More Happy Than Not

THE SORT OF BEST FRIEND

It’s a dead giveaway where we can find Brendan; we spot his client go into the staircase. I want to see Brendan first, not because he lives closest to me, not because I’ve known him the longest, but because he needs to see the damage he’s done. I’m about to go into the staircase when Eric stops me.

“I shouldn’t have let you have sex with Genevieve,” he whispers.

I’m so confused that I almost laugh. “That had nothing to do with you.”

“I knew the truth. That’s enough to put me at fault if you got her pregnant. I didn’t stop you because I thought your life was going to be easier when you weren’t gay. It didn’t matter to me if you unknowingly led someone on.”

And then Eric is pacing from wall to wall in the lobby.

“That had nothing to do with you,” I say, and immediately after I say it, I can’t get aboard the train of thought that brought me to those words. “I don’t know what’s going on.”

“It’s okay,” Eric says. He recaps the conversation. “It’s crazy how you still turned out to be gay. You must really like that dude you kept hanging out with.”

Now this is so awkward I actually do want to forget it. “I have to go take care of this,” I mumble. “Wait here for me.”

I hand him the comics I want to give Collin and run into the staircase before he can protest. I don’t hear Brendan or that girl Nate running off so I keep jogging down. Brendan looks l

ike he’s seeing a pissed-off ghost when I turn the corner. I swing at him and he ducks, which is fine because I was really hoping to kick him in the balls, which I do.

He crumples to the floor. Nate picks up the weed and runs away. No doubt she lost a dealer after stealing, but she won’t give a shit while she’s high today.

Brendan holds his crotch, his manhood, and groans. “I had that coming.”

I almost have sympathy pains for him because getting hit in the balls sucks hard. Almost. “You fuckers fucked up my fucking brain!” I shout, ready to pounce on him all over again. “Major fucking memory loss and there’s a chance I’m going to fucking forget this fucking conversation but I’ll never fucking forget how my fucking friend almost fucking killed me because he fucking hated me.”

No matter how many times I say it out loud or to myself, I can never wrap my head around the fact that Brendan could’ve gone to jail forever for killing me.

Maybe it’s okay to forget. I’ll never play cards in his hallway again whenever it’s snowing outside or too chaotic to hang out in his house. I’ll never throw popcorn at his grandfather while he’s snoring in front of the TV again. I’ll never sleep over again and kick at the top bunk where he almost got this girl Simone pregnant before he learned the magic of condoms. I’ll never sit at his computer with him and write crude customer reviews on insane products, like a banana slicer and dog-shaped dog whistles. I’ll never leave his sneakers outside the window so his room won’t smell like feet.

“I don’t hate you,” Brendan says. “I just don’t understand why you’re being gay.”

“I can’t change that,” I say. Except for that time I could, and even then, I still kind of couldn’t.

He sits up and rests his elbow on his knee. “You chose that Thomas kid over us. We’re your blood, not him or anyone else.”

“Maybe that’s true. But I never knew. And I’m basically a toy without batteries because of you guys.”

“Your boys will take care of you, A.”

“Even if I’m gay?” I say the word out loud, about myself, because even though I never chose this, I can choose to accept it before it’s too late.

Brendan says nothing. I have my answer. I head back up the stairs and hope one day Brendan will find his happy ending. I really do want this for my very confused, former sort of best friend.

15

THE BOY WHO WON’T MAN UP

I’m about to sit in the alleyway between the meat market and flower shop and maybe flip through one of the comics I brought for Collin—Issue #7 of The Dark Alternates, the big finale—but community service do-gooders are painting over the spray-painted black-and-blue world Collin and I made.

And then he’s here.

“’Sup,” Collin says, nodding at me. He looks around, probably for spies with cameras, and finds the community service team in our spot. “Hey, what the hell are they doing?”

“Community service,” I say.

“Where can we go instead? You need to go buy a condom too because Nicole was finally in the mood last night and I used mine.”