Serendipity [BoyxBoy]

Chapter Six

MJ didn't think of himself as ‘troubled’.

What the fuck did that word even mean?

His father spat it at him like it was a curse, like the word was too dirty to keep lingering in the air for too long. His mother whispered it, her voice shaky and tearful as she begged him to bring her son back because ‘this broken boy is not him.’

So what did it even mean?

It was hard for him to remember who he was before he became a disappointment to his parents. Hard for him to recall the innocent, wide eyed boy they missed. It was just as hard to remember who he was before Simi died even though that past was so close that it felt more like a dream than a memory.

He didn’t want to admit that he had issues. Didn’t want to ask for help. What did it matter? It wasn’t like he was totally unhinged. Sure, he was becoming more and more dependent on weed and cheap beer to keep him happy, but he could definitely stop any time he wanted. It wasn’t that bad and he didn’t touch the stronger stuff even when they turned up at his parties— white powder on the brown coffee table, blue pills on his PS4— brought by people whose faces he didn’t know.

Maybe he was depressed, but he wasn’t suicidal. Sure, there were some days where he didn’t want to be alive-- that he didn’t want to exist but didn’t know how to go about it without dying. That didn’t really mean anything. Everyone had days where they just wanted to not be, right? He wondered what it would feel like to disappear but wanting to die, really wanting it, was strong stuff. He'd already lost his best friend and their individual grief had almost torn their group apart. He didn't want to be the next person they'd mourn over. He didn't want to cause them anymore pain.

But, God, what he would give to just disappear.

And that didn’t mean he was troubled.

MJ knew that he constantly smoked because being high made him feel like he was disappearing. He liked how his body felt light and his thoughts slipped like mist between his fingers. He liked how it felt to smile when he couldn’t remember all the reasons he shouldn’t be smiling.

And, when Ada looked at him with so much sorrow in her eyes it threatened to tear him apart, he smoked some more. Smoked so that he’d have a smile just for her.

MJ had built paradise in his head and, as long as he had weed and booze, he was fine.

Perfectly fine.

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By the time Nosa saw Irekanmi again, it was Friday evening and he was taking a walk.

Friday evening was the one time a week that Nosa voluntarily went somewhere other than school or church. He took a short walk from his house to a field in his area where the neighborhood guys gathered to play football.

He noticed Irekanmi because what the fuck was he doing in his neighbourhood… and because he looked out of place in his obviously new jersey and soccer boots when others were playing in worn jerseys and ratty old sneakers. Nosa watched him do some warm up exercises on the sidelines before he decided he was mature enough to walk up and say hello.

“Longest time,” he said before he could think about it. 

Nosa cringed. He’d spent a long time convincing Kome that ‘long time no see’ was reserved for friends separated by time and long distance and here he was greeting Irekanmi like the guy had just returned from war.

Irekanmi froze on the spot-- the spot being butt in the air, fingers on toes—then straightened up and turned to Nosa. 

“Nosa,” His face split into an easy smile. “How far? How’s it going?  Here to play?” He fired the questions rapidly, asking another before Nosa’s brain could process one.