Gravity (3 page)

"Hey, you can
crash at my place tonight. Mom's making your favorite." Josh sets a
soda can between us to share. “Spinach Lasagna.”

"Anything your
mom makes is my favorite." I take a good look at the deli meat
piled on thick, before taking a big bite.
Thank God for Josh.

The savory meat
sloshing in
my mouth and the
fact I don't have to go home brings my heart to a great relief.
I’ll never ask to sleepover. It’s bad enough saying
yes
every time Josh asks. Some days I pray for the
invitation. Most times my prayers are answered and I stay at Josh's
house. Today of all days I need a real home to go to.

“
Hey. Don’t
worry about it. You know my folks love having you over.” Josh’s
sympathetic voice lures me out of the daze. I realize I've stopped
chewing.

“
Sorry.”
I
swallow, feeling the ball of
food stretch its way to my hollow stomach.

“I always tell you,
you don’t have to be sorry.”

I
know Josh's parents take pity on me.
They know I come from a very troubled family. My clothes are filthy
because my mother never washes them. I'm always hungry because she
never makes me anything. I don’t know my father. My older brother
ran away. And my stepfather is evil. Home is not home.

I
feel like I'm taking advantage, but I
don't want to go home. Home is where the worst things have
happened. It rivals Eric Anderson and his assault team like they’re
a picnic in the park.

Josh doesn't know
that.

Josh doesn't
know anything about home; only that I have a troubled home life and
the details are off the table to talk about. Josh takes the hint
and for this, I'm grateful.

***

Gabriel

My body slouches against the school's
concrete wall, surrendering to a moment of bodily peace. I managed
to go to every class without Anderson seeing me. Pretending to be
invisible is impossible while all eyes bear witness to my existence
like the front cover of a tabloid magazine.

Is this what it’s
going to be like every day?

I
notice my jeans are ripped below the
pocket. If I wear these tomorrow, people will definitely identify
them as the same pair of jeans. I sigh, digging my fingers between
the frayed black threads. My fingers hit the plaid boxers
underneath. I’ll have to go home for another pair. Maybe Josh will
let me borrow his. Is that weird?

A hand on my
shoulder startles me out of my trance. The heat lingers for a
moment, and then travels down my spine like a warm
shower.

I
stagger away to see Josh is laughing.
“Jeeze, Anderson has you wired.”

“Asshole. What the fuck?” I rub my neck and
shoulder as if I have a muscle sore.

“
Come on. It’s
me.” Josh
grins. “It’s a
joke.”

He knows better
than to touch. What’s with him today?

“
It’s not
funny.” My voice shakes. My body collapses against the wall. Did he
touch skin? It's still warm on my skin.

“Sorry.” Josh’s smile slowly drops. “I didn’t
think it would bother you that much. I’m your friend. I
thought—"

“
You thought
what?”
I spring from the
concrete wall. “—that you’re not included?” I grab my backpack and
sling it over my violated shoulder. “Whatever, let’s just
go.”

My
insides want to explode, but walking
will release that energy. I pretend I didn’t hear my only friend
say under his breath, “Maybe you should get over it.”

***

Gabriel

Before heading
to Josh's, we stop at the bookstore to read the latest in graphic
novel releases—a ritual I love. We read comics cover to cover,
alone in the far corner where no one bothers us. Reading is an
escape from the real world, something to get absorbed into. The
fantasies are far from my mom, stepfather, school and
myself.

In a story,
I
can be normal; an outgoing
guy, the one everyone wants to be friends with. The one everybody
talks to. I can be a superhero that can actually touch, save
innocent people and destroy the bad guys. I can have tons of
friends. I can kiss girls like a normal guy.

In reality, I'm
as insignificant as the dust ball underneath Mr. P’s desk. Who
cares about the kid in the Ramones hoodie? I'm no one
special.

Sometimes I
come across a character that hauntingly reminds me of who I really
am; a mutant burdened with a strange defective soul in a
hyper-sensitive body. Usually it's a minor character that dies in
the first chapter. An Eric-Anderson-type kills me, but the novel is
really about someone like Josh. He’s more of the hero type; honest,
charming, exciting, all of which I don't possess. I'm a lying,
frightened beast whose unquenchable thirst for others is never
satisfied. I'm the one he kills.

I
look up at Josh’s face obstructed by
the book he’s reading except for his blue eyes which are already
watching me. For a moment too long we stare at each other. I switch
my eyes back to the comic and then back to Josh who's still
lingering on me. Why did he touch me? In the back of my mind I
wonder if everything is okay between us.

“
You hungry?”
Josh lowers his book. His blue eyes haven't blinked; their still
strangely glued to me. There's an intensity that wasn't there
before. Maybe it's the store lighting. I
suddenly feel
awkward.

“Yeah, I’m always hungry.”

“Let’s get out of here.” Josh's smile tips up
to one side. A small dimple appears. Did he always have that?
Maybe I'm over thinking
it.

Gabriel

I
love the walk to Josh's house. His
neighborhood is on the nice side of town where people walk their
dogs, wave hello and tend to their yards. Passing Craftsman style
homes, I smell hyacinths, moist earth and fresh cut grass. I hope
one day I can start a garden of my own, maybe even get a job as a
gardener or landscaper. For now, I'll enjoy what my senses pick
up.

The loud
buzzing of chainsaws and a truck growl
ing
causes
my stomach to turn. I don't like the sound of chainsaws. The abrupt
noise cuts the air unnaturally. There’s always a poor tree dying
from angry metal.

Just as
I had dreaded, there are men in
bright yellow vests, cutting away at an old oak tree. From how
thick the trunk looks it’s pretty damn old.

"Why are they
doing that?" I clench my backpack strap.

"Who knows? Maybe
it's in someone’s way."

"Maybe
they’
re the ones in the way,"
I mumble.

"What?"

"Nothing."
I
don't expect Josh to
understand. Most people walk through life numb to stepping on
flowers and killing trees. Being a social exile helps me see
through the fog; I'm not plagued with everyday habits
t
hat
subdue the senses that come so
naturally. It’s part of being a human to take care of the other
life forms around us. A dandelion is a weed, but to me it’s an
edible companion plant which benefits the soil, the air and
attracts pollenating insects. An unwanted flower that everyone
kills is a flower I can relate to.

I
can't bear to look as we pass the
blaring chainsaw.

My
heart aches and wishes the trees soul
to leave before the metal chains dig into it further. The ground we
walk on is being disturbed. I know the other plants and trees can
feel it too.

I grind
my teeth. Why are people so
cruel?

We distance ourselves from the killing as we
approach Josh's house. I'm grateful for the distraction. His house
is something out of a fifties movie. A yellow house with white
shutters, white picket fence and a golden retriever named Goldie.
She loves me. It’s obvious after my first visit that my condition
doesn't hurt animals or at least Goldie. She’s always interested in
what I smells like which is usually pretty awful according to Mrs.
Masterson. She’s always kind enough to wash my clothes. Mr.
Masterson always welcomes me to a seat at their table. Josh must
have told
them
about me, since they always
let me eat at the end of the table to provide distance for my
touching phobia.

I
love being at Josh's. The family
accommodates me; accepts me without really knowing me.
The
y provide
the
feeling of a real family.
The Mastersons really care for me. It's the closest to affection
and real love I've felt without the guilt. Still, I don't belong
here. There’s always the possibility of getting too close, I’ll end
up hurting them.

"Hi, Gabriel!”
Mrs. Masterson ho
lds up a
garlic clove. "From the garden."

I like
that the Mastersons have a vegetable
garden. It’s the vegetables they use that make everything Mrs.
Masterson cooks taste pure. "With that extra special
ingredient—blood, sweat and tears," Mrs. Masterson
jokes.

“
That’s
three
ingredients, Mom.”

"Hush!
S
how him the peppers,
Joshua."

Josh rolls his eyes, he clearly doesn't care
about the peppers, but I do. I follow Josh to the backyard.

The
Masterson’s
yard is like the
Garden of Eden. One step through their double doors is stepping
into heaven. Moss devours the cement walkway. Berry bushes engulf a
less pleasing metal fence. The summer plants are still growing;
their high stems and their leaves are uncurling for the blooming
season. When the flowers appear,
we
'll be able to
smell them in the house. To anyone, the garden may seem overgrown,
but Mrs. Masterson lets the plants take on the natural shapes and
lets them break out of their spaces.

Josh kneels and lifts
the leafy jungle to reveal shiny red and green finger-like flesh
dangling from their vines.

"You should
just garden with her. Maybe you could save me the agony. She always
makes me prep the ground with horse shit." His nose crinkles as if
he can't stand smell it. I don't mind it at all. I would love to do
that, but Josh is probably kidding, so I laugh with him.

***

Gabriel

Four
days
’
worth of grime
washes off my body. A gray stream escapes into the shower drain as
if I had been coal mining. If it had only been that, but I had
slept in a number of places since I was last at Josh’s; one of them
being an empty train car in a junkyard.

No staring at
cold metal walls or struggling to keep from freezing. Josh has a
warm bed for me on the other side of the door. We'll stay up much
later then what should be allowed on a school night. The late-night
movies air past midnight. I'm welcome to anything I want to eat
from the Masterson’s fridge. Reading the comics Josh purchased
makes the time tick away. Sleepovers at the Masterson’s are never
long enough. I’d rather stay at Josh’s as long as I can before I
have to go to school or worse—home.

Tonight feels off.

The filthy
water coming off
me finally
runs clean; it’s time to come out, but I feel awkward. Taking a
shower never felt this weird before. With Josh just outside the
door, I'm starting to wonder about our closeness. What’s worst is
borrowing his clothes until his mom brings my washed ones. Any
other night I would've stayed in my boxers, but tonight I wish I
had my own clothes.

I
listen as if a presence is at the
bathroom door. Why am I so nervous? I
t's just Josh
.
Turning the doorknob I see him in bed flipping through
channels.

“
I thought you
died in there”
He doesn't even
glance at me. “I was about to call my mom.”

Maybe I'm
overreacting.
“Just what I
need, your mom walking in on me.”

“Better than my
dad.”

“True.”

My
backpack sits between Josh’s bed and
the sleeping bag that has become a permanent fixture. The heavy
pack is used to measure the right distance and acts as an obstacle
in case Josh decides to get up in the middle of the night, which
thankfully he never does.

Sitting on the
floor
, leaning against the
bed, Josh moves beside me. A warm sensation on his arm alerts me
he’s too close, so I shift away from him.

Josh turns off
the television which darkens the room some. He’s staring at the
remote. His hair hangs over his eyes.

The awkward
silence is starting to worry me. My nerves are giving me
stomachache.

Josh places his hand between us. The warming
sensation strokes my side, so I shift away again. Is Josh doing
this on purpose?

This is
longest friendship I've ever had. In
the past, my friends dump me. They would tell me they weren't gay,
or that I make them feel uncomfortable. Most of them felt ashamed
that they felt those feelings toward me at all. It wasn't their
fault; there's something wrong with me—it’s my fault. No one can
ever tell me otherwise because it’s a fact. I could only hope that
Josh will keep his distance. But too many close calls worry me, the
signs are all there. I don't want to believe Josh will end our
friendship, but he's starting to get curious which is worst. I feel
eyes on me, he persistently moves into my space knowing very well
how I don't like to be 'touched'. Simple things, everyday things,
friend things like walking close, arm nudges, and now he’s handing
me things so our hands would touch. I'm not stupid. Josh is either
trying to help me or he's testing me.