Bonding Energy 02 by Ryan Miller				Email Codey’s World Codey ~ Poet & Author Blue ~ Editor & Designer
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In the morning, I was surprised to wake up in my bed upstairs. James must have carried me up there after I fell asleep in my recliner, which happens often. I got dressed and went downstairs to eat breakfast and get ready for school. I was packing my books when I picked up my chemistry book and I paused. I looked down at and it seemed to have a special meaning now. I thought back to the day before and remembered how I had just become study partners with the boy of my dreams: Brian. I felt all warm inside just thinking about being able to see him again without fear of having stuff thrown at me or someone asking, "What are you staring at?"

"Kyle, I'm leaving," said James as he walked out the door. "Remember, tonight is pool night, so I won't be home until late."

"Ok," I said as he closed the door. Every Friday night, James would go out with his friends and shoot pool and just do guy stuff, which meant I was free to rent whatever movie I wanted. But, more importantly, it meant I could sit on the couch. (I'm sure he knew I sat on his couch while he was away, but he never said anything about it.)

When I got on the bus, I stared blankly out the window, wondering if I'd see Brian today. At school, my eyes scanned the crowds in the halls looking for Brian's tall, blond head. I figured my best chance was to catch him at lunch. I sat just across from the jock table, close enough to get a roll thrown at my head, but I never saw him. And from the way they were talking, his lackeys didn't know where he was, either. I spent every spare minute I had looking and didn't find a trace of him.

After school I got on the bus and rode home, wondering if he was ok. He probably felt a lot of stress about the party that night and how lame it was going to be and how much his girlfriend was going to hate being there.

'Hmm, I'd love to be his girlfriend,' I thought. 'Then I'd get to see a lot more of him. I mean, I'd get to see him more…like when we'd go behind the gym to make-out! Hey, I can't be thinking like that. He's spoken for.'

I may have a huge gay crush on him, but I have my ethics, too. You don't go after a boy who is already in a relationship. You wait until that relationship ends tragically and then move in for the kill, or so I always pictured it going.

I got off a few stops before my house so I could visit the movie rental place on my way home. It was a local store called The Movie Dome. The owner thought the name was cool and dramatic; even I thought it was lame. But what I liked about The Movie Dome was its formidable anime selection. Yes, I love to watch anime. I don't have many passions in life, but anime is one of them. It's up there with chemistry. I can't explain why, but the fact that the heroes are always cute is probably a big factor. I decided on "Princess Mononoke" (mmm, Ashitaka) and headed home.

James had already left by the time I got there, which meant I should have rented two movies because I would have the house to myself at least until at least 1 a.m. I walked in and saw that he left some "pizza money" on the counter, which I would add to the stash I was saving for a PS2. (I figured out that I could do this and still eat some canned pasta or something about 4 months ago. James would leave money for pizza if he was in a good mood, so I was really nice towards the end of the week. This embezzling, like my couch sitting, was probably noticed but never complained about.) After homework and Fire Emblem on Gameboy, I heated up some ravioli, sat on the couch and settled in for blood, carnage and forest spirits. 

It was at the part in the movie when Lady Iboshi got her arm bitten off that I heard a knock at the door.

"Damn-it, Zack," I said.

We had a kid who lived next to us who always went out and partied on Friday night. He would forget to bring his house keys with him so he was usually locked out when he got home. He would come over and get the spare key from me and I would give him flack about bothering me. It was raining outside and I figured it would serve him right to leave him out there for a while. But after the third knock, I felt it was too cruel and went to let him in. As I opened the door, I was more than shocked to see Brian in a nice dress shirt and slacks dripping wet on my doorstep.

"Brian!" I exclaimed.

He was standing there shivering and looking down, not at anything in particular, just anywhere but up. It was raining, but I could tell he had been crying, a lot. And I noticed his forehead had a cut and was bleeding a little. I just stood there staring at him while he examined his shoes, and then I came back to reality.

"Don't just stand there, come in," I said.

"Thanks," he mumbled. I stepped aside and let him in. As I closed the door, I looked to see where he parked his Civic, but didn't see it anywhere.

'Did he walk the whole way here?' I thought. 'Something must have happened at the party.'

Brian stood in the hallway, dripping on the floor. "Hold on. I'll get you some dry clothes," I said.

"You don't have to--" he objected, but I cut him off, saying, "Well you can't just keep dripping on the floor." He looked down at the puddle he had created and stepped out of it, as if that would solve the problem.

"Sorry," he said.

"I'll be right back," I said and ran up the stairs to James' room. James wasn't nearly as built at Brian, but his clothes had a much better chance of fitting him than mine. I dug through his dresser and found some sweats that, if they didn't fit, would at least be warm.

I was on my way back downstairs when I heard a crash. I ran the rest of the way down and saw Brian kneeling on the floor crying with his face in his hands. One of his hands was bleeding. I ran over to him and tried to help him up, but he shrugged me off and kept crying. But then he looked up at me and calmed down. He picked himself up and said, "I'm really sorry. I should leave."

"No, it's ok. Here, put these on," I said, handing him the sweats. "There's a bathroom down the hall where you can change."

He looked at the clothes in his hand and then at the door. Then he looked at me and I saw a tear roll down his cheek. "Thanks," he said weakly and he walked down the hall to the bathroom. He closed the door and I heard him start crying again.

'Wow,' I though. 'Whatever is wrong must be big.'

I turned to go back in the living room and saw that the mirror on the wall by the door was broken.

'The crash!' I realized. 'He must have broken the mirror…with his fist! That's why his hand was bleeding. Whatever happened caused him to walk in the rain to a person's house he barely knew in nice clothes and prompted him to attack his own reflection. Holy crap! Something must really be wrong.'

The door to the bathroom opened and Brian stepped out. The sweats fit him better than I though. "I *sniff* left the old ones in a towel, if that's ok," he said.

"That's fine," I said. "How's your hand?"

He looked down at it and it wasn't bleeding as bad. "I-I'm really sorry about that," he said. "I'll fix it, I swear."

"Look," I reassured him. "The only thing we use the mirror for is when James checks himself out before a date, and it hasn't been used in a while." I hoped such a comment would help him feel better, but I just saw the tears start to well up again. "Why don't you go and sit on the couch? You can warm up and we can figure out what's going on."

"I really don't want to talk about it, but thanks," he said.

We walked into the living room and I slumped onto the recliner while he sat on the couch. He didn't look too comfortable; more like someone during a job interview would sit. He just sat up straight with his hands folded in his lap. The awkward silence that ensued was more than I could take, so I tried to start the ball rolling.

"So… how was the party?" I asked. I saw him flinch and decided I hadn't chosen the best topic of conversation.

I was about to change the subject when he meekly said, "Me and my dad got into an argument. He was really mad, and when I didn't agree with him, he kicked me out."

"He argued with you in front of the guests?"

"Yeah. In front of his boss, his best friend, my mom…"

"Your girlfriend?"

At that comment, Brian looked up at me as if I has just ripped out his heart and torn it to shreds. He tried not to start crying again, but it didn't work.

After a few sobs, he said, "I really don't want to talk about this any more."

Now, if there's anything I learned in all those years of school counseling, it's that you never just let go of an issue because you don't want to talk about it, and I wasn't going to let Brian do the same. "Did he not like her?" I asked.

"I said I don't want to talk about it!" he demanded.

'Screw counseling,' I thought. 'This guy can grind me to a pulp with his pinky.'

I promptly dropped the subject, but then the awkward silence fell over us again. I hate awkward silences. I looked over at him and saw how defeated my crush was, how he had fallen from arguably the most popular kid in school to a quivering mass of sorrow in sweats that barely fit. His eyes showed no sign of life at all.

I was surprised when Brian broke the silence. "Well," he started, "You'll probably find out anyway." He was sounding agitated, which kind of scared me. "Yes, my dad did have a problem with my girlfriend. When he found out she doesn't exist, he was confused. But when he found out why I didn't have one, he was furious." There was life back in his eyes now, but it was all in the form of rage.

"You wanna guess why I don't have a girlfriend?" he asked. "Come on, take a guess."

I knew this was a loaded question, and I was too scared to think straight, so I just stared at him as his eyes burned a hole through me.

"Come on, why would the most popular guy in school—the captain of the wrestling team, the fucking quarterback!—not have a girlfriend? Am I stupid? Am I ugly? No! It's worse than that!" Now he was flat out yelling at me and I was scared witless. I started crying a little, waiting to hear how bad the story would end, but he saw how upset I was and tried to calm down.

"I-I'm sorry," he said. "I didn't mean to yell at you. I'm just—I don't even know how to feel right now. My life as I know it just ended in a heated argument with my Dad."

I wasn't really paying attention to his apologies. I was too busy mulling over what he said about not having a girlfriend. 'He's a popular, likable, very cute guy,' I thought. 'Why wouldn't any girls like him? Unless he didn't like them, unless he—NO! It's impossible!'

"Are you even listening?" he said, interrupting my train of thought. "I just told you I'm gay. Doesn't that freak you out?"

'WHAT?' I thought as my psyche wet itself. 'Did I just hear what I think I did?'

"Y-you're gay?" I asked.

"Yes," he said, very frustrated. "I'm a queer, a homo, a fairy, a fag!"

Well, if I wasn't confused before, I definitely was now. 'Do I tell him I'm gay?' I thought. 'Do I tell him how I feel about him? He obviously didn't seem too proud of his own gayness.'

Luckily, I didn't have to make that decision because police lights appeared right outside my window.

"It's them!" Brian cried.