like to remind you to be aware of the safety procedures in the case of fire, severe weather or military attack. Our first nuclear threat drill will take place sometime next week. Thank you, and have a great first day of school.”

I sigh – such is life in the post-war world I guess. I don’t understand the point of the drill, though. Like hiding under my desk is really going to save me from the hydrogen bomb.

“Chester!”

I hear my name being shouted across the congested corridor, and it’s a few seconds before I spot one of my oldest friends barreling through the hallway, pushing any unsuspecting freshman out of his path. His hair is slicked back with that nasty brill cream, and his light brown shirt with a brown argyle pattern is tucked neatly into his khakis.

“Bradford! How’s it going man?” I ask, playfully cuffing his shoulder in greeting.

“Great! We’re seniors now - we rule the school! Plus, I got easy-as-pie Mrs. Ferguson for Trig. Can’t beat that. You ready for this year?”

“Yeah, I guess. Guidance made sure I got the perfect schedule to maintain my A average, and coach says he got me the perfect backcourt to finally win conference in basketball. So I guess all is cool,” I say with a shrug, trying to hide my sarcasm.

“Chaz, my man,” he says with a smile, “People are looking for some big things from you.” He punctuates his statement with a quick thump on the back.

“Yeah,” I say, trying desperately to conceal my frown with a crooked smile.

I take in a deep breath and let it out slowly to calm my nerves. I haven’t even been to my first class and it’s already starting.

Brad’s laughter awakens me from my brief jaunt into self-pity.

“Hey! You know what the best thing about this year is going to be?” he asks.

I eye him with a suspicious smile as I see a knowing grin spread across his face.

“What?”

“See, my best friend *happens* to be the resident basketball stud. And he’s *such* a great person, I just know he’ll send all the broken-hearted dames my way when they find out the man of their dreams finally got around to asking Samantha to go steady!”

I can’t help but laugh quietly and shake my head at his comments. Some things certainly never change. Brad has been bugging me for almost a year to ask the girl out. I finally got so sick of him bothering me, I decided just to do it so he’d get off my back.

So we did the whole deal – I borrowed my parents’ car, survived the intimidating stare-down of her dad, paid for the movie and a milkshake, and had her home by ten. Always have to have her home by ten, not a moment later. Her dad stands at the front window watching for us – never even turning around so we can sneak in a good night kiss. I don’t mind too much, though. We enjoy each other’s company and it’s nice to have my mom off my back about finding that ‘special girl’ .

“Where is the Samster anyway?”

I lift my eyes to tell him I’m not sure, but stop short when I see her walking our way. Her golden brown hair is pulled into a high ponytail, her tight white blouse is pressed to perfection, and her full, pink skirt moves in graceful waves with each step.

She makes her way to us, her books clutched tightly in her hand and a smile on her face that reveals equal parts of joy and bashfulness. She looks away from me as she speaks softly.

“Hi Chester.”

“Hi Samantha,”

She stands there silently for a few moments, and I find myself amused by ever-present shyness. Then she quickly flashes me a weak smile.

“Ummm…so, my first class is with Mr. Hendricks…”

I can barely keep my chuckle subdued as she stares at her shoes while speaking. I know what she’s looking for, but she doesn’t come straight out and ask. Always the proper and demure young lady, I suppose. It’s the first day of school, so I’ll be nice.

“Yes, Samantha. I’ll walk you to class,” I reply with a laugh. As we turn to leave, I glance back at Brad to see him rolling his eyes in a response that clearly says “girls…hmph.”

But the ever-present smile I’ve mastered over the years remains steadfast. That’s the way things are around here. Never let anyone know when things get to you – just smile and fit in. I’m just lucky I fit in without much effort; no one questions me that way.

*****

“Chester! Wait up, man.”

Just like the beginning of the day, I hear my name being called across the crowded hallway as everyone packs up their stuff to head home. But it’s a different voice this time.

I turn to find my neighbor and long-time friend hurrying to catch up to me as he slings his bag over his shoulders.

“Hey Rob,” I reply with a smile as he falls in step and we exit the school doors for the walk home.

“So, how was Washington’s own little Golden Boy’s first day back at school?” he asks in humor.

“Perfect.” I say quickly with a sarcastic smile, not registering his whole sentence. Then in a delayed reaction, my ears prick up.

“Wait. Golden Boy?” I ask without masking my tinge of agitation.

He laughs and rolls his eyes at me before continuing. “Oh come on! Don’t pretend like you don’t know.” His voice changes to a high-pitched squeal characteristic of a high school girl: “Ohhhhh…look, there’s Chester and Samantha. Aren’t they just soooooo perfect?” Then to the gruff, abrupt manner of Coach Thomas: “Nice job there Bennington. I think you’ve got the perfect jumpshot.” And then he’s back to the female voice: “Chester, you did just an absolutely wonderful job on your summer assignment. Perfect!”

I turn my head and cast a serious look his way. “Come on, Rob. You know that’s not how it really is. I’m not perfect.”

“Huh. Try telling that to your fan club,” he says with laughter. “I’m thinking I’ll just get the lifetime membership. I’ll save money in the long run that way.”

“Come on Rob! I know you find this funny, but it’s not true, okay? I’m just a normal kid.”

“Face it, Chester. Half this town lives vicariously through you. You’re like the poster child for the perfect son, student, boyfriend…whatever. Everyone loves you. Your life could be a TV show or something. I Love Chester .” He laughs as his voice shifts to a bad Latino accent. “Samantha, I’m hoooooome!”

He laughs again, but his tone of voice is so matter-of-fact I can’t help but be annoyed. I know that Brad and Rob like to get under my skin, but this is different. He wasn’t just trying to get at my goat – he was completely serious.

God, I don’t even escape it with my best friends.

We walk the rest of the way home in silence, and I can’t shake his words out of my head. I stand in the front of the driveway, staring absently at my house. It looks almost exactly like all the other ones on the street – all built in a hurry to accommodate the soldiers coming home after the war. Not one single thing on the entire street sticks out. In this town, even the houses have to blend in.

Of course it’s only on the exterior of the houses that things look so picture perfect. On the inside, everything can be totally different. I can’t help but relate.

I let out a sigh as I walk up the steps of my house and quickly shout a greeting to my mom in the kitchen before retreating to my room.

I flop down on my bed with his words still weighing heavily on my mind. I always feel bad complaining about my life, because it really has gone pretty smoothly. - or ‘perfect’ as everyone else likes to think.

But you know, there’s a difference between my life simply being perfect for *me* and it being perfect in some abstract, generalized standard that everyone else holds their own life up to in comparison.

I don’t know when I seemingly became the standard bearer for the whole town. Sometimes I feel like people I barely even know scrutinize everything I do. And everyday I dread the moment when I really screw something up. Will all those people really be disappointed in me?

I feel my stomach churn with anxiety at the thought of my biggest insecurity. I’ll never understand why all these other people supposedly have their interests tied up in me. But the scary thing is, I can’t do a single thing to stop them.

I sigh loudly, and bring my pillow up to cover my eyes – like somehow not being able to see will really change things. But it does help me calm my nerves and block out the disconcerting thoughts.

The self-inflicted darkness causes me to close my eyes, and I can feel sleep take over my body. I give into a nap.

I don’t awaken of my own volition however. It’s the yelling – it’s what reminds me of exactly why my life is anything but perfect.

*****

“John, I really think that Chester should have a choice in the matter…” I hear my mother say in her soft voice as I make my way down the stairs.

“No, Tracy, he *doesn’t* get a choice. This is just the way things work. Chester will spend two days a week working for me at the insurance agency so he can learn what is expected of him when he graduates. It’s time he starts thinking about life after high school.” My father’s voice is much louder and laced with determination.

“I agree with you, honey, but does the insurance business have to be what he does after high school? Maybe he’s got something else…”

“Tracy!” my father’s voice cuts her off, “there is no room for discussion on this matter! Chester will follow in the family business because that’s what is expected of him. His grandfather would have it no other way! And it’s all set up for him – why would he want to do anything else?”

“But…”

“Tracy! I’m his father. I’m sorry, but what I say goes! I know what’s best for him.”

My mother turns dejectedly away from my father, who is reading the newspaper at the kitchen table. Her navy dress swirls around her calves as she spins, and she angrily wipes her hands on the white apron tied neatly around her waist. It’s not until she’s turned completely around that she sees me standing in the doorway.

“Chester!” she gasps with surprise. “I…well…we…” She clears her throat to start again and this time speaks with a firm voice. “Your father and I didn’t see you standing there, Chester. We weren’t…”

“Yeah, yeah. I know,” I retort coldly as I cross my arms across my chest and turn to leave. “You weren’t fighting, and I should most definitely NOT tell anyone that you were and I should try not to appear upset.” I cross the living room in quick strides and make my way to the front door. As I squirm my feet into my shoes, I call out heatedly one last time.

“And of course, I should be so *incredibly* grateful that dad knows what’s best for me, shouldn’t I?!”

I grab angrily at the doorknob and throw it open to step outside. I even let the door slam behind me, knowing full well I’ll pay for it later, because “the neighbors can hear that you know!” I can already hear my dad yelling.

Well, you know what? This one time, fuck the neighbors!

God, why does *my* life always have to be about everyone else’s?

I walk silently down my indistinguishable street, kicking the stones in the street as I go. Before long, I find myself at the main drag of the town. Some main drag it is – it has a barbershop, a post office, a grocery store, a few places to buy clothes and shoes, and one lone diner. How incredibly exciting.

I keep my head at my feet as I enter the diner, and plop myself down near the back window. I slide all the way in to the red leather booth so my face can feel the cold radiating off the pane of glass. I put my chin in my hand and stare blankly out the window for several minutes without anyone taking a second look at me. For a few moments, I actually feel….safe, I guess.

But my self-pitying thoughts are interrupted by a brash voice booming across the diner.

“MICHAEL! What are you doing? You’ve got a customer who’s been sitting out here for ten minutes. Get to work!”

I look up to see the balding short-order cook yelling towards the back of his kitchen, and I try to tell him with my eyes that I’d really just rather be left alone. Before he can get the message however, I see him turn angrily towards the back of the kitchen and grumble something along the lines of “damn kid…wouldn’t know a day’s work if it bit him in the rump.”

I sigh and turn my head back to the window. I don’t even notice when my waiter finally approaches.

“Hello? I said, ‘What can I get for you?’”

His voice startles me out of my thoughts and I turn so quickly I forget to turn my ‘everything’s perfect’ face back on. By the time I notice and try to lift my drooping mouth and constrict my wide eyes, it’s too late. I can tell my waiter has noticed.

My eyes lock onto his, and I lose my breath as I’m momentarily sucked into a trance as I stare into the deepest brown eyes I’ve ever seen. And I don’t just mean the color – his eyes seem physically deep, like they hold a wealth of information and experience that I’ve never known.

I cock my head to the side to study them further, but then he blinks and breaks me from the intensity. I jump a bit, startled by those last few moments, and I look away to stare blankly at the red leather seat across from me as I consider what just happened. I’m struck with a sudden wave of confusion – how could I get all that from just a brief look at a stranger? What did I think I saw there?

My thoughts are broken again by his voice, but this time he speaks softly, like he knows exactly what I'm thinking.

“Ummm..sorry to startle you. I didn’t mean to interrupt…” he lets his eyes lock with mine again, but quickly diverts them to his order pad. I move my own stare to the bright turquoise of his shirt. “So, can I…ummm…get you anything?”

I shake my head no slowly, as I lick my lips. I find myself racking my brain for something to say that will keep him here. I feel the need to find answers to the questions his eyes have suddenly created in my head, but I’m tongue-tied.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see him turn his head quickly to look back in the kitchen as he puts his order pad back in the pocket of his apron.

“Ummm, look,” he says quietly. “I can’t help but notice that you seem, you know…like…a bit unhappy or whatever.”

I finally lift my eyes to his and I’m lost in him again. I can feel my mouth open slightly and my eyes widen as I feel his glance seemingly pierce into my inner thoughts. I know I’m not wearing my plastic face of perfection like I probably should be, but for some odd reason, I’m not as scared as I thought I would be.

He looks down and sighs seemingly in resignation, as if telling himself ‘stop being a chicken and just go ahead and do it’ .

“So, some of my friends and I get together a couple of times a week, you know, just to let go of things.” He runs one of his hands up the back of his head, moving the odd, pointy hat to a haphazard angle on top of his head. I can feel his hesitancy, but he continues.

“I don’t know, you just look like maybe you could use that.” He pulls out an old receipt and begins writing something on the back. “Here’s where we are – we’ll be there tomorrow. So, you know, come if you want. You know…just to be yourself or whatever. No expectations.”

I watch his hand slide the piece of paper over to me, and I move my eyes back to his face. I see him flash a nervous smile without really looking at me, and the sharp lines of his face soften into something almost comforting. Or maybe it was just his words, but for whatever reason I’m caught up completely in this man.

He lifts his eyes to mine again, and this time flashes a more confident smile that reaches his eyes. “I hope I see you there.”

He turns to walk back to the kitchen, and all I can do is watch his retreat in silence, my eyes boring into his back. It’s a full minute before I can draw my eyes away. I close them as I rest my head against the cold window, mentally cursing myself.

What the hell just happened? I looked like an idiot! I never even said a word to him. I just stared like some kid at a freak show. He probably thinks I’m a freak – sitting here by myself practically crying in my complimentary water. Sh!t!

I let out a long sigh, and bring my hands up to finger the piece of paper he gave me. I look at it for a few minutes before folding it up and putting it in my pocket. I’m not sure what I’m going to do with it, but there’s no way I can bring myself to throw it away. Not after what I saw in his eyes.

Michael? Is that what the cook called him? I move my eyes back to the kitchen to see if I can catch another glance at him, maybe a nametag just to be sure. But he’s nowhere in sight.

I guess I can’t sit around waiting for him. Then I’ll really look like a fool. Plus, my parents are going to be fuming for me taking off on a school night.

I pull myself up from the booth and head towards the door. As it closes slowly behind me, I turn back one final time, the mental image of his eyes engrained in my head.

I guess I’ll just see what tomorrow brings.

It’s a new day, and not just because the sun has risen. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but things feel different. I feel different. Colors and lines and sounds are sharper and my senses feel a bit taxed – groggy, like they’re just starting to wake up from a nap. And there’s this possibility in the air, hovering around me like the heavy humidity after a summer rain.

This sudden ultra-sensitivity to my surroundings envelops me in quiet reflection for most of the day. It doesn’t feel like a major change, or some startling revelation. It feels more like a…shift. Suddenly things are just at a slightly different angle, and it’s so subtle I’m surprised I even notice.

My change in behavior doesn’t go unnoticed either, however. I guess I’d be a fool to think I could escape the glances and stares for even a day.

“Hey man! What was *up* with you today?” laughs Brad as Rob, he and I exit the school doors.

I was lost in thought again though, so all I could respond with was a confused “huh?”

“Yeah, Chester. You were totally spaced out all day. I thought Samantha was going to cry at lunch when you sat across from her and didn’t say a single word,” offers Rob.

“Well, she didn’t say anything to me either,” I mumble quietly as an excuse without lifting my gaze from my shoes.

“Oh, come on. You know Samantha’s not one to talk your ear off. She always waits for you to say something first.”

“Yeah,” I say, rolling my eyes – but keeping my head down so they don’t see.

We walk in silence for a few more minutes before Brad speaks again.

“Soooo, you gonna tell us what’s up with you?”

“Huh?” I say again, this time more to avoid answering. Brad just casts me an annoyed look.

“Oh,” I say dejectedly as I start to shake my head slowly. “It was nothing…just, you know…thinking.”

“Care to tell us what about?” Rob asks.

I stare off into the distance and shake my head slowly. “No, it was nothing. Just forget about it.”

I increase the pace of my walk and I don’t even notice that I’ve left my two friends straggling behind me.

“Chester, geeze! Wait up!” I hear Rob call. He’s the first to catch up to me, and he eyes me with an expectant look. I sigh loudly.

“Look,” I say, knowing he wants an explanation, “don’t you ever…you know…just feel like none of this really means anything?” I wave my hand in a broad circle indicating our surroundings.

Rob looks at me thoughtfully for a few seconds, and I can feel him about to answer when Brad finally reaches us.

“Whatever, man! I don’t know what you’re complaining about. You’ve got it all!” Brad says rolling his eyes. “I just hope you’re back to your old self tomorrow. If you keep being all grouchy, none of the girls are gonna want to hang out with you. And *then* what am I gonna do?” he adds with a smirk.

I turn my head from him without changing the empty look on my face, and I can feel my jaw clenching in annoyance. My pace quickens again, and I barely notice when Brad and Rob stop at the corner.

“Hey!” Brad yells, “This is my street! Aren’t you even gonna say goodbye?”

I pause quickly and turn my head to him to offer a quick monotone, “Yeah, see ya” before turning back to continue my walk home.

“Chester!” Rob yells from behind me.

I sigh loudly as he hurriedly catches up to me. “What?” I say with more anger than intended.

We both stop in surprise at my tone. He stares at me blankly, as I clearly scared whatever he was gonna say from coming out.

I let out a sigh and run my hands through my hair as my eyes remain on my shoes. But I don’t speak or apologize. He clears his throat.

“Ummmm…I guess I’ll just be going then. I’ll….uhhh…see you tomorrow.” He can feel him looking at me for a few long moments before he turns towards his own house. I stand a few minutes in the street before I make a move towards my own.

*****

Later in the evening, I’m lying on my bed re-immersed in my quiet reflection, when I hear my mom call quietly through my door.

“Chester, honey?” she says opening the door.

I pull the pillow off my head and look at her in acknowledgement.

“I just wanted to tell you that dinner is almost ready,” she says. But instead of turning back towards the kitchen, she remains in the doorway looking at me.

“Mom?” I question, trying to get to her say whatever is on her mind.

She pulls herself fully into my room, and moves to sit on the edge of my bed.

“Honey, I was just wondering when you were planning on taking Samantha out again. I ran into her mother at the grocer’s today, and she said you haven’t been around to call in two weeks.” She smiles down at me as she takes my hands and rubs it gently. “She couldn’t stop talking about how perfect the two of you seem together. It’s such a sweet match,” she adds, her smile only getting brighter.

I let out a small sigh and close my eyes, not trusting myself to answer. I don’t know how to explain my relationship with Samantha to her. I can’t deny that she’s nice and she’s pretty and pretty much exactly whom everyone expects me to be with. But it just feels empty – symbolic of everything about my life that drives me crazy. She’s so compliant - she never challenges me. She doesn’t seem to have her own interests – she lives for mine. She’s boring and safe and a nice pretty package all tied up with a bow with nothing inside.

My mom sits in silence for a few minutes before I feel her stand to leave. She’s almost to the door before she speaks again.

“Chester, shouldn’t you be working on your homework? I’d hate to see those grades you’ve worked so hard for slip,” she says without losing her smile.

I promptly pull the pillow back over my head to keep myself from screaming and scaring my poor mother to death.

Girls. Grades. Perfect. The words just keep bouncing off the walls of my mind intent on driving me crazy.

I groan with frustration as I quickly pull myself out of bed and head downstairs for dinner. I vaguely hear my parents discuss their days, but I make no effort to contribute. Not until I hear my dad’s voice raise, however.

“Chester, son. You’re mother just asked you a question. I don’t think it’s wise to ignore her!”

I raised my eyes to her expectantly and muttered “Ummm…sorry. What did you say?”

“Chester, honey, is something wrong?” she asks in a concerned voice.

“No,” I reply, moving my eyes back to my plate. “I was just thinking about… ummmm… school.”

Neither of my parents respond, but I can feel both of their eyes on me for several seconds. I continue to play with the food on my plate.

My parents resume their conversation eventually, and I can feel my irritation grow. Here I am, suddenly facing these issues in my life and I can’t tell anyone about them. Not my parents, not my best friends – because if I did I would shatter some perfect reality that they all buy into! And I can’t decide who are the bigger idiots – me for questioning or them for believing. God, it’s frustrating!

I get up from the table in a hurry without even asking to be excused. As I race upstairs to grab my jacket, I call out to my parents, “I’m gonna go to Rob’s house to study. I’ll be home after while.”

I just know I have to get out of the house. And I know where I’m going to end up. I feel my body awash in equal parts anticipation and fear as I race down the stairs and out the door.

I let out a loud sigh of relief as I make my way into the crisp night. One phrase – one voice – keeps running through my head.

No expectations.

*****

I’m back on the main drag of our small little town, staring down the stretch of brick buildings lit dimly by the street lamps. Each store and office building is separated by a brightly colored canopy and the fancy writing painted on the first-story windows. Some light filters through the windows on the upper floors of the buildings, where many business owners live or rent out as apartments.

I finger the piece of paper in my pocket for a few minutes before pulling it out and reading the address. It’s the first time I’ve allowed myself to look at it since the night before.

I look up at the building numbers, and begin to make my way towards 212, which I eventually discover is the local bookstore. I peer in the front window and see nothing but rows of high shelves cased in darkness. I look back into the street and sigh disappointedly. There’s certainly nothing going on in there. I pull out the address again, just to make sure I read it right. Sure enough, 212.

As I bring my head up, however, I see a couple of dark figures turn down the alley next to the store. After I watch them make their turn, I slowly follow them down the darkened path and see them disappear behind a dark brown door with no window or markings.

I lean back against the cool brick and sigh loudly to compose myself. I can’t help but feel I’m standing on the edge of a diving board about to take a leap, and all I can do is cross my fingers and hope there’s water in the pool.

It’s a frightening feeling, and I stand there against the wall, with my fists clenched, heart racing and eyes closed, for several minutes without moving.

And then I hear him.

“Hey! You made it.” It’s that voice from last night – the one I’ve thought about all day. The one that said he could give me what I feel desperate for – an escape.

I remain silent, taking him in. He’s dressed all in black; loose-fitting pants, black shoes, and a fitted button-down shirt that’s made of a soft material so it lays gently over his tight frame. Between the darkness of the alley and the black of his clothes, the pale skin of his forearms and neck and face…and that small little portion of chest visible at the top of his shirt…they almost seem to glow. A beacon.

And his hair – it’s not covered by that awkward paper hat I saw at the diner last night. Now it’s spiking up gently above his face in chocolate waves.

And then his eyes.

I close my own at the thought of his and swallow hard – trying to forget what they do to me.

But my eyes open widely when I hear him speak again – I was so caught up in him it was like I was looking at something inanimate instead of something that would notice me staring. I know fear is spelled clearly across my face.

“So, you coming in?” he says with a smile, twisting his body to motion towards the door. His manner is playful, almost knowing, and slightly unnerving.

I continue to stare blankly at him – my eyes wide, my mouth slightly open. When I finally notice, I quickly hoist myself off the wall and close my mouth, but can’t seem to get words to come out.

He laughs gently and turns towards his friend. “Joe, why don’t you just head in? I’ll be in a little bit.”

For the first time, I take in his companion. He’s also dressed in all black, but on him it seems rigid. His hair is in sharp, dark spikes . I can’t read his eyes because their hidden behind small, dark glasses, but I can tell instantly he’s nothing like my Michael.

My Michael? Why do I feel so possessive of him – like he was my discovery or something?

I feel this Joe look me over for a few seconds, and I can tell it’s not in warm reception. His gaze lingers over the letter on my jacket, and I see a sarcastic smile spread across his lips.

“Mike, man,” he says with a snort, “I don’t know where you find these kids.” He looks me over one more time with a “hmph” before turning towards the door and leaving me and Michael alone in the alley.

He smiles at me. “Don’t mind Joe, man. He’s just old and bitter.” He uncrosses his arms from his chest and loosens his stance. “So, I never got your name the other night.”

My mouth feels like cotton, so when I answer it comes out more like a whisper.

“Chester.” He raises his eyebrows at me. I lick my lips and try again, this time speaking a little more loudly. “Ummm…Chester, my name is Chester.”

He nods his head in my direction, “Chester. Okay, Chester,” he smiles, “are you gonna come in or stay out here in the alley?”

My mind instantly flashes back to the look I’d just received from Joe. I’m not used to not fitting in…

“Ummm…I…I don’t know. I was just…kinda standing out here…thinking. So maybe…” I sigh and run my hands through my hair, “maybe I should just head home now.”

As I turn to leave, I hear him say, “Hey, wait,” as he reaches out to catch my arm. I freeze at his touch.

“Look, we don’t have to go inside if you don’t want. We can just…I don’t know…go for a walk or something. Talk. You know, like I said last night – no expectations,” he finishes with a smile.

No expectations. No two words have ever sounded more like heaven to me in my whole life. I turn to him, nod slowly and whisper “okay.”

We walk in silence for a few minutes as we make our way off of main street and towards the park on the west side of town. I keep my hands in my pocket and my gaze at my feet, but Michael seems loose.

When the entrance to the park is in sight, Michael finally speaks up. “So, Chester. Care to talk about why you were so down when I saw you at the diner last night?”

I stop instantly in my tracks, let the breath I was holding throughout the walk and close my eyes. My head suddenly feels too heavy for my neck and it drops to my chest. I freeze.

Here I am, finally with someone to talk to and I’m hesitating. Why? Am I really that scared to let anyone know I’m not perfect? It’s something I’ve always known – it’s just that no one else seems to believe me. Do I really want Michael to believe me?

I feel him retrace his steps so he’s standing next to me again, his eyes locked on my head. His close presence makes me shiver

“Let me guess,” he says crossing his arms across his chest, “you’re the perfect kid. Mom and dad say so, your teachers say so, maybe even your girlfriend says so. Everyone looks to you to have the right grades and the right girl and the right job someday. Am I right?”

I quickly bring my eyes up to his, locking on the brown depth for the first time in twenty-four hours. The air in my chest leaves in a hurry as I take in his words. He knew! How did he know? As I move to ask him, he raises his hand to stop me.

“Wait, let me finish,” he says quietly before continuing in the same compassionate, gentle voice. “I bet sometimes you get sick of the poster boy life. I bet sometimes you feel like no one really sees you for you – only for who they want you to be. And I bet you’re wondering if there’s anything you can do about it.”

He moves his eyes to survey the park in front of us, and he begins to walk slowly. I move with him, as if drawn by a magnet.

“You see Chester, that’s why I go to there – to Moody’s,” he pauses to roll his eyes, “I didn’t name it. But anyway, that’s our place, you know, where we can just be what we want to be and do what we want to do. No one judges anyone, no one has to fit into a certain mold.” He pauses and turns to me. “I think you’d like it. It’s a place to leave your parents and friends and girlfriend behind,” he finishes with a smile.

Our eyes are locked again, and I don’t know if it’s his look or his words or my own stupid desire to cling to the familiar that’s causing the fear to run through my veins and my heart to pump in double time. I break our gaze and stare down at me feet.

“Umm..I don’t know,” I stutter. “I mean, it sounds nice and everything, but…ummm…it’s just that my parents would find out, and you know, my friends aren’t really that bad, so…ummm.”

“Chester.” His voice is firm and quietly insistent. I can’t help but return my eyes to his. “Are you telling me you’re happy then?” he says with intense seriousness.

I take in a deep breath and attempt to keep the fear off my face. I shake my head no, but not so much to answer his question as to rid myself of this entire conversation.

“I gotta go,” I say weakly, but as I turn to leave he calls me again.

“Chester.” I turn to find him leaning passively against the chain-link fence, his mouth drawn in a knowing smirk. “We’ll be back there again tomorrow night.”

I give him a quick nod as I turn to leave. I try to appear calm in my retreat, but the further I get from the park, the more agitated and hurried my gait becomes.

Now I know that there’s something else out there, somewhere to go where no one expects anything from me, and I’m running from it. And I don’t know why! I certainly never thought it would be this scary or difficult to choose. In fact, I really figured it wouldn’t really be a choice at all. But dreaming about it and facing it are two totally different things.

As I lie down in my bed, I know sleep will not come easy tonight. My mind is swirling with confusion – I thought I knew what I wanted, so why can’t I follow through with it?

I can feel tears sting the back of my eyes. I feel like a coward. I feel like I’m in limbo – like I took that dive off the diving board, but I’m still floating in the air, and the anticipation is rising as I wait to see if the water will catch me. God, I’m terrified.

I know the choice is coming, between his world and my own – I know this opportunity won’t be open forever. What if I miss it? What if I don’t have the guts to go through with it? What if I’m suddenly not sure of what I want?

I close my eyes and try to keep his eyes and his words out of my brain. But it’s a weak attempt. What is he doing to me?

“Hey.”

I hear the voice come from behind me, and I let out a loud breath not wanting to turn around. All I wanted to do was escape and make my way back up to my room without anyone noticing.

Fucking Rob.

I keep my head down at the ground and refuse to turn towards him. Maybe he’ll get the point.

“Hey!” I hear him say again, this time closer and with a tinge of agitation. He stops next to me and crosses his arms across his chest. He stares at me without speaking. He’s waiting.

I toy with the idea of walking away or delivering a rude remark to get him off my back…but I can’t bring myself to do it. It’s Rob and I’ve known him for years. And anyway, it’s not like I can get myself to do anything that I really want to lately.

I sigh and turn towards him slowly, looking into his eyes with a daring look. He just returns the stare.

“Why don’t we go take a seat,” he says evenly, motioning towards a tree on the outskirts of campus.

I stare him down for a minute or two more before turning towards the tree. I flop down so my back rests against the rough bark and I pull my knees up so that my outstretched arms can rest on them. I reach down to pick some grass, and begin playing with it likes it’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever seen.

“Your mom called last night,” he says. It comes off almost like a question instead of a statement. Like he expects me to answer. I throw the grass in my hands forward and watch the blades catch in the wind and fall the ground. I do not, however, offer him any further explanation.

“She asked when you were coming home because it was getting late.” Another question hidden in a statement. He really needs to learn that if he wants me to say something, he’s at least gonna have to ask me a question.

He sighs loudly at my continued silence before going on. “I told her that you were on your way home, and you must’ve taken the long way or something.”

Now I can’t help but laugh. “The long way across the street?” I ask amusedly.

“God, Chester. It’s not funny.”

The smile slips quickly from my lips. He has no idea how *not* funny it really is. I stare up into the clear brown sky and all I can mutter is “yeah” as my eyes slip shut and my head tips fully back against the trunk.

We sit in silence before a few minutes before he speaks again. “So where were you?”

“Walking,” I say simply without opening my eyes. “So, you didn’t totally lie. You don’t have to feel guilty,” I continue, thinking that’s what he wanted to hear.

I can feel him looking at me and his breathing pattern tells me he’s mentally dealing with what to say next.

“Is this about what you said yesterday?” he asks finally.

I feel an alarm go off in my head. That sinking feeling in my stomach invades – the one that recurs every time I even think about this weird teeter-totter my life seems to be riding lately. But despite the inner turmoil, I remain perfectly still on the outside, not speaking.

“Chester?” he asks reflectively after a few moments. “You know what my parents want me to be more than anything in the world?” He pauses, but I know he doesn’t expect an answer. “They want me to be a scientist. They want me to invent some great new gadget to make life easier for everyone – that’s where all the money is they say. My mom walks into the kitchen pulling out those new frozen dinner things saying ‘Who knows honey, maybe someday I’ll be pulling out your latest invention! Wouldn’t that be great?’. And I smile, and say ‘Yeah, mom. That’d be great.’”

I open my eyes and turn to see him staring off into the distance with a wishful look on his face. Then he smiles. “You know what I’d really like to do?” he says dropping his glance to his lap, “I’d like to take pictures. Be a photographer or an artist or something. That’d be really cool.”

My mood suddenly seems a little calmer and my spirit a little higher. Maybe he *does* understand – maybe I’m not alone in this. I turn towards him and ask quietly, “So what are you gonna do Rob?”

He considers it for a second before turning to me. “I’m going to be a scientist. Maybe I’ll take pictures on weekends,” he shrugs.

My hope deflates as I spring to my feet. I can’t seem to keep still, nor can I hide the exasperation in my voice. “Why Rob? Why? Why are you letting them tell you who you have to be? Don’t you think it seems unfair?”

He catches his even glance with mine and maintains his cool demeanor. “Because, Chester, it makes sense. It’s a sensible career. And they’re my parents – they’ve done a hell of a lot for me and I want to see them happy. That would make me happy.”

I can tell by his tone of voice and the intense look in his eyes that he’s trying to convince me of what he believes. I let out a loud sigh and lift my eyes to the dark brown of the tree trunk. Because I know he’s right – and therein lies my problem. The subconscious urge to make myself happy and the emotional desire to please those I love are in a bitter war right now. My inner voice versus my heart.

And my brain can’t decide which side to take. I look at both combatants and I try to be rational and objective and I try to make the right decision. But I can’t *do* any of those things!

My mind suddenly flashes with an idea.

“Rob!” I say a little too loudly. “What do you say we go to the diner for dinner tonight? I’ll call up Brad and Samantha – the four of us have never really hung out. Then maybe we can go to the movie in town tonight”

He eyes me suspiciously, so I offer a whimpering “please?” before he accepts. I grab my bag off the ground and make my way home quickly. My body and mind are reeling with excitement and fear for the coming night.

*****

The calls are made and the offer is accepted by all parties. Rob and Brad wait in the car as I disappear inside Samantha’s house for a few minutes before returning with a shyly smiling girlfriend. Her ponytail bounces and her skirt swooshes, but her eyes remain low and her hands are clasped nervously in front of her.

We arrive at the diner, and Brad and Rob pile out of the car and make their way inside. I move slowly over to Samantha’s side of the car to open her door. She accepts my hand and smiles at me quickly before letting go and walking towards the entrance. I hold another door open for her, and after she passes I let out a quick breath to calm my nerves. I just hope my plan works.

I move my eyes quickly around the diner, desperately seeking those brown eyes I’d hoped to find. All I see is the overweight cook I remember from the other night. I move to the booth that Rob and Brad picked out – the same booth I sat in just two nights ago.

I slip in next to Samantha, but am oblivious to the conversation taking place. Offhand, I can tell Brad and Rob are doing their best to make conversation with her, but I’m too distracted to notice the content.

Instead, my eyes are darting quickly to each corner of the establishment, waiting to catch a glimpse of him. As time ticks away, I feel myself getting antsy. Just as I’m about to give up and focus on the conversation of my friends, I hear it.

“MICHAEL!” It’s the cook again. I can’t stop the grin spreading across my face at the knowledge that he’s here. I see him move warily from behind the counter, but I only allow myself a quick glance before I turn back towards my companions.

It’s time to be…myself? Or whatever they know of me.

For the remainder of the time, I play my role. I laugh at Brad’s impersonations of our teachers, I roll my eyes when Rob tells Samantha about my sports achievements, and I return her occasional smiles with ones of my own.

We finish our sundaes, and I sit back fully against the booth contemplating the night. It’s funny, because I can’t say that I had a terrible time. I can’t say Samantha’s giggle isn’t endearing, or that Brad really isn’t funny or that Rob doesn’t mean well. That’s what makes this mental battle so difficult.

But I guess that’s why I’m here. I feel somber again, as I move my eyes to the grayish-brown table in front of me. I came here for a reason.

When the check comes, my plan goes into play. I pull out my wallet and hand the waitress the appropriate bills and the four of us rise from our seats. I wait for Samantha to take her place a step ahead of me and we make our way towards the door. I take one last look back at the table, making sure I see the soft black leather still sitting where I left it.

We’re halfway across the parking lot before I speak up. “Uhhhh….guys? I think I might have left my wallet inside. Why don’t you take Samantha on with you to the movie and I’ll meet you there in a few minutes?”

My heart stops as I see all three of them eye me with confusion. God, please let this work.

No one says anything for an excruciating minute, but then Brad grabs the door to the car and motions to Samantha. “Okay. Hop in Sam,” he says with the ultra-sweet smile he reserves for the ladies.

I watch them get situated and wait until they’ve pulled out of the lot before I turn back towards the diner.

I pause at the door and take a deep breath before pulling it open. I make my way back to our booth to see it already cleared. I sit down again, this time with my back to the kitchen, and stare at my hands as they play with the complimentary matchbook. I don’t move or look around - I just wait.

It’s only been minutes, but it feels like hours. My stomach rolls, my heart races and I consider leaving at least ten times every second.

But then he sits. I hear the air woosh out of the booth seat as his weight settles, as well as the slap of leather on the tabletop. I look up from my hands to see long fingers covering the black leather of my wallet.

I look up into his eyes. Mine are wide – his are knowing. It's unnerving and I have to look away.

“So, why’d you come here tonight, Chester?” he asks evenly after a few moments.

I lick my lips and stare down at the table. “I was just…you know…eating with friends.” I clear my throat at the end of the sentence, and groan inwardly as I realize I just inadvertently revealed the truth.

I close my eyes, and open them slowly to take in the man sitting across from me. He’s leaning back in his seat, one arm raised along the back of the booth and the other gently tapping my wallet. I can’t miss the crooked smile on his face.

“Yeah?” he says with a hint of laughter. “Well, why then, Chester, did you leave your wallet behind?” He picks up the wallet off the table and shakes in the air like evidence, and his eyebrows are raised in that I really know but I’m going to make you tell me look. I hate him for that look – he’s probably given it to me ten times in the grand total of two hours I’ve spent with him.

“Were you trying to prove something tonight, Chester?” he asks with a little more seriousness this time.

I look up at him desperately and shake my head no. “No…I….” I lower my eyes to get away from that intense brown stare that feels like it's reaching into my brain and pulling out my thoughts before I can even gather them. I take a deep breath before starting again. “Maybe I just wanted your take. Wanted you to see…” I trail off and bring my eyes back to his. “I wanted to make sure you see.”

The corners of his mouth rise. “See what?”

I close my eyes and sigh in frustration. He’s determined to make me elaborate when I can clearly tell that he already knows.

“Make sure you see what you thought you saw last night,” I finally say with a defeated voice. “Because I can’t see for myself.”

I watch him avidly – the smile falls from his mouth as his concentrating gaze first moves to the tabletop and then out the window. We sit like this – him watching outside and me watching him – for several minutes before he speaks.

“S’that your girlfriend?” he says without moving his eyes, his demeanor suddenly colder.

I choke momentarily on my breath in surprise. Not the question I was expecting, and my brows furrow.

“Ummm…yeah, I guess. Supposedly.”

He looks out the window for a few moments before slowly bringing his eyes to mine. They expect more.

“I mean, yeah she is. She’s really pretty, and she’s…” I pause to find the right word. It’s not coming. “She’s just…” I crinkle my face in annoyance at my own inability to complete the sentence.

“Just tell me the truth, Chester,” I hear him say. The truth – f*ck! It’s so unsettling - so unbelievable - to sit here and hear him tear apart my every thought. He knows it’s an act when no one else the world ever did. I purse my lips in resignation.

“She’s just *too* perfect. I know that doesn’t sound right, because who wouldn’t want someone perfect? But just once I wish she’d speak to me before I spoke to her, or told me about her day instead of asking about mine. Hell, I wish one day she’d just yell at me for ignoring her half the time like I do. Everything about it - it’s just too… expected, too easy.”

“So you’re looking for something not quite so easy?” he says, locking his eyes with mine. “Most people don’t want to stray from the easy, Chester. Is that what you want?”

With his eyes boring into me like that, I can’t speak. But he knows anyway. He leans in across the table, his voice becoming more passionate.

“Then come with me tonight! Shake those guys and meet me at Moody’s. I don’t think you’ll forgive yourself if you don’t try it at least once.” He pauses but doesn’t break the stare. “Come with me. Try it,” he says determinedly.

I stare into the depth of his eyes, and know that I long for what I see in there. The freedom, the choice, the knowledge. He’s right, I’ve got to try it. I nod my head slowly at him.

He’s about to speak again when we’re startled out of our conversation. “MICHAEL!”

He rolls his eyes at the sound of his boss’ voice, but he immediately pulls himself out of the booth.

I call out to him before he’s too far away to hear. “Wait for me outside?” I say a little too hurriedly and an octave too high.

He simply smiles and nods his head before disappearing into the kitchen.

I close my eyes and let out a long sigh. I’m strung tight – nervous as hell by what I just agreed to. But it’s not just that - I’m completely unnerved by his eyes; the looks and smiles he casts my way. It makes me feel…naked.

A shiver runs down my spine as I pull myself up from the booth. I exhale loudly – I can’t believe I’m about to ditch my two oldest friends and my girlfriend. I don’t even know myself anymore.

I guess it’s a good thing Michael seems to.

I decide the easiest thing for me to do is to just not return to the movie theater. I’ll make up some story about how my wallet was already gone and I had to go the police station…and yeah, whatever. That’s the last thing on my mind at the moment.

I rush home and scamper up the stairs two at a time, all the while ignoring the puzzled look on my mother’s face. I quickly throw my letter jacket on the bed and scan my closet for that black sweater I’ve never actually worn.

The back of my mind flirts with the notion that I’m searching to blend in again, but in my haste I really don’t care.

I dart out of my room quickly and exit the house in a flourish. Once outside, I make a concerted effort to slow myself down. I get the impression that appearing too eager would not work in my favor with this crowd.

I slow my pace and relax my shoulders – but I can’t slow my heartbeat. It’s beating frantically inside my chest, and gains speed with every step closer to my destination. When I get to the main drag, I stop and take a deep breath before continuing. I stop to look in each store window, despite the fact that they’re all closed for the night, just to waste time and attempt to soothe my nerves.

When I reach the window of the bookstore, I lean back against the cold brick façade, cross my arms in front of my chest and down at my shoes. All I can do now is wait.

It’s several minutes before I sense someone moving into my personal space. I know it’s him because I can feel his eyes on me – it’s something I’ve gotten used to in the last few days. He’s changed from his diner get-up into his basic black. Only this time his pants are tight and a black silk shirt wafts smoothly over his tight torso.

“Hey. You ready?” he asks, motioning towards the alley.

I pick myself up from the wall and give him a quick nod, my nerves inhibiting my ability to speak. He smiles back, and I turn to follow him down the alley. He holds the door open for me, and I only pause momentarily before crossing the threshold.

As the door closes behind him, we’re encased in complete darkness. I’m thankful I can feel the heat of his body behind me. I turn my head towards where I think his face should be, not knowing what to do next. I feel the entire length of his arm brush against mine, and part of his chest meets my shoulder as he reaches for something in front of me. I try to ignore the shiver that runs down my spine at the contact.

He pulls open another door and nudges me inside. My mouth gapes open slightly at the sight in front of me. The room is small and dark, but somehow still welcoming. The little light comes from small lamps at the center of several small, dark tables scattered across the center of the room. The colored glass of the shades casts the room in warm oranges and pinks and maybe a touch of brown. What I can see of the carpet and walls reveals that they are also the same warm, rich colors. Posters are haphazardly plastered around the space, each one bearing the name and place of some musician/author/poet’s latest appearance.

Along the back of the square room are several stacks of oversized pillows perfect for lounging, and in the corner there’s a small couch and armchair. In the enclave next to the door resides a small bar with no one tending. My eyes are finally drawn to the last corner of the room. There, shrouded in darkness, is a piano. I eye it with interest for several seconds because it somehow seems out of place. Not because it’s a piano, but because it’s so elegant – a baby grand, shinny and black. I’d expect to see it in a mansion, or a stuffy old piano teacher’s house, but not here in a room of self-proclaimed outsiders.

I can feel Michael watching me intently as I study the piano, but he still startles me when he speaks.

“You play?” he asks with a grin on his face.

“Uhhhh…no. Well, yeah. Used to – mom’s orders. It’s been awhile though,” I say with a shrug.

He smiles and nods his head. “So, what do you think of the place?” he says with a wider grin than before. I know that look – it’s the same one my dad gives when showing off my basketball trophies.

I smile and nod. “It’s nice. Not really like what I thought,” I say with a nervous laugh.

His eyes narrow in confusion at me, “What did you expect?”

“No, nothing like that,” I say with a hint of laughter in my voice, “I thought it’d be…darker, maybe? I don’t know.” I throw a smile his way so he knows I’m sincere. “It’s cozy.”

He smiles and shakes his head at me before moving towards a table. As we take a seat, I notice there’s only one other couple in the place, gathered close together at one of the small round tables at the other side of the room.

“We’re early,” he says, “people will be filtering in later.” I nod, but can’t stop the slight frown on my face when I realize he’s reading my thoughts again.

“What’s wrong?” he asks before I get the chance to voice my concern.

I sigh heavily and feel my eyebrows furrow as I watch my hands intently. “It’s just that you seem to know everything about me. What I’m gonna say before I say it. Why I would want to come to a place like this. What’s going on in my life.” I pause momentarily. “It’s just that I don’t even know these things myself…and you just…YOU do.” I raise my eyes to focus on the wall, knowing the frustration is evident in my voice.

“Chester,” he says softly, leaning towards me and moving his hand to grasp tightly on my thigh, “You’re not the first one to be confused about your life. It’s just that I’ve seen it before.” He pauses. “I’ve *felt* it before. You’re not alone in this anymore, so don’t be afraid.”

I turn my eyes to his and search them deeply. In the depths of his eyes and the heat of his hand spreading up my thigh, I can feel the truth. My breath catches in the back of my throat and I can feel tears that want to burn the back of my eyes. My heart swells with the idea that I’m not alone – even though I’m not sure I ever realized I was.

Caught up in the moment, all I can do is smile weakly at him and offer a muted, “Thank you.”

He slaps his hand on my knee one time before sitting up straight again.

It’s a few deep breaths before I can clear my mind.

“So,” I say once I’ve recovered, “You seem to know so much about me, but I know nothing about you…Michael.” It’s the first time I’ve said his name out loud, and it seems foreign coming off my tongue.

He laughs. “Michael?” He shakes his head. “No, call me Mike or at least Mikey. Michael is the name my boss decided I had to use at the diner because it seemed ‘more appropriate’,” he says, rolling his eyes.

“What do your parents call you?” I ask casually. But I don’t miss the changed look on his face – dark and almost somber as he lowers his gaze to the floor.

“They don’t call me much of anything as of late,” he says sadly. But he only dwells in that mood for a second before looking back up to me and smiling, “Mike is fine.”

My stomach drops at the look on his face – that utter sadness. But his quick recovery makes me think he’s not looking for my pity. Instead, I change the subject.

“Are you from around here? I don’t really remember you…”

“No, I came here about six months ago. From Iowa. I got a bus pass that would take me as far as I could afford and this happened to be it,” he says lightly. “Bad luck, I guess,” he laughs.

“I’d say,” I smile back.

“What? You mean rural New Jersey isn’t just heaven on earth for you?” We share in a sarcastic laugh before lapsing back into silence.

“So, Chester. What’s your passion?” he asks eventually, his tone serious.

I stare at him confused. “What?”

“You know, what do you love to do? What do you live for?”

I furrow my brows in confusion. “I…I don’t know what you mean. I like to play basketball I guess…”.

He raises his eyebrows at me. “You live to play basketball?”

I shake my head, “No. Not really. I’m good at it,” I shrug.

“Oh,” he says with a quick, knowing nod before looking away.

“Well, what about you? What do you live for?” I respond a bit flustered.

“Music,” he says as turns back to me with a huge grin. “God, I *love* it! It just…gets inside me and filters into every cell of my body and I can *feel* it. It’s a rush, man - to hear one of the greats go at it. Like Tool! Or Deftones or Dido. I’ve never heard them live, but even on records…it’s so incredible!”

I really have no idea who he’s talking about, but I watch him still with rapt attention. His arms gesticulate wildly around to punctuate his excitement and his eyes crinkle as the huge grin takes over his face. But the sparkle in his eye isn’t hidden – it glows twice as brightly. In the muted warm colors of our surroundings, the silvery-brown of his eyes stands out brilliantly.

I can’t help but return his smile. I know what he means now by passion. I know that I’d never talk about basketball the way he just spoke about music. And right now I know that I desperately want nothing more than to find my passion – whatever it is that can bring that same rapture to my face.

“Hey, there’s Joe,” he says quickly, motioning for his friend to come over. I watch the man make his way towards us. He’s short and kinda broad in a way that makes him resemble a square. He’s wearing dark jeans and a black leather motorcycle jacket with the sleeves too long and the unfastened straps making noise as he walks. He carries an empty look on his face.

He sits next to Mike, but his cool eyes remain steadily on me, making the hair stand up on the back of my neck. He wears a wry smile on his face.

“So, Mike. I see you got him to come inside this time.”

I feel uneasiness spread through me.

“Shut up, Joe. If I recall correctly, you used to sit in the corner by yourself until I came around,” Mike responds. “His *name* is Chester, by the way.”

I nod my head at him in greeting, but he doesn’t reciprocate. “You look young,” is all he says.

“I’m…” my voice cracks and I curse inwardly. I clear my throat to continue. “I’m eighteen. Old enough.” I only wish my voice sounded strong instead of defensive.

“Yeah…” he draws out slowly, ending his sentence with another cynical smile.

I try to hide my frown. “Is there a bathroom around here?” I ask Mike.

“Yeah, it’s over there.” He points to the corner near where the bar is, and by the look on his face I can tell he knows I’m not asking because I have to go. I just needed to get out of here for a few minutes.

I vaguely wonder what I’m doing here - ponder whether I should stay. Being with Mike is one thing, but then this other guy has to come and I feel so…uncomfortable and out of my element. It’s a foreign sensation to me and I’m not sure I’m ready to handle it.

As I exit the door however, I catch Mike’s brown eyes glowing at me from across the room. Joe is talking to him, but I’m not sure he’s even listening because he hasn’t broken our stare. And it’s intense, like there’s a visible stream of electricity radiating from one set of eyes to the other.

Suddenly, there’s no doubt in my mind that I want to stay – that I’ve GOT to stay - and I’m not going to let that bitter friend of Mike’s get the better of me.

As I approach the table, I hear Joe asking evenly something about “swinging your way?”

Mike responds with a small smile, “A man can hope, can’t he?”

“Hope what?” I ask as I sit back in my chair.

“Nothing,” Mike responds quickly with a smile. He almost seems shy in that moment as his face heats to a nice shade of pink.

And there’s Joe, with that damn sarcastic grin of his again - only this time it’s focused on Mike. That part of me that can’t stop thinking of Mike as ‘mine’ wants to growl at him.

I study the man next to me, the dim lights casting mysterious shadows across the sharp lines of his face. I think I could watch him all day and be satisfied – just to watch the way his eyes react to things around him with constant interest and insight. And the way his cheeks turn into these totally pinchable pouches when his smile overtakes his face. I think maybe, just by watching him, I could learn so much about living.

But it’s when he speaks that he draws me in like a magnet. The way he reads my mind. The way can articulate what I’m feeling with pinpoint accuracy when I’m nothing more than marble-mouthed. This is when I feel like he’s mine – even after only three days. It means so much to me already and I don’t want to think that he could share this connection with just anyone – that I could’ve been any poor schmuck who had a hard day. I want to be as special to him as he is to me.

Having these kind of intense connections to a virtual stranger is a bit odd – I can’t deny that. It almost makes it feel surreal – like I’m separate from my body. But I can’t deny myself feeling them. Not here - not in his presence - the whole reason I came here was to stop fighting myself. So for the first time, I feel things without feeling the need to define them. That alone makes me feel freer than I’ve felt in awhile.

The three of us sit in silence for a few minutes as I engross myself in Mike. Joe pulls out a cigarette and takes in long drags, squinting his eyes and blowing smoke up towards the ceiling. More people are coming in now, and it’s not long before there are a few more people sitting at our table.

They strike up a conversation with Joe, who seems to know them. He introduces Mike and I as an afterthought a few minutes into their conversation.

I content myself with sitting back and listening to them animatedly discuss people I’ve never heard of, or only vaguely heard mentioned on the news. Mike stays mostly quiet as well, picking up Joe’ cigarette occasionally for a quick drag but never lighting one of his own. He jumps into the conversation when it turns to an argument over who the greatest living jazz legend is, but retreats again when the focus turns to some guy named Kerouac. Kare-whack.

I just sit like a sponge – wanting to take in every aspect of my surroundings. The ease, the lively conversation, the casual atmosphere, the mutual understanding. The Passion. It feels electric. I desperately wish I could save everything I’ve soaked up, and squeeze it out whenever I felt like it. When my dad is glaring at me over the top of his glasses at the dinner table. When I sit under those blinding florescent lights at school and a teacher gives me that expectant look right before I turn in an assignment.

“Hey,” Mike says as he turns to me suddenly, “It’s getting pretty late. You should probably go, huh?”

“What? Oh. Yeah, I guess I probably should.”

I turn and look at our tablemates to offer the obligatory ‘nice to meet you’ or ‘it was a pleasure’, only to find them engaged completely in their conversation. I’ve got a feeling those kind of niceties aren’t all the necessary here, anyway.

I pick myself up from the table, and I can’t help but smile as I feel Mike fall in step behind me. I make my way through the doors and slow down so that I’m walking side-by-side with him. He stops when we get to the end of the alley. We face each other, both leaning against opposite sides of the brick walls.

“So,” he says smiling as he crosses his arms across his chest. “What did you think?”

I look down, but can’t hide the smile taking over my face. “It was amazing,” I say quietly, finally bringing my eyes to his. “I mean, I didn’t know half of the things they were talking about. Actually, I didn’t know like *anything* they were talking about. But it didn’t matter because I could feel it, you know? Like, I could feel the excitement and the energy and the release.” I realize I’m talking wildly with my hands, so I stuff them in the pockets of my khakis, a bit embarrassed by my childish excitement. “I loved seeing those things,” I say returning my eyes to my feet.

“Seeing the passion,” he says simply.

I feel the muscles in my face go slack as I lift my eyes to meet his. The passion. The passion I saw most clearly in his eyes just an hour earlier when talking about music.

“Yeah,” I say breathlessly, almost in wonderment.

He keeps his eyes locked with mine for a few moments with that wide, knowing smile plastered across his face. I wonder what he knows now - I can’t wait to find out.

He lifts himself off the wall and moves stealthily towards me. It’s a slow walk, his eyes never breaking from mine. His smile is a bit crooked and his head is slightly cocked to one side. My breath catches in my throat as his tongue snakes out to lick his lips.

He grabs my shoulder and gives it a quick squeeze. I hold my breath.

“See you later, Chester,” he says softly. I can feel his body heat cloud around me and my heart is pounding as his simple touch spreads a warmth throughout my body.

Then he releases my shoulder and lets his hand graze lazily over my bicep and down my arm before crossing it back over his chest. A shiver runs down my spine at his touch, and when the contact breaks this nagging disappointment settles in my stomach. But I’m not sure what I was expecting.

I nod at him. “Yeah…” I say in a breathless tone.

He smiles one last time before turning and walking back towards the thick brown door. I watch him retreat, and all I can think about is how long I’ll have to wait before I can talk to him again.

Four days. That’s how long I manage to wait before I find myself back in these red leather seats at the diner. Not that I hadn’t wanted to be here before – it seemed like every time I stepped out my front door my feet itched to walk in this direction. But it’s four days before I can’t stop myself anymore.

I lean my head against the cold glass of the window; contemplating the turn my life has suddenly taken.

These last few days have really felt nothing like I thought they would. As I traipsed home last Friday night, I thought I’d never live through another day without feeling like I was suffocating. I thought my friends and my parents were going to drive me crazy because they didn’t even try to understand me like Mike did. I thought I’d be miserable.

Funny how I wasn’t. I actually feel serene – calm, refreshed, rejuvenated. So many of the things that used to annoy me roll off my back now like they couldn’t before. Simply because now I know there’s something else – I’ve got options – and maybe someday I won’t have to deal with the annoyances. It’s a comforting thought.

I feel like I’m looking at the world through a brand new pair of eyes – everything has a new slant as I examine things with my new perception of the world. I’m searching for that *thing* - that one thing that’s going to make my eyes light up as brightly as Mike’s. I let myself wonder about what *I* want, and the exhilaration of it reflects in my attitude. I stop sniping at Brad, I give Samantha genuinely warm smiles and I stop ignoring my parents.

I feel like the sides of my personal battle have called a truce. It’s like when you’re a kid at the playground, and you climb up to the middle of the teeter-totter and put one leg on each side in an attempt to balance both sides evenly off the ground. You stick your tongue out in concentration, testing how to throw your weight to achieve the equilibrium. And when you’ve finally achieved your goal, you smile widely and throw your hands up in the air in achievement.

I love this balance – this comfort in two different worlds – and for some reason I feel the need to share it with him.

I sit back in my booth, stare into the evening sky with a smile on my face. Waiting and knowing he’ll come eventually.

When I hear the sound of someone sitting across from me, I sit up straight to find him slouched comfortably in the booth. I feel like the biggest dork because there’s absolutely no reason for my smile to be this big. But I can’t stop – smiles are nearly impossible to fight off once they break. Especially when one is being returned to you.

“It’s Tuesday. Out on a school night?” he says with a sly smile. “This is getting to be a habit.”

“Yeah,” I say, still grinning beyond my control, “I told them I had this ‘business leaders of tomorrow’ club at school.” My smile turns into a quiet laugh, which he again returns.

“So, they just believe you?”

“Hey! Don’t forget I’m Chester Bennington, model son!” I say with mock bravado.

I would normally cringe if that statement came out of anyone’s mouth, let alone my own. But around Mike, I know someone else finally appreciates the irony. I can actually use this pervasive perception of my perfection to get away with what would undoubtedly be labeled ‘unacceptable’ behavior if they knew what I was really doing. It’s quite funny, really.

“Let the corruption begin,” he says with a devious smile.

“What?” I ask with a laugh.

“I’m joking, Chester,” he laughs. “But seriously, would you have lied to your parents a week and a half ago?” he asks with his eyebrows raised.

I feel my face scrunch in consideration. “You’re a bad influence on me,” I say lightly, as if I just realized it. He flashes me a devilish grin.

He’s at work so we can’t talk long, but the rest of our conversation is as comfortable as it is inconsequential. This time it’s his being and not his words that I’m reveling in. I needed to refuel in him because I haven’t quite managed to inspire the sense of freedom and individuality in myself yet. But one look into his eyes that can read me like a book; one sly smile flashed my way in deviant promise is enough to send me soaring again.

It feels like only seconds before the sound of his boss’ voice resonates through the diner. As he gets up to leave, I realize he never asks me why I came. I can guess he already knows though. It doesn’t bother me as much as it used to.

I watch him steadily as he saunters casually back to the kitchen. Before he disappears completely, he turns back to me slowly. “See you Thursday, Chester.”

My eyebrows furrow when he doesn’t even wait for a response. Thursday? Was I not paying attention to something he said? Or was that an invitation? An invitation where?

I sit back against the booth with a sigh. Guess I’ve got something to do on Thursday.

*****

The walk to the diner Thursday evening gives me the distinct feeling of transition. Like it’s more than just walking down the street. All day, I saunter around my familiar world with my familiar friends and act in that ever so familiar way. Then these stolen nights come around and I let that side of myself go for the side that I’m just beginning to explore.

But at this very moment, I don’t feel like either. This is when I struggle to keep my balance and the teeter-totter begins to falter. The gradually darkening sky reminds me that it’s neither day nor night, and I feel like I can identify with my gray atmosphere. If I were to run into someone I know at this very moment, I’m not sure I’d know how to act or who to be. It’s an uncomforting feeling so I pick up my pace to escape the transience.

When I get to the diner, he’s already outside leaning against the grayish brick. The slight breeze is picking up his loose spikes and making them dance gracefully around his head.

“Hey,” he says with a half smile. There’s something different about him tonight – not as bright.

“Hey,” I respond just as evenly, eyes furrowed a bit in confusion.

He backs away from the wall and starts walking away from the diner, never even turning back to see if I’m following. I do, of course, jogging a few steps to catch up.

We walk in a comfortable but serious silence. I absorb his mood – unfocused gaze on the sidewalk, hands stuffed in pockets. I glance over at him occasionally, watching things pass through his downcast eyes. I can’t quite place it – there’s a sense of melancholy intermixed with flashes of anger or excitement or anything equally emotional.

The idea that maybe we’re both in transition flashes across my mind – leaving one world for another.

At one point, I turn to sneak in a quick glance only to find him not there. I stop instantly and desperately dart my eyes around searching for him. I spot him a few doors down, facing an entrance but with his head turned towards me with a playful smile. I smile and duck my head, instantly embarrassed by how agitated I became at his sudden disappearance.

As I walk slowly back towards him, he pulls keys out of his pocket and dangles them for me to see. He nods towards the old, dilapidated building at the end of the main drag.

“’S my place,” he says as he turns the key and enters the door.

I move towards the entranceway, but pause before entering. My stomach flutters and I get the strange sensation that I’m entering more than just a door. This is different than the casual talks at the diner or the enlightening experiences at the club – this is *his* place. It’s the first time he’s brought something personal to this…whatever it is that we have.

But I suck it up and take that first step. I follow him up a narrow dark stairwell; the lone light fixture dead overhead leaving only the fading sunlight filtering in through the dirty window to illuminate our way. He stops at a thick, windowless door that is now dark brown, but chips in the paint reveal its former green and cream coats.

He pulls the keys out of the door and throws it open with his hip before slipping inside. I pause again at the threshold, frozen as the door begins to close in front of me. Before the latch can catch, however, his hand darts out to stop it.

He stands there in the doorway, his turquoise work shirt now untucked. His hand is on his hip and his face is still dim.

“Quit being shy Chester,” he says quickly with a sigh that reveals his slight agitation. I know he doesn't mean it, but his words make me feel like a kid.

I swallow thickly and enter, but I again pause just inside the door, not sure of what to do next. I guess I *am* a kid - waiting around for some adult to tell me what to do like they always have. But not here.

His place turns out to be a small room with white walls and dark wood paneling. In the corner, under the lone window, is the bed, which is really only a mattress on the floor. The sheets and blankets are strewn haphazardly across it and cascade onto the floor. There’s a single unlit lamp with a yellowed shade on the floor and under it lays a record player and a small stack of albums piled neatly. On the other side of the room is a small olive green folding table with metal trim and two matching chairs – the kind that appears on most people’s patios.

“Take a seat.” I hear his voice come from the fourth corner of the room. It’s empty except for a smile pile of clothes on the floor.

I don’t move, looking around the room to figure out where to go. My stomach turns again.

I hear another exasperated sigh, “The bed Chester. You’ll find it’s more comfortable than it looks.” I don’t mean to annoy him, but my feet just don’t seem to be working. I look back to him and then to the bed. It just seems so…intimate.

When he sighs again, I finally move the corner of the mattress and stiffly take a seat. The room is relatively dark, seeming to matching the drabness of the décor as well as the current mood of the resident.

I draw my eyes back to the man in the corner as he crouches over his pile of clothes, picking out something to wear. And then, as he unfolds his body into a standing position, my breath catches in my throat and something shifts in my brain.

There’s something so incredibly graceful in the way he rises, like someone taking a folded silk sheet and shaking it out in the breeze. Fluid, lithe and completely…gorgeous? Can I say that about…a man? I mean…yeah…but it’s the right word. My tongue suddenly feels thick.

His back is turned to me, but I can see his hands working on the buttons of his shirt. When he starts to pull it off his shoulders, I can feel my eyes widen at the way the shadows play over the smooth ripples that dance under pale skin as he moves. I feel the urge to feel them – to lay my palm flat over the waves of muscles.

When his hands reach for the fly of his pants, I stop breathing completely. My eyes refuse to look away or even blink and my open mouth goes dry. I stare at the trim waist, the muscled thighs, the way his long fingers run smoothly through his hair to get it out of his face. It’s breathtaking – I never imagined a person could move, could *exist*, with such grace.

I swallow thickly when my nose begins to tickle with that undeniable warning of imminent tears. What is going on with me? I shouldn’t be doing this – I shouldn’t be feeling this. This isn’t right! But not even my fear and confusion can get me to look away.

Not until he turns back to me after dressing fully. My eyes fall instantly to my feet and a fierce blush paints my cheeks. I shake my head, trying to break the force of my colliding emotions – fear and adoration; confusion and desire. It’s an intoxicating mix.

But I guess I can place my uncertainness now. More intimate, indeed.

*****

It’s another silent walk to the club – me wrapped up in these new feelings and him lost in his own little world too. It’s startling and scary, and I can feel my balanced, teeter-totter world wavering dangerously. I almost feel seasick.

Once inside, I wait for him to move towards a table. Instead, we stand at the entrance for a few silent moments before he licks his lips and turns to me.

“I gotta play,” he says evenly.

He leaves me there to watch him stroll smoothly across the room to sit down at the piano. I move after him slowly, cursing myself for the urge to sit next to him on the bench. Instead, I pull a chair from the nearest table and turn to face him.

Again, my gaze is fixed on him completely. His elegant fingers move silently over the keys at first, almost in a caress, and his eyes are closed softly. I can visibly see the tension begin to fall out of his shoulders.

My breath catches when he leans his head back, revealing a smooth, pale neck and allowing his longish hair to fall back in graceful waves.

And then he starts to play. It’s a piece so smooth and melancholy and haunting that I can feel the emotion in my bones. That stinging sensation returns to my eyes and nose – because of what he plays, because of how he plays, because of whom he plays.

I’m lost in him, and scared to death. But even more scared to leave.

The pace of his playing starts to pick up – the smooth melody occasionally interrupted by staccato runs that bring a sense of excitement to the song. His body follows the music – rocking slowly during the slurred sections and head and hair bouncing frantically in time with the quicker parts.

‘It just gets inside me.’ I remember his words from the last time we were here. There’s certainly no other way to describe it.

When he finishes his song, he turns to me. I’m startled to see the sparkle back in his eyes and a genuine smile return to his face. He’s the Mike I’ve come to know again – and he’s all the more beautiful.

He takes a seat next to me, still smiling while I stare at him blankly. My mind is reeling in confusion – what just happened to him? What *is* happening to me?

“What…” My voice cracks so I pause to gather myself. “What just happened?” I say more evenly but obviously confused.

He narrows his brows at me, smiling at my confusion. “What?” he asks.

I lick my lips, trying to figure out what to say. I let out a loud sigh before continuing, my hands moving with my words in frustration.

“I just mean you were so…quiet or something before. And then you sat down there…and you just…like lit up. I don’t get it. What happened?”

“Music, Chester,” he smiles at me knowingly. “Remember when I asked you what your passion was and you didn’t know? And I said mine was music?” I nod. “Well, that’s why you don’t understand and I do.”

My look of confusion must still be painted across my face because he continues.

“Look, Chester. My life isn’t perfect. It’s far from it, in fact. I have a hard time with things.” He sighs and for a moment I see that sadness return. But then he shakes it off and the smile returns. “But then music allows me to release that sh!t. It reminds me what I live for – of what’s important and what’s too insignificant to get me down.”

I stare at him silently for a few minutes – envious, confused, upset and turned on all at once. It’s a rush of emotion and I feel like I’m choking on it. I don’t realize I’m holding my breath until he thumps me on the back with a smile and the words ‘it’ll come, don’t be so hard on yourself’.

But I can’t help it. No way. Not with the sudden weight on my shoulders. Joe and others I don’t know come in a settle at our table, but I barely notice them. All elements to their conversation are lost on me as I stare at the black shiny table trying to make sense of everything.

But all I can focus on is the image of Mike at the piano overlapped with his words of passion and insight. I’m consumed with the thought as my heart starts beating wildly and the world starts spinning.

I jump up suddenly, almost knocking my chair over. I see his eyes rise to meet me in surprise. “I gotta go,” I say in a rush of air. I move quickly away from the table, and I see him move to accompany me. I turn quickly again, barely being able to croak out a “no” to stop him.

He obviously gets my point as he stops trying to move. He gets a hold of my arm though, forcing me to lock on his intense knowing glare. “Tomorrow,” he says quietly but evenly, “we’ll talk.”

Tears are quickly forming in my eyes so all I can do is nod before making a hurried and awkward exit.

On the walk home, all I can think about is how I content I had been all week. How I felt balanced and happy and at the center of my figurative teeter-totter life.

I guess it’s been too long since I’ve spent time at the playground. I forgot how easily that balance is lost. How even the slightest change – the slightest shift in body weight or the softest breeze or…or the mental image of a half-naked man – is able to crash one side to the ground and send the other quickly to the apex of its height. And how it’s completely impossible to keep from falling from your position in the middle.

I feel sick to my stomach the entire next day at school. I keep my head down in class to avoid getting called on and I don’t speak to my friends between classes. I just watch them in envy, suddenly wishing that I had never gotten myself into all this. Wishing I could be happy with the lives they’re living – the life I used to live. Things might’ve been planned out, but they were easy. Everything made sense. Now nothing does.

For the millionth time that day, I wonder what is going on with me. What made me react to Mike like I was staring at one of those naked women in Brad’s dad’s magazines? Why does my heart feel like it’s going to explode when he looks at me with that sparkle in his eye? Am I just jealous that he knows himself so well, and that he’s free to express it? Can’t it just be that?

My stomach twists as that voice in the back of my head tells me that no matter how badly I want it to be, it’s not just that. It’s more.

I’m starting to feel like I don’t even know the Chester that roams these school hallways like a king. That Chester would be hyped up in anticipation of the coming basketball season; and that Chester would make sure everyone saw Samantha on his arm; and that Chester would have absolutely no reason to know a guy like Mike or to feel like something was inherently missing when he wasn’t around. But as it is, I’m only some apparition of my former self, even if no one else notices. I’m never even sure they’ve actually seen me – really *seen* me – before anyway, so I guess I can’t expect them to see the difference. But that doesn’t make me feel any less alone.

I’m so caught up in my own thoughts that I don’t even realize I’ve agreed to go to the diner with Rob and Brad for dinner. I wasn’t paying attention to what they were saying, and the “yeah, sure” just slipped out before I could realize what I was agreeing to.

But fu'ck, the reality has hit me hard now. The diner. Brad and Rob. Mike. Me and my fu'cked up head. All together at once. My stomach revolts just as much as my head, and I run into my house and empty my stomach in one violent heave.

I sigh and lean back against the cool tile walls. How am I ever going to get through this night?

*****

When Brad picks me up, I slink into the backseat without saying a word. I stare at my hands in my lap and silently will the car to breakdown or for Mike to have the night off.

But in what seems to be no time at all, we’re there. I walk quickly into the diner ahead of the other two, hoping that at least my second wish came true. But for once, his eyes are the first ones I see. The corners of his mouth rise in a smile as my own face falls. I look to the floor and then behind me to see Brad and Rob filing in. I turn back to Mike just in time to see the smile fall from his face.

Brad and Rob cross in front of me, unaware of the intense gaze passing between Mike and myself. I finally break away to see Brad moving into a booth – a booth on the other side of the diner than we usually sit on. My heart catches in my throat. That’s Mike’s side.

I slowly walk to the booth and sit down without picking my gaze off the floor. Brad and Rob talk playfully, but I don’t hear their words. I feel just as alone when I’m with them as I do when no one else is around.

My gaze roams from the table to my hands to the swinging door of the kitchen. He’s back there, and I don’t feel alone when he’s around. Not alone, just petrified – that’s all. It’s some kind of insane paradox where I feel a comfortable loneliness around two people I’ve known forever and an unsettling, gut-wrenching connection with a man I’ve known all of a couple weeks.

We sit for a few minutes before he emerges from behind the door, carrying three glasses of water in his hand. Our eyes are locked as he makes his way to our booth, but I quickly look away when he stands at the head of the table. He sets our waters down, and I can’t bring myself to look at him. I can’t put the right words to it, but him serving me seems so inherently wrong.

“What can I get you?” he says evenly, staring at his notepad. I vaguely hear Rob and Brad order and I feel it when all three sets of eyes are on me, waiting for me to order. But only one gaze bores holes in the top of my downcast head.

“I’ll ummm…” I clear my throat. “I’ll just have a cheeseburger,” I say quietly. He’s gone in a flash, and all I want to do is bury my head in my hands. But I can’t raise that kind of suspicion.

“Hey, Chester,” Brad says, interrupting my self-pity. “Samantha looked so good today! Geeze, I didn’t think it was possible for her to look even better, but she sure proved me wrong!”

I let out a sigh, knowing that I couldn’t have told him what Samantha was wearing today for a thousand dollars. I nod, but I can’t miss the confused look that passes between my two long-time friends.

“What’s up with you, man?” Brad asks, almost annoyed.

“Is something wrong, Chester?” Rob asks a little more concerned.

Before I even get the chance to wrack my brain for an answer that will placate them, my eye catches Mike’s form heading back to us with our sodas in hand. I forget a question was ever asked.

My eyes don’t leave him as he delivers our drinks and turns to leave, eyes lingering at the door even after he passes through it. I don’t even notice Brad looking from me to Rob with a scheming smile on his face. It’s not until he speaks that my attention is diverted.

“Hey, you know what I heard about that guy?” he asks, motioning with his head towards the kitchen.

My face and stomach fall instantly. This is not happening. I groan inwardly as my head starts to pound. This can’t be happening.

“My brother was telling me that there’s place that all these weirdoes go on the weekend to do drugs and read all these weird books and poems and stuff.” He leans across the table and speaks in a hushed tone, as if the fate of the free world depends on his words. “And they’re planning to overthrow the government, man! I think they’re communists!”

I choke on my water, and try to resist the temptation to bolt from my seat and run. I start coughing uncontrollably, and Rob reaches across the table to pound on my back. “You okay?” he asks as he moves back down in his seat.

I nod mutely, the look on my face some cross between complete fear and utter desperation. I need this to be over right now. Right now, right now, right now.

But before I can even remotely settle down, Mike is back with our food in hand. I stare up at him with wide eyes, desperately wanting him to *do* something – to save me. But he’s not even looking at me!

The tears threatening to appear almost do so when Mike places Brad’s food in front of him.

“You didn’t lace this with any of your *stuff*, did you?” he says under his breath with a laugh. I want to hit him and hide at the same time.

Mike lets out a quick grunt in response as he continues to give out the food.

“You know,” my stomach turns when Brad starts speaking again, “these seats are such a lovely shade of red. Don’t you think…Michael?” he pauses to read his nametag. “Red is a *great* color, isn’t it?” he asks, looking up at Mike with a wry smile.

Brad jumps, and I can tell Rob gave him a nudge that I’m silently thankful for. Brad returns the elbow with a look that says ‘What did I do?’ .

Mike plasters an obviously fake smile on his face, and raps his knuckles on the tabletop one time before speaking. “Red *is* a great color. I’d have to say my favorite.” The fake smile grows as he turns fully towards Brad and raising one of his eyebrows in consideration before walking away coolly.

I think Brad’s face falls almost as much as mine. What the hell is Mike trying to do? What is *Brad* trying to do?

If I could eat, I’d scarf my food down so we could get out of here as quickly as possible. But my food looks as appetizing as a big ball of grease and I push it away from me.

“Ummm…how about I eat yours?” Brad asks, suddenly eyeing his own plate nervously like maybe Mike actually did lace it with something.

“Yeah, whatever,” I mumble quietly.

I vaguely hear Brad murmur under his breath “told you he was one of those weirdoes.”

At that moment, I can’t help my forehead from hitting the tabletop. I sit like that until Mike returns to ask if we want anything else. I look up to find that same sickly-sweet smile on his face. I can feel the color leave my face.

Brad is the only one that orders something, but instead of walking away, Mike speaks.

“You want a chocolate milkshake?” More fake smile. “Yeah, sure. Anything for you…” he trails off, his voice scheming.

I want to throw-up again when I see Brad’s face steel in anger. “You know what? Forget it! I don’t want *anything* from your weird ass! You got it? Just bring us our checks and see if you get a tip at all loser!”

“Your checks? Gladly,” Mike responds without cracking his smile. I want him to look at me. I want him to catch the apology in my eyes because I know he’ll read it. But he won’t look at me. I feel defeated and strangely alone. Right now, I refuse to consider Brad my friend, and what the hell did Mike just do?

My elbows are on the table, and I bury my face in my hands.

“Chester? Chester, what’s wrong?”

I look up at Rob, unable to hide the sadness in my eyes.

“Nothing,” I say quietly, “I’m…ummm…I’m just not feeling well. I got sick earlier. So…ummm…if you guys don’t mind, I’m just going to go home.”

As I put my jacket back on, Brad speaks up. “Well, don’t let that jerk ruin your night,” he says angrily as his eyes glare at the still swinging door Mike just passed through.

I don’t respond, I just walk out the door. Once outside, I take a deep breath to compose myself, and I move towards the side of the building. I lean against the cool brick, but I can barely bring myself to stand. I slowly slide to sit on the ground, intent on waiting.

*****

I saw Rob and Brad leave the dinner over an hour ago, but I still haven’t moved. I know the diner closes any minute now, so I’m just waiting.

When I finally spot him, he’s got his hands plunged deeply in his pockets and his head stares down at his feet. I remember the stance from the night before - it must be his post-work walk. I get up hurriedly and make my way over to him. He looks up at me, but doesn’t say anything before turning his gaze back to his feet.

We walk silently back to his building - silent still as we climb the stairs and enter his apartment.

He shuts the door behind him, and slowly turns to face me at my place at the center of his room. My arms are crossed on my chest and my head is down, but I can still catch his eyes.

“What was that back there?” I ask at the same time he asks, “You waited for me?”

We both sigh loudly, and he moves towards his clothes corner. My mind races - if he’s going to do what he did there last night, I won’t remember to speak. “Mike, wait!” I exclaim so hurriedly that he turns to me quickly with brows furrowed.

I sigh loudly to quiet myself. “Just wait. Let’s talk.”

He offers a quick nod and a sigh of his own before sinking down in one of his green and metal chairs.

“What was that?” I ask again.

“What was with *your* friend?” he asks defensively.

“Come on, he was just being a jerk! You know how people can be!”

“Yeah! *I* should know, shouldn’t I?” he asks sarcastically. “What about him! He shouldn’t know better too, huh Chester?” His agitation causes him to rise from his seat, and I feel my heart start to race and my resolve break as he moves closer and closer to me. He keeps talking, his voice getting louder.

“Is it somehow okay for him to be a jerk? I should’ve just sat there and taken it?”

“But…I mean…it’s…he’s…it’s just different…” I stutter as he inches closer.

“Do you have any idea how many times I put up with that sh!t everyday, Chester? Everyday! Why do you think I always look so goddamn depressed when I leave there? Between the comments from the customers and then my boss, sometimes I forget just why I bother! But then I remember to just ignore it because people are afraid of what they don’t understand. I can accept that. But then *you*….”

He pauses and takes in a breath before speaking again.

“But then you were there tonight, and everything seemed different. I couldn’t take it because you *do* understand. There are very few people in the world I can say that about, Chester. I thought you were one,” he finishes, sounding defeated.

“I…I…I do…I am,” I stutter unconvincingly.

He shakes his head and sighs, looking down at his feet. There are several moments of silence before he raises his eyes to mine slowly and speaking.

“What about you? You know he was talking about you too, Chester.”

I lick my lips, his eyes burning intensely into mine. I swallow thickly and nod slowly. He’s moving towards me again, and I can feel his body heat begin to surround me. My feet are slowly moving me backwards – away from his intimidating stare.

“He was talking about you too, Chester, because you like going there. You like what you feel like when you go there. I can tell.” He continues walk towards me and I continue to retreat.

“You like it, Chester,” he says as his smile broadens and something new flashes in his eyes – something heated and anticipating that I’ve never seen there before. My heart starts beating wildly in my chest and I can feel myself starting to sweat at the intense heat in the room.

I let out a surprised gasp as my back hits the wall. I inhale sharply when his body brushes up against mine, causing my brain to swirl.

“You like going there with *me*, Chester,” he says with a suddenly shy smile.

I can’t breathe; I can’t see anything but him; I can’t feel anything but his heat. I can’t catch up with my own thoughts telling me what to say or do. The only way to find words of escape is to find that other Chester deep inside me – the one that would never ever do this, the one that would shudder at the thought instead of boil. I panic when I can’t find him…

But then I think he may be gone forever when Mike’s soft lips finally press firmly to mine. I feel my eyebrows rise in shock, and for a few moments I don’t even close my eyes. But then his tongue gently sweeps across my bottom lip; moistening it, softening it, massaging it. My heart flutters wildly and my eyes drift shut. He takes a taste of my top lip and my knees weaken and a scorching heat floods my body.

As if he sensed my surrender, he licks at my mouth again, this time a little rougher – a little more demanding. I can’t stop myself from opening my mouth for him and I revel in the sweep of his tongue against mine. He coddles my tongue with his in unspoken encouragement that I can’t refuse. I move my mouth against his, causing our tongues to dance intimately in a rhythm so delicious I can’t stop the deep groan from escaping from my throat.

It’s exquisite – the way we kiss. I feel like I’m floating; like there’s nothing else in the entire world but our mouths fused in this intense expression.

When he pulls my tongue wholly into his mouth and begins to suck, my knees leave me completely. I latch my fingers into his belt loops to keep from falling, and he steps in closer to me - spreading my legs and pressing me fully against the wall with the whole of his body.

I hear him groan loudly and deeply as his lips leave my mouth and begin to trail along my jaw and settle on the pulsating vein at the base of my neck – biting and sucking. I move one of my hands to run through his silky hair and run my cheek over the top of his head. I’m gasping for air – lost in the feeling of his lips on my skin and the quickening pulse beginning to settle in my groin.

Then he starts rocking his body against mine, and I feel the evidence of his desire press firmly into my stomach. My eyes flash open and the adrenaline from the shock causes me to regain my thoughts quickly. I stand up and gently push him away, looking into his passion-clouded eyes.

“Stop,” I whisper, not being able to speak anything more.

He backs away slowly, his wide eyes seeming as surprised as my own. “Chester…” he whispers, “I didn’t…”

I interrupt him. “No, just…I’ve got to go,” I say softly. I need to get out of here. I need to clear my mind. I need to not feel this way! My brain is screaming at me almost as loudly as my d!ck – I think perhaps the two are not on good terms right now.

I open the door with more force than necessary, not bothering to shut it behind me as I make my escape. I hear him call my name, but I don’t stop my hurried gate as I run down the stairs.

I practically trip as I escape the building, inhaling sharply as the crisp cool air invades my lungs. I move down the block quickly and I slip down the first alley I can find to catch my breath.

But as my breath returns, so do my thoughts. I’m scared to death because I know I wanted that – I wanted what just happened in his apartment. I wanted it *badly*. But I shouldn’t want it, and I shouldn’t need it, and I shouldn’t feel this way!

“F*ck!” I yell at the top of my lungs. “F*ck, f*ck, f*ck…” I continue, each expletive getting less angry and more distressing.

I can feel the tears slip down my face as the frustration settles in my gut. For the second time tonight, I’m sliding down a brick wall overtaken by emotion. I’m such a wreck! God, what’s gotten into me?

But I know the answer.

Him. He’s what’s gotten into me. I look up to stare at the brick wall opposite me with tear-clouded eyes. The tears flow continuously because all I really want to do is run back to him. I want to run back to him and have him tell me that it’s going to be okay.

My face crumbles again because I realize it’s the only place I *can* go. If I went home right now, my mom would insist on an explanation I could never give. And I wouldn’t dare let Brad or even Rob see me this way. There *is* nowhere else – it’s as simple as that.

I sniffle loudly, trying to regain my composure. I’m just going to do it – I’m going to go back. If Mike has taught me anything in the last few weeks it’s to be true to yourself.

I stand up to walk out of the alley, but when I reach the end I hesitate. I take a moment to steel my resolve and turn around again to head out. I walk quickly and determinedly back to his building, taking the stairs two at a time before I lose my nerve.

His door is still open from my exit, and I slink inside silently. I see him sitting at his table pouring over a book. His head is down causing his hair to fall in waves over his face. I clear my throat to make him aware of my presence.

He looks up startled, his eyes wide. “Chester…” he whispers.

I can’t figure out what to say, and I feel the tears returning to my eyes at the sight of him. I managed to get myself here, but I have no idea what to say or do – I’m not even sure what I want.

Before I know it, he’s moving towards me quickly, enveloping me in a tight embrace and pulling my face into the warmth of his neck. I lose it again, blubbering into his neck as he rubs his hands up and down my back softly.

“Shhhh. Chester, it’s okay. I’m sorry. I’ll be okay,” he whispers soothingly.

Eventually I pull myself together and pull away. His arms fall away from my shoulders and I miss them instantly.

“I’m sorry, Chester. I shouldn’t have done that.” His voice is shaky. “I didn’t mean to kiss you. Please believe me…” There’s desperation in his words and I want to soothe him now. I want to tell him that it *is* okay.

But he stops me from speaking. “Chester, I didn’t bring you here to take advantage of you, I swear. I hope you’ll forgive me.” His eyes move from his feet to catch mine in question. I sniffle and nod my head slightly.

A flash of relief comes over his face and he moves over to his table to picks up the book he was looking at when I came in.

“Here,” he says putting the open book in my hands. “This is why I told you I wanted to talk last night. And it’s why I had hoped you’d follow me back here tonight. I just wanted you to read this.” He points to an underlined portion and steps back timidly. I look up to admire his shyness before turning my focus back to the book.

I read it to myself.

I am an invisible man. No, I am not a spook…I am a man of substance, of flesh and bone, fiber and liquids – and I might even be said to possess a mind. I am invisible, understand, simply because people refuse to see me. When they approach me they see only my surroundings, themselves, or figments of their imagination – indeed anything and everything but me.

I look up at Mike quickly and cock my head to the side, my eyes wide in wonderment. I look back down to read the last line again, closing my eyes as the meaning sinks into my brain.

This is it – this is what I’ve been feeling for the last half of my eighteen years. I read it again, reveling in this articulation of my inner feelings. I finally feel vindicated because obviously someone else felt this way too – enough so to even write a book about it and believe that others would benefit from his experience. I can imagine, even if I can’t yet see, a whole group of people who understand and relate and in an instant I don’t feel alone. I finally feel it’s okay for me to feel this way and that it’s not my fault.

It’s not my fault. The words hit me especially hard as I lift my glance to Mike, who is standing a few feet from me, watching my every move with uncertainty. I stare into his eyes for what feels like hours; trying to convey the importance of these words he’s given me. I can feel tears burning the back of my eyes.

“Chester,” he whispers softly, “I wanted you to know…” his voices starts to crack so he takes a deep breath to recover. “I wanted you to know that you’re not invisible to me.”

I sputter and then laugh as I try to hold back my tears, wiping my eyes quickly. Realizing that I’m not going to run away, Mike moves closer to me and tentatively reaches his hand up as if to caress my arm, but pulls it away at the last moment. I want to tell him it’s alright – that I want him to touch me – but if I talk I know I’ll start crying.

“Chester,” he continues, looking intently into my clouded eyes. “Maybe you’re invisible to them – to your friends from the diner – but I *see* you, Chester. I see you - the you that you *are*, not the you I *want* you to be.” He pauses and takes a deep breath to prepare himself for his next thought. The tears are now falling freely down my face as I watch him speak with such honesty and emotion.

“That’s…that’s why I should never have kissed you.” His voice cracks and the sound of almost-shed tears radiates in his voice. “I shouldn’t have kissed you because that’s what I wanted, and that’s *not* what this is about. Please believe me.”

I hear his shaky voice, and my tears continue to run down my face. The slight space between us seems much too distant and I yearn to be close to him. I bend down slowly to put the book down and wipe my hands on my jeans as I stand up again. I take a nervous step towards him, watching his eyes widen in surprise as I wrap him in my arms and bury his neck in my shoulder.

“Maybe that *is* what this is about,” I whisper so lowly I’m not sure I even heard myself. He pulls away slightly to look in my eyes almost unbelievingly. I move one hand to his jaw and trace it lightly with my fingers before cupping his cheek in my palm and running my thumb over his trembling lips.

I watch his eyes flutter close as he gently kisses the pad of my thumb. Now it’s my turn to tremble as his tongue slips out in a gentle caress. My hands move quickly, cupping both his cheeks and raising his lips to my own. I’m not sure what I’m doing, but I don’t take the time to think. I press my lips to his gently, feeling their soft flesh quiver at the contact. I take his lower lip between mine, and timidly run my tongue over it, just like he did to me earlier in the night.

His mouth opens underneath mine in hot, open-mouthed kisses that make my face flush in an intense heat. He pulls me closer, my hands moving to wrap in his loose spikes as one of his hands moves to the nape of my neck and other to the small of my back.

He pushes me back until we’re against the wall again. Our tongues resume their erotic dance; the wet sounds of our kisses and the jagged release of our breathing the only sound in the room. His kisses trail down my face, my jaw, my neck, finally settling on the same pulse point he devoured before. He laves it with his tongue before sucking gently.

I groan loudly at the sensation, pulling him closer to me this time instead of pushing him away. Our bodies are flushed against each other, the haze of passion making it impossible to tell where one enflamed body begins and the other ends.

He moves his mouth up to take in an earlobe. He bites on the soft lobe at the same time one of his hands snakes beneath my shirt to caress up the length of my back. The dueling sensations are too much to bear, and my knees buckle as I moan. He holds me tight, refusing to let me fall.

He presses his body against mine to keep me standing as his hands undertake the task of unbuttoning my shirt. As he pulls it off my shoulders, his mouth returns to mine in a consuming kiss as his hands stroke languidly up my chest. I moan into his mouth as his thumbs linger at my nipples and begin to brush gently over them, teasing the tight buds that form.

When his mouth replaces his fingers, I throw my head back in ecstasy, noticing no pain when it bangs into the wall. His hands have move to my hips, pulling at them until our hips meet in an intense crush. I scream out at the contact, my eyes briefly opening wide at the sensations flooding me. My hips move against his in a subconscious rhythm, and I hear him groan against my chest allowing me to feel the resonance deep in my body.

Before I can comprehend it, his hands are undoing the button of my pants. His mouth returns to mine with deep kisses as he slowly unzips my fly. One of his hands moves to my head, holding it still as he uses his tongue to gain intimate knowledge of my mouth. The other hand inches into the elastic band of my cotton boxers, teasing and tempting. My hips jerk subconsciously against his slight caress, begging for more.

And then his hand is fully in my pants; his fingers wrapped firmly around my hard cock. I let out a moan as I pull my mouth away from him to suck in a deep breath. His lips move back to my neck – his tongue licking over my adam’s apple, down across my collarbone and back up to clench onto my earlobe. I rub my cheek against his face, breathing raggedly and letting out a nearly continuous low growl.

He continues to stroke me, each run up my d!ck increasing in speed and intensity.

“Ohhhh…Mike…Oh, God…” I don’t know how much more of this I can take, the pleasure more incredible than I had ever imagined.

“Let go, Chester. It’s okay…”. He whispers deeply in my ear as he moves his thumb to rub relentlessly against the head of my cock and toying with the sensitive slit.

At that, I’m gone. I feel the circling white heat cascading through my body settle into one intense pleasure point, and with one more stroke I come hard into his hand, continuing to thrust my hips as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes me. As my hips slow, I feel my body start to slide towards the floor and I can’t stop myself because I’ve got no conscious thought ability.

Mike’s hands steady me, however, just before I wind up as a boneless mass on his floor. He pulls me towards his bed, tossing back the sheets and leading me beneath them. He climbs in beside me, resting his forehead on my shoulder.

We sit there in silence for a few minutes, but as my faculties return I feel the need to talk – to say *something* at least.

But as I take in steadying breath to begin, he stops me by placing a warm finger over my swollen lips.

“Shhhh. Just rest for a minute. It’s not the time.” There’s wisdom in his voice, so I quiet my thoughts as I feel myself drift to sleep.

It’s a couple of hours later when I finally awaken; still encased in my blanket that’s half cloth and half man. Before I even open my eyes, I feel him next to me – his hair tickling the top of my shoulder where his forehead still rests and his now-naked chest heats the back of my arm. One of his hands rests ever so gently on my stomach, fingers curling around my waist in a protective gesture.

And I do feel safe – like as long as I stay right here I won’t have to deal with *things*. Things - what a vague words for something so major…intense…confusing…right.

I fail to check the deep sigh that escapes from my lips, alerting the man next to me that I’m awake. I open my eyes slowly to find his browns watching me. There’s something…hesitant or maybe even afraid in his eyes. Like he’s not sure what I need to hear right now.

And honestly, I don’t know either. We sit in silence for a handful of minutes looking searchingly into each other’s eyes trying to find out. Eventually, I feel both of our bodies relax into the quietness, each happy that the other hasn’t run from the bed. His fingers begin to brush a comforting pattern across my side and his hot breath floats across my shoulder.

“It’s late,” he whispers eventually. Stating the obvious is always the easiest place to start.

“Yeah,” I sigh in response.

He turns his head down into my shoulder allowing his lips brushing against my skin as he speaks.

“Are your parents going to be mad?” he asks with genuine fear in his soft voice.

“Guess it’ll depend on what I tell them.”

“Hmmm?” he asks confused.

I pause for a moment and bring my free hand up to scratch at a non-existent itch on my chin.

“You know,” I say reflectively with a smile, “that first time I met you…at the diner? I told my parents I was going to Rob’s. It turned out my mother called his house to find out when I was coming home,” I finish with a laugh I only sort of mean. “He covered for me that time. But somehow I think being gone the whole night will require some sort of an explanation to someone.” I attempt to keep my voice light, but I’m not quite successful.

We relapse into silence trying to figure out what to say next.

“So,” he begins timidly, “do you think you should go?”

For a second, my body stiffens and I hold my breath. Is this his way of getting rid of me?

But when I glance down at him, my brief moment of panic is placated by the genuine worry on his face. I can tell he’s giving me an escape – and how can I blame him? Hell, I’ve already run from him once tonight and it’s not like we exactly took things slowly. But I’m more afraid of leaving than staying.

I shake my head at him, smiling at his misguided thoughtfulness.

“No, I don’t want to go. I’m not ready to go,” I smile. I shift my body so I’m lying on my side – no longer touching him but finally able to look him in the eye. I prop my head up on my arm as he pillows his own head on the soft skin of his inner arm. “I want to talk,” I finish with a shy smile.

He smiles a little, perhaps in relief, and nods his head slowly in agreement. But neither of us jumps into a conversation. And I have to admit, a part of me doesn’t want to talk because adding words to the situation makes me define everything instead of just *feel* it. Feelings are personal and difficult to escape from, so it’s easy to loose yourself in them without thinking. Words, however, are mechanical and harsh and impossible to take back.

But there’s too much I need to know. I’ve fallen into this new life – and into this bed – without much thinking. I’m at a point where I can go no further without questions being answered.

“Mike,” I whisper.

“Hmmm?”

“Tell me about you?” I didn’t mean it as a question but that’s how it came out.

I see his body stiffen, his eyes quickly moving to his hands resting on the grayish sheet between us. I hesitantly move my own hand towards his and allow a single finger to run up the back of his hand in a light caress. It’s my attempt to remind him that we’re lying half-naked in his bed together – he can tell me anything.

He sighs, his chest rising and falling slowly. I still my fingers as he begins to speak.

“Well…ummmm…I told you I’m from Iowa, remember?” he asks. I smile reassuringly and nod, knowing I’ve remembered everything he’s ever said. He nods back at me as if buying time while deciding what to say next. His eyes have yet to move from our hands resting next to each other between us.

“My town was small. Way smaller than this even. Lots of farmers – one school for all grades – one church where everyone went *every* Sunday. That kind of thing – really conservative.” Now it’s his fingers that have moved to trace up, down and around each plane of my hand as he speaks. A sad sigh escapes his lips.

“So, about three months ago, I started making my way east,” he says finally, as if that’s some sort of satisfying conclusion to this story.

I watch his hand continue to play with my own before bringing my eyes up to his face – staring until he rescinds and meets my gaze.

“Why did you leave?”

“I didn’t fit in, Chester.” He pauses to search my eyes. “I think you can understand that.”

I nod solemnly and look back down at the sheet, wanting to gather him close but not having the nerve.

“So, why are you here, then?” I ask softly.

“Like I said before, this is where I ran out of money. And it’s also where I could get a job, which is more than I can say for the other towns I slinked my way through.”

I see his slumped body posture and hear the defeat in his voice. “It was hard, huh?”

“Yeah. I got a little compulsive, I guess. Didn’t think things through very well.” His fingers now begin to make their way up my arm, tracing gently. “For awhile, I had to steal everything I needed. I really hated that – hating myself for doing it even.”

I see the frown on his face and move in closer to him, his hand now stopping to rest fully on my upper arm.

“So, you’re just here because you got a job?” I ask slowly, almost afraid of the answer.

He shrugs in response. “I don’t know. I got a job here, and I needed one. And Mrs. Leary – the only lady in town who both knows I exist and doesn’t think I’m off my rocker – gave me this room above her shop for next to nothing. And there’s a group of people here who *do* get it – at the club. So I guess it’s no so bad.”

“Speak for yourself,” I mumble as I turn my face into the mattress, causing my body to angle in towards Mike’s. He brings his hand to the back of my neck and massages gently.

TBC.....

SORRY STORY GOT SPLIT INTO TWO PAGES CONTINUES ON NEXT CHAPTER!!!!!!