The Best of Friends | ✔

two

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Shutting the door behind him, Roger walked into his room, following me, silent and stiff. We were waiting for Ms. Robinson to finish cooking up her specialty for my first night back in town; Cajun fried chicken, baked macaroni and cheese, and fresh, buttery mashed potatoes with green peas. Just thinking about it made my stomach have a hard-on. If I had a cook like Ms. Robinson, I would have no self-control and be morbidly obese, dying happily from its complications. Still, even the thought of her food failed to keep me from being on my tiptoes, and things only got worse when Roger sat on the edge of his loveseat, kicking off his shoes, because right then and there reality hit me: we were alone, in his bedroom. His scent was everywhere. I needed something to keep my head in check, fast.

"Hey... bud, tell me, how's college like?"

"It's alright," Roger said, shrugging. "Girls of all colors, shapes, and sizes, everywhere. You'll love it when you get there. Lots of freedom."

"I see."

Leaning in on his sofa, he reached for the desk next to him, picking up his CD player. "I got the new album from that instrumental duo Garden of Secrets, the one you were begging me to get. I thought it would suck, but it's pretty good. You were right. Sometimes, it's better for instruments to sing on their own."

I felt a smile tug at each end of my lips. "Good to know, I'm glad you liked it."

"Wanna hear it?"

"Sure, why not?" Roger opened his CD player, took the disk out of it, and put it in the large sound system of outstandingly great quality by the far end of his room. "Dude, I can't believe you spent that much on a stereo."

The smallest of smiles sneaked its way onto his face. "Music is what I live for right now, helps me calm down," he said, with his soft eyes going someplace far. Roger caught onto himself, however, and quickly added, "Now you know how I feel when you get something on a whim, rich kid."

I found myself giggling. "Wow, okay, throwing some shade I see."

The music played in the background, slowly bringing us into a peaceful form of collective silence. We both sat on the loveseat, our heads facing the ceiling, letting the violin, piano, and flute play together in their unique collaboration. Unfortunately, within minutes, my eyes peeked over at him, stealing my focus away from the piece. Roger was clearly more relaxed than before, unknowingly allowing the purest, or rather the most concentrated levels, of all his agony surface to clear view. His lips were slightly apart and his eyes were sealed shut, highlighting the creases by their ends as well as the bags under them. His twitching hands were spread out, almost poking me, welcoming the music to sway him, to move him, to take him far away from all he knew. Occasionally his chest rose and fell erratically as if he wanted to cry, but could not.

Seeing him the way I did during that moment, I was reminded of why exactly I decided to come over for the spring break── for him. Over the phone, I felt it; I heard it in his voice, in the way he laughed, in the way he spoke── the way he whispered the pain into my ears. This wasn't about me or my damned sexuality or queer inclinations and feelings for him or any guy in general. I was there for my best friend, for Roger, to understand what was going on, to be there for him. Something was eating him, and I was there for him, not for me.

And so, I let it come out as softly and as naturally as possible: "Roger, what's wrong?"

That was all that it took, a small little push, a small little trigger, for his walls to break apart and let all hell bleed through and seep out, loose and free. The tears he couldn't let out before rolled down his cheeks, abandoning him, leaving him all to himself. He bit his lower lip to stop it from quivering, but it failed to do its purpose.