So, We're Meant to Be?

If this were any other guy or any other night, I would push him and run, because I am definitely not gay. Except for Ethan, I’ve come to realize. Slash, as you can see.

            I was lying on my far-too-small bed in my even-smaller room with my stomach pressed against 10 year-old Batman sheets. AP English was spread out across my room like it owned the place, and by now I was desperate for any excuse to ditch this house. My mother was out with my 14 year-old sister Jennifer, they were shopping for dresses because of a dance or something of the sort, and my father had disappeared a long time ago.

            I straighten my (at the moment) chestnut brown hair with burnt orange highlights and almost pale yellow tips. I was drunk at the time when someone offered to dye my hair and, being the rebellious child I am (okay, only when it comes to my appearance), I allowed him. It wasn’t unusual, though, for my hair to be bright colors and boring colors and ‘effin rainbow colors every now and then.

            I grab my English homework once again and try to remember what the hell a pronoun was again (it seems I have forgotten all the s**t they crammed in our brains during 8^th grade), though I know I won’t ever know unless I wait for Jen to come back and explain it to me, like usual. Just as I’m about to give up and head somewhere with more enthusiasm, my phone sends a buzz through my thigh and I look down at it with faint interest.

            A smile spread through my face when the words ‘New Text From: Ethan Hampton’ flash across the screen. I open them with much excitement and hope my best friend has come up with a great distraction.

            Where r u man? Ive been looking 4 u all day! Get ovr 2 my house asap! :)

            I laugh at his sloppy grammar (he’s the one that wants to become an English major, after all) and grab my jacket from the foot of the bed (or more technically, Ethan’s jacket).

            Ethan’s house is much more fancier and bigger and just plain cooler than mine, and even if it wasn’t a mansion he still had a playroom and practice room all to him self, while me? Well I had the garage if I ever needed extra space. His house was only a street to the left of mine and I could walk there blindfolded with no arms or legs easily. His mother was long gone, so it was only he and his dad and the occasional appearance of Alice, his Jack Russell Terrier.

            I reach the mahogany door and give a sharp knock, though I’m sure Ethan knows I’m here and will complain later that I never have to knock because we were practically a married couple living in separate houses (though to him it was a joke). And I’ll simply say that if married couples live in separate houses, then there’s much more than knocking they should be worrying about.

            Lucky for me, Tom opened the door.

            Tom, or T-Bone as we often called him because of his top-notch trombone skills, was born in North Korea and shipped here with his sister when he was 5 to stay with his grandmother. He’s been here ever since.

            “Z,” he says, flicking his black hair from his eyes. “Ethan’s been waiting for you.”

            I shrug. “I know,” I say quietly. Though Ethan and I don’t like to let on to others, we honestly couldn’t stay far from each other for more than 8 hours, and right now we were pushing it at 7 and a half.  

            “Fraizer!” Ethan yells when he notices me from the hallway. He tackles me, sending me to the ground as he lies on top of my chest with that silly lopsided everything-is-going-to-be-alright grin on his face. Believe it or not, he tackles me almost twice a day, though with him being at an evident 6’ 1” and me being small as 5’ 9”, it almost made the whole thing awkward. Almost.

            “I missed you,” he says with a serious stare. Ethan was the more open, happy-go-lucky, easy-to-please one of the friendship, whereas I had a hard time telling Ethan my feelings. I didn’t smile as often as he did (I didn’t think my smile was as perfect and bright as his), and the only talent I had was doing homework-not even being smart because it was usually wrong.

            “Missed you too, Ethanol,” I say before pushing him off and grabbing Tom’s held out hand so I could be pulled up. Ethan looks at me with a slight pout, the one thing I can’t resist-even if he doesn’t mean to, so I throw a small smile at him. I hold my hand for him to grab, and once he’s standing straight on his own two feet I pull him into a tight hug. I look back at Tom as we walk into the house and towards the practice room. “So why the sudden rendezvous? Besides the obvious,” I add before Ethan can say anything.

            “Well I had the greatest idea earlier!” Ethan says with a small jump of his feet from excitement. We reach the room and I enter to see the other 2 members of Tom and Ethan’s band, as well as my other friends, lounging on the floor while going through some of Ethan’s old records. Again.

            Novella, or Novel as we often shorten her name to, notices me first and rushes to give me a tiny hug (she was only nearing 5 feet) before pulling away and pushing her dark brown hair out of her icy blue eyes. Hendrix (real name Jimi) stands up and smiles my way. His semi curly, halfway straight hair keeps bouncing all over the place (he was a mix of African American and Caucasian and he often blamed his parents for the unruliness of his hair, though it really added to his charm) but decides to ignore it and drags Novel back to the floor where the records are still laid out. I take a seat on the well-worn couch and Ethan takes one side, leaning slightly against me, while Tom takes the other.

            “So what’s your ‘great idea’?” I ask.

            Ethan sits up instantly and clears his throat. “Well, we were all at Tom’s grandmother’s house for band practice, you know, and we got done and had some cherry popsicles and we were laying out in the grass and naming the clouds when out of nowhere Novella says, “I want to party tonight.”

            “The three of us sit up and look down at her with confusion, except for Jimi, who’s got this look that says, ‘Hell yeah, let’s ‘effin party’. Tom rolls his eyes and lies back down, but I’m thinking about what Novella said and I honestly had this strange urge to throw a party as well. I start to pass the feeling off as silly and lay back down with Tom, but then I remember that old tunnel in Brentford and I start to think how cool it would be to play down there.

            “And that’s when the idea hits me. Why not throw a party down there? I mean one end is blocked off, so cars can’t go through anymore, and all we need to do to get into it is cut the chain on the gate. So I sit back up and turn to Novella and I say, “We’re going to throw a party.” And then we came back here and I texted you,” he finishes in, what seems like, one large breath because he’s taking deep breaths despite grinning like a mad-man.

            The old tunnel in Brentford has been deserted for almost 5 years because of some lack of funding. Now it had a thin gate blocking meddling teenagers like us looking for a place to crash for the night, and there hasn’t been a soul in it since. It was extremely wide and tall enough to be 5 or 6 stories high, and, the best part: it had great acoustics. Especially for a band like theirs.

            Ethan’s band wasn’t your typical teenage band, or so I always think. Tom played trombone during school as well as in the band, while Ethan played the trumpet instead. Novel was the bass player, but opted to use the upright bass since she used it in the school’s orchestra as well, while Jimi switches between the drums and the violin (he was in the orchestra with Novel).

            “It’s getting dark. Shouldn’t we be there by now?” I finally say.

            “Hm?” Tom asks.

            I shrug. “Well, this party. Brentford is almost 30 minutes away, you’ll need to get there before it hits dark or else you’ll get lost. And you better start telling everyone now so they can tell people before it gets late.”

            “Right! Of course,” Ethan says, pulling out his cell phone with a swift movement. After a minute he turns towards me again and says, “I just sent out a text. We have to load the car now before my dad comes home!”

            Eventually the five of us end up in Ethan’s garage with instruments tucked into their cases. I help Hendrix with his drum kit (each drum is loaded into a different case) while Tom and Novel are working on the bass and trombone. Ethan, on the other hand, is fiddling with his trumpet, playing some offbeat jazz melody sloppily. This was his way of warming-up; he always used to tell me. ‘Playing jazz is why instruments like mine are famous,’ he would say matter-of-factly, ‘-and for that we should remember and recognize.’

            Once he feels satisfied, he gently places it in the case and slides the case into the trunk of Tom’s grandmother’s minivan. It was an ugly thing, but it managed to hold all of us plus their instruments so we dealt with it. We settle in the car, Ethan in the passenger seat with me driving, and Tom, Novel, and Hendrix squished into the second row of seats.

            “Any suggestions?” Ethan asks as he twists the dials on the radio. Ethan did that, mess with radio, and never found something to listen to until we had reached our destination our one of us yelled at him.

            “Uh, anyone bring a mix-tape?” Novel asks quietly. There’s a moment of silence and I remember I left my latest mix-tape CD in Tom’s car the last time they had practice, so I stuck my hand underneath Ethan’s seat with a grunt and felt around. Ethan squeaked a bit (for I was lying across his lap and trying to drive at the same time) and began frantically grabbing for the wheel, but my shoulders were in his way.

            “Fraizer! You better look at the road! Oh my gosh, we’re going to die!” He (practically) screamed in my ear, though I know it was an accident. It’s funny how someone so tall and intimidating can come off as so…women-ish. I should really question that later.

            I finally find it and sit up right, fixing my shirt, as a light turns red. I slip the CD into the slot and send a tiny smile Ethan’s way to calm him down. “Relax. I’m a better driver than you, remember?”

            He laughs nervously. “Yes, of course. I forgot.” He nods to reassure himself. He twists his thumbs around each other and I reach over and poke him in the side, making him laugh softly.            

            “Who’s CD is this?” Tom asks as the first song, Bulletproof Weeks by Matt Nathanson, begins to play.

            “Mine,” I say. “I left it in the car last time, so it’s better than nothing.”

            Novel laughs; while Jimi drops the book he’s reading (something or other about Bob Marley) and asks, “Who was this for anyways?”

            I shrug. “My sister.”

            There are chorusing ‘oh’s and the rest of the ride is filled with musical references and frequent rambling from Ethan. The ride to Brentford is a long one, but we make it before 6 o’clock hits, while stopping at the store to pick up some refreshments (we don’t buy the alcohol, we let other kids do that job). I park the minivan along a dirt road about a half-mile away from the gate, just to be safe, and hop out to get the drum cases out of the trunk with Hendrix. Ethan and Tom grab the bass while Novel offers to take both the trumpet and trombone. We drag ourselves over to the gate and I set the two cases down by my feet. We’re looking at the chain; it’s pretty thin because they don’t expect us to trespass, and Novel pulls out a pretty big wire cutter and hands it to me.

            “Maybe it will work? My dad uses it to cut our fence all the time. That’s why he buys so many new chains,” she offers.

            I place the chain between the two blades and slowly bring them down on it, watching as it splits apart with a loud crack. With a wide smile, I turn back to her and give her my thank you and the wire cutter. With the gate out of the way, we set to work trying to find out where the best place would be for them to play. Ethan and Tom split up in different spots and play until eventually Novel says playing on top of the ledge near the wall would be the best place.

            The ledge wasn’t even a story high, but it was wide enough to fit all of them and their instruments and since it was mostly the main focus of the tunnel, it seemed to fit them. The four of them start to warm-up with a smooth rendition of some jazz song (Ethan’s idea) before transferring to Aerosmith’s ‘Janie’s Got A Gun’.

            By 7 o’clock there were (nearing) a hundred other teenagers dancing and laughing and having the most fun they’d probably had since summer ended, and though Ethan was spending the whole time playing his trumpet, I didn’t mind it one bit.

            By now, a drunken duo of rappers (or at least that’s what they called themselves) suggests something for them to play, and then JJ (or John-Jacob, yes, like that little kindergarten song) steps onto the ledge with a honey-golden acoustic guitar. I raise an eyebrow at Ethan, who simply smiles down at me, and turn to some girl standing next to me and strike up a conversation. The band starts playing and I begin to recognize it as an instrumental version of Public Enemy’s ‘Harder Than You Think’.

            “Good song,” I mutter, because even if it was a rap song, it had great trumpets and the meaning behind it wasn’t something s****y, it was important. The ‘rappers’ begin screaming the lyrics into the crowd, but I ignore all of this and watch Ethan as he plays his trumpet with obvious enthusiasm.

            Seeing Ethan like this, with his strawberry-blonde hair thrown to the side of his face and the smile on his face preventing him from playing the correct notes, it reminds me of so many days over the summer where we would just lie on my bed and talk and talk until it felt as if every topic had been covered. But we always found something else to review, and we’d somehow end up on the floor from laughing so hard that I would throw up. I always did stupid things to make Ethan laugh.

            The girl beside me is trying to catch me attention again, but as we dance I can’t help but migrate my gaze back toward Ethan again. I don’t know why I was so fascinated by him tonight, but I wasn’t about to question it any further.

            Ethan is my best friend, and he has been ever since kindergarten when he threatened to tell my mother that I made fun of him being tall. But somehow, I can’t find the real reason we’ve been friends this long. Yes, Ethan and I shared our secrets with each other, but deep down he could always be the same type of friend that Jimi, Novel, and Tom are. But he’s not, and something is making him more important to me.

            Ethan smiles wide at me again, and I suddenly feel heat against my cheeks. This surprises me, because why would a smile from Ethan make me blush? People don’t blush when other people smile at them.

            “Uh, are you okay? You look a little red,” the girl asks, not with much concern though, seeing how I pretty much ignore her presence.

            I smile slightly down at her. “Yeah, just a little hot,” I say and she nods easily.  “I’m going to get something to drink.”

            I walk over to where a cooler of canned sodas can be found and I remember something my sister had told me a while back.

            “When are you going to realize?” She asks with a roll of her eyes. I look at her from my spot beside the door, watching as Ethan jogs to his car and drives away before turning completely around to face the 5’ girl.

            “Realize what?” I ask, walking to the fridge and taking out a bottle of water. She hops onto the counter beside me, swinging her feet against the counter and continuing to be the proud owner of the world’s most annoying smirk.

            She sighs lazily. “Well, Ethan is definitely more girl than you, so you’ll have to make the first move, but other than that it’s completely obvious to everyone but you.”

            I look at her with blind confusion. “What the hell are you talking about Jen?”

            She sighs again. “You and Ethan, obviously.”

            “Yeah? What about me and Ethan?”

            “How you two are just plain perfect for each other and the only person who hasn’t realized yet is you.”

            “Perfect for each other how?”

            “Oh my gosh! As a couple Fraizer! Gosh, you are so stupid!”

            I spit my water out, accidently getting Jen’s new summer dress all wet. She glares at me for a moment. “What do you mean ‘a couple’? Jen we’re both guys.”

            “You two are gay.”

            “Am not! I like girls!”

            “Yes, but not as much as you like Ethan.”

            “I do not like Ethan like that, got it? And he doesn’t like me like that either.”

            “Whatever you say Z,” she finishes and walks to her room without another comment.

            I accidently drop my can of Sprite on some poor guy’s shoes and he turns to me with anger evident all over his face, but I ignore him at the moment.

            Is what Jen said really true? Are Ethan and I perfect for each other? And if so, what did she mean by me being the only one not able to realize it? Did Ethan think that way as well?

            I look back at Ethan again, and this time he doesn’t have to smile for me to blush. I look down and I begin to think that perhaps Jen was right about one thing, and that maybe I was a tad attracted to my best friend.

            By the end of the night, I had thought over every possible scenario and I couldn’t find any other solution than this: I loved my best friend. And not in the way I used to think it was, it was an intimate love and frankly, it scared me. Before, I used to think the constant need to be around him was natural and though unhealthy, perfectly okay with Ethan. I think that the extra-long hugs and (almost every day) sleepovers weren’t considered best friend like either. But, I eventually decided, even if I was questioning my feelings for my best friend, he would be the last to know-if anyone did know. Just to be safe.

            “So, what did you think?” Ethan asks as we load the cases back up at 10 ‘till midnight. He’s smiling non-stop and I can tell he’s never going to get to sleep tonight by the way his fingers keep shaking from the post-performance high.

            “You guys did great,” I say, proud to be the main groupie of this band of four. They weren’t my type of music but they were my friends and I couldn’t be any happier that they were able to do what they love.

            “You always say that,” Hendrix says tiredly, needing my help with lifting the cases because his arms were quite sore.

            “I say it because I mean it. I wouldn’t lie about that.” I shrug slightly. I went to every band and orchestra performance they ever had, and each time they would never believe me when I told them they were great. Sometimes it pissed me off, but I never know what it feels like to be insecure about a talent.

            Jimi offers to drive, so I get in the back between Tom and Ethan, while Novel sits up front and discusses something with Jimi. Ethan falls asleep almost immediately, and his chin rests against my shoulder. My heart tugs a little as I look down and see his sleeping figure but I decide to ignore it.

            We reach Ethan’s place and Tom helps me carry the cases in the garage, and luckily Ethan wakes up (because I’m not as strong as I look). Once all the cases are tucked safely away for the night, Tom turns towards Ethan and I and asks, “Jimi and Novel are going to crash at my place for the night. Wanna come?”

            I shake my head. “Sorry, T-Bone. I have to get home so my mom doesn’t start calling the cops and file a missing persons report.” I shrug. “Next time.”

            Ethan shakes his head as well. “I’m going to head over to Fraizer’s as well.”

            Tom gives us both quick hugs before hopping back into the car and driving away. I close the garage and Ethan and I start walking towards my house.

            “You’re quiet tonight,” Ethan says as we walk. It’s almost 1 o’clock and there are stars thrown across the sky like someone spilt a jar of them. Ethan and I are walking with our shoulders touching and every now and then I can feel his hand rub against mine.

            “Remember when you used to tell me stars were nightlights placed in the sky so little kids would never be afraid of the dark?” I ask, ignoring his earlier statement.

            He nods. “Yeah, my dad used to tell us that.”

            “Yeah, I was afraid of the dark before he said that. I haven’t needed a nightlight ever since.”

            Ethan laughs. “Yeah, I remember. Good times.”

            I look at him, but it’s dark out and I can only make out his profile. I notice how his nose turns up a bit at the end and how his fingers are longer than mine, and I lean a little closer to see his spring-green eyes shining a tad in the night.

            Ethan turns to look at me. “Fraizer?”

            “Hm?”

            “I love you.”

            “Love you too, Ethan,” I say. We often say this to each other, but tonight it just seemed different. His voice was too hoarse and serious and mine was a bit airy and almost nervous.

            “No, I mean,” he pauses and stops walking. I stand next to him patiently. “I love you like Novel loves Jimi.”

            “Novel loves Jimi?”

            “Fraizer!”

            “Sorry, sorry! Okay, I’m listening.” Since when did Novel love Jimi?

            “That’s it. I love you. That’s all I have to say.” He starts to walk again but I grab his arm again.

            “I, uh, I think I love you too? I mean, I didn’t realize it until tonight.”

            Ethan looks down at me and there’s much more than happiness in his eyes. There’s relief and hope and something I can’t make out. We stand in silence, just looking at each other, and then Ethan leans down and kisses me.

            If this were any other guy or any other night, I would push him and run, because I am definitely not gay.

            Except for Ethan, I’ve come to realize. 

Author's Note

Written for a friend. Really rushed, but I'll try to edit it later.

Reviews

this is the best short story i've read! so cute and very beliabale. i want more!

[MissSpazztastic]

This would be an awesome book, if you could write more chapters! Develop a plot because these characters are exquisite!

[TransparentHearts]

Awww! I can relate...Remind me to send this to my friend...
Really well written and I fell in love with it. Can you write another like it?
Please oh please oh please!

[Jamie Taylor]

Verrry Long.
I Like It(: