This Boy's Journey

Chapter Five: Imagine

Michael and I are in the middle of talking about our childhood in the living room when we hear knocks upon our door. We've just come to the conclusion that memories were like dreams; you remember things from your childhood and there's this conflict of disassociation because you can't go back and change things, and some of your decisions don't feel like you and yet they were you. You had a different mindset and sensibilities and that young person can feel so different than you.

Michael gets up and answers the door and I stand up in place, waiting for them to come into the room. They raucous as soon as the door opens, greeting Michael with a loud "Hey!" all at once before they make their way over to me. Paul is tall with a mess of dark brown curls, a quintessential nerd top with black-rimmed glasses and an ironic tee-shirt that says "tee-shirt" for extra irony. Danny is extra short. If it wasn't for his older appearance, you'd think he was a prepubescent and yet he had the most raucous and adult humor out of anyone. Anthony was the oldest among us, pushing forty and trying desperately to cling onto his youth with dyed hair and Ray Bands on his forehead. Last was Ryan who looks the most out of place because he's unrealistically hot, like he was an Abercrombie & Fitch ad come to life with quaffed blond hair. He's not my type, but I can appreciate it.

"Eli!" screams Danny, pointing at me with finger guns one after the other.

"Danny!" I don't quite know how to adequately respond, so I shoot him finger guns back.

"This is gonna be so fly, I can feel it," says Anthony, nodding at everyone in the room.

Paul walks up and we shake hands and embrace in a one-handed hug. "You're just what we needed, man. We're gonna make the best show in history," Paul says, patting me on the back then falling back onto the couch.

"See?" says Michael, walking towards our mid-sized and minimalistic kitchen with white cabinets and marble countertops. It looks ripped right out of one of those home magazines my mom always used to read. "Does anyone want a beer?"

Everyone says that they do and I go along with the imagined peer pressure. I don't drink a lot and I'm especially not fond of beer, but I want to celebrate with everyone else.

We gather around the island once Michael retrieves our drinks and we cheers to a fortuitous show. Most of them have worked on shows before in some capacity. Paul and Anthony have both worked in sitcoms, Danny was a writer's assistant, and Ryan is moving from acting to writing. He never had the courage before, but he was fascinated with it. I felt out of place here. I've written short films, commercials, and some books, but never anything this big. It's intimidating, but I don't let on. Such is my nature.

Zane, the executive producer, arrives shortly after the pizza arrives. He's worth millions and yet dresses like he's still a broke college student that wears ratty hoodies, cargo shorts, and sandals.

"Welcome, knights of the round table!" he says, coming into the living room.

"Zane!" says Danny. He runs over to him and jumps into his arm like a toddler happy to see his parent.

Danny let's go and Zane walks to the center of the room, in front of the muted television that's showing a hockey game for some reason. "Not to make this all dramatic, but I'm crazy stoked about this. I know this idea is insane, but I truly believe in this idea. Source Code is Mr. Robot meets Euphoria, it's reckless and filled with heart. I know a few people at the top who're excited about this project already. I'm not saying this isn't somewhat self-serving. I mean, what isn't? But that doesn't mean we can't make magic."

Everyone cheers and claps as Zane sits down on the lounge chair next to the couch and Michael offers him a beer and we return to random conversations that split off into different groups and jumps around at random. I watch Michael as he mingles. He still has that effortlessness about him that's enthralling to watch. He's fearless in a way that's truthful. I'm good at playing the part; no one knows the pressure that I put myself under, but it's just a convincing act.

When everyone leaves, Michael and I sit on the couch and reflect on how the night went. He looks tired. It's been a long day and he had about three beers which accounts for that.

"How do you think that went?" he asks, resting an arm on the back of the couch and playing with his hair listlessly.

"Good, I think," I say, looking around and thinking if anything went wrong. "The place didn't catch fire so I'd count that as a win."

"That would've been a good story, though. Were you able to speak to Zane?"

"Yeah, he was pretty cool," I say nodding. "He's honest, which I appreciate more than a facade."

"Truer words, my friend." Michael gets quiet for a while and looks deep in thought. "I'm really glad that you decided to come with me. I can't imagine doing this with anyone else."

"Really?" I ask.

"Yeah, of course."

"Can I be honest with you?"

"Please do." He sits up, as if to force himself into soberness.

"You kind of ghosted me. I really thought we could've been close friends, but it was hard keeping your attention for any great length of time. I don't mean to make you feel guilty or anything. I know I'm not the most attentive person either, but...I felt like we had a connection."

"It was nothing personal." Michael covers his face in embarrassment. "I just had so much going on at the time. I really liked talking to you. You're one of a kind and I mean that wholeheartedly. I really appreciate you and how smart and funny you are."

"Oh, stop." I push the air away from me as if to push back his compliments.

"No, I mean it. I don't think you realize how great you are."

We stare at each other for what feels like minutes, then he lunges towards me and kisses me, pushing me down onto the couch. All my guards fall down as our hands clasp tightly together and he presses up against me. I really wanted this and I really wanted him. He lifts his upper body up and peels off his long-sleeved too, then he pulls my shirt off back over my head and dives back in, pressing his bare skin against mine. We kiss again with more fervor, breathing heavily when our lips part. I feel mentally connected to him in a way that I've never felt before. Being this close to him was even better than I had imagined and I have a great imagination.