Borders & Rules

Chapter 13

I stand in front of a door plastered with advertising posters. It's a Sunday morning, the sun is shining against the cold wind, and I'm sure there isn't anything better to do today. Unless anyone thinks homework is better than an LGBTQ+ meeting.

There's a table by the entrance, free tea and coffee being given away. I decide on tea. It warms my fingers, still numb from the cold. I hold it with both hands and blow away the steam as I look around the colorful crowd. There's a girl with pink hair. Someone wears a robe like it's everyday fashion. A boy wears a tank top, showing off forbidden good abdominal muscles. Another boy wears a dress. In general, people are colorful. And I'm not sure yet if I want to be part of it.

I'm standing at the wall and sipping my tea. There are probably five spoonfuls of sugar in it. Funny, I would never put so much sugar in my tea at home, but I can't stop drinking it now.

I gotta be honest. It wasn't only my loneliness that led me to come here. I've pondered a bit too much about being gay over the past few months. Right now, I'm torn between "I just had a boy crush" and "Actually, it's not that bad". Whereby "Actually, it's not that bad" mostly consists of locking myself in the bathroom because TikTok can be pretty obscene sometimes and I apparently have no sense of self-control.

I walk to the bathroom. Safe space. No one could see me here, and I need a tension release. Here I don't have the duty to decide between being sociable or standing at the side (let's pretend I wouldn't end up with the second anyway).

The bathroom is furnished in an old-fashioned way, the sinks tan, the floor brown, and the light warm and sober.

I look into the mirror and take a deep breath. My shoulders are stiff, and I roll them back. My hair looks awful today—strawy, as always, when I don't blow dry it. In general, I look rather dull and boring next to this colorful crowd. I would drown among these people.

I think of Kevin. I reach into my pocket just to make sure I still have the notes with me. I often take them with me when I know I'll go to a place where I could end up needing a distraction. Something that makes me happy again. Feeling the pages in my hand, I feel safer, however stupid that sounds.

I flinch hard when the door of a cabin opens. I didn't expect anyone else in here.

I pretend to wash my hands. The man stepping out indeed washes his hands. Thoroughly and somehow aggressively. He shakes his hands instead of drying them. When his eyes meet mine, he seems confused and amused at the same time.

"Morning," he says, half a question, half a greeting. With the remaining moisture on his fingers, he combs his black hair back.

"Morning."

He wears a shirt and dress pants. Seriously, like straight from an office. His armpits are wet. And—I know I'm staring, but I can't help it—I could swear I have some deep feelings about his way of moving and the strict look on his face. He reminds me of... Oh my god.

I'm thrown back in time. How I was sitting silently in the office, the pungent smell of disinfectant hitting my nostrils. The crunching of his chair. The shocked look on my mother's face.

"Do we know each other?" 

Holy shit. The last thing I want is that he remembers me too. Me and my little, embarrassing issue. It wasn't relevant to me back then, but now when I realize how attractive he is, my problem feels like a crime. I look away. "No."

He holds out his hand to me. "Blair Wilson." His hand is still wet as I hesitantly take it. But his grip is strong and confident.

"Cunningham." My mother had introduced herself like this. I close my eyes briefly. "Sorry. Felix Cunningham." I think of the man with black hair that almost reached his chin, tucked behind his ears. It's shorter now. There's something solid, determined in his eyes, and I'm intimidated by how long he takes to answer. And that he still holds my hand as he stands there and stares.

"How old are you, Felix?"

"Fifteen?"

He lets go of my hand. "Welcome to the meetings." Then he turns around to leave.

The door slams loudly. Memories flood through my head—memories I've been trying to forget forever. I let it happen. Fingers sticky from candy. The TV light in the dark. The urge to laugh when you weren't allowed to. The joy of having a best friend. Clinking dishes and laughter. The horror of being bullied.

Perhaps there's a chance that there will be another reunion soon. One that the imagination makes my heart beat faster and at the same time makes my stomach ache with fear.