16. 16
“Are you sure we brought it?” I ask Chester after we’ve set up the tent and I’m going through all our stuff to see if it’s really not there.
“Yeah, I’m sure it’s somewhere,” he answers as he starts helping me go through all our shit. His hair falls in his face as he’s bent over the backpack he’s meticulously searching. One of us brought a lighter, to make a campfire, but we can’t find it. And we might not die from the cold during the night, but a fire would make our annual camping trip a lot more comfortable.
Once a year, ever since boarding school, we hike into the forest near the house that was Chester’s grandma’s at that time, go high up on the biggest hill in the vicinity, set up camp and watch the Perseids. The annual meteor shower shows a lot of meteors coming from the Swift-Tuttle comet and each year we count them together. I think it started as a way during summer break for us to have an excuse to see each other and for Chester to get away from home just for a little while. It’s since evolved into our annual get-shitfaced-and-eat-shit-in-the-woods trip.
“Got it,” Chester says after a while, holding up the lighter that he found in one of the front pockets of his backpack. I hadn’t looked there, so it seems about right. We’re cheating though, because we took some gasoline-soaked barbecue blocks so we can start the fire without any trouble.
And just as expected, it takes Chester a whole three minutes before he has a decent fire going. I know most psychopaths start with making small fires and killing small animals, and if Chester’s brain had been wired just a little differently he would’ve been a perfect candidate for it. Even the whole loveless childhood, wrong example thing works.
I take a moment to admire what a wonder it is that he turned out like this. He makes me proud, and realizing that fills me with a warmth that has nothing to do with the fire that is slowly starting to eat its way through the logs.
I grab a bag of chips, open it up and set it in between us. Just this one night a year, we only eat crap. We used to bring a whole backpack filled with candy, and the tradition kind of stuck. We just added some traditions, like booze. Chester sits down on the ground, grabs the bottle of liquor he took with him and takes a swig straight from the bottle.
“We’re not even bothering with glasses, are we?”
“Uh, did you bring any?” he asks me as he looks at the carnage that is our backpacks.
“Good point. Straight from the bottle it is,” I say as I take a swig of the whiskey I brought. It’s a fruity one, from Ireland. It goes down smoothly.
It’s not dark out yet, but it’ll be soon. Somehow it always goes quicker out in the woods. Or perhaps it’s just as quick as always, but time itself seems to go faster because I’m spending quality time with Chester, without any distractions.
I catch him spinning his thumb ring. Why? There’s no reason to be fidgeting. I take another swig of the whiskey.
“What’s up?” I ask him.
“What? Nothing’s up?”
I point my chin to his hand. “Your tell is showing. Something’s up.”
He looks out into the woods. I don’t know what he’s trying to see out there, but I guess he’s just trying to avoid answering the question.
“It’s awkward now, isn’t it?”
I don’t know what he’s talking about. “What’s awkward?”
Now he’s looking at me like I’m the one who’s acting dumb, but I seriously don’t know what he’s talking about. He takes another swig.
“Me kissing a girl and you and Remy figuring out why, because he’s smart like that and he notices things, and now us being together out in the woods like nothing has changed.”
Oh.
Well.
I take a huge swig of my whiskey. I’ve tried not to think about that. And to be perfectly honest, with everything that’s going on it’s very easy not to think about it. The times my head did start to wander to those places, I forced myself to find a way to distract myself. Because it’s just too weird to think about. I want to be a good friend to Chester, and completely deny that it’s weird, but yeah, it’s weird.
“Yeah, it’s kind of awkward.” I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. The ends are split and I should probably take better care of it, but that’d mean I’d have to give a shit first. The fact that I’m even noticing it now only underlines how badly I do not want to have this conversation.
“Aaaaaaaaaw-kward,” Chester says as he lets himself fall back, lying on his back, making me grin in the process.
“Wanna talk about how awkward it is instead of actually talking about it?”
“Is that an option?” he asks with hope in his voice.
“We could try,” I shrug. “Or we could actually make this a treasure moment and then never talk about it again if we don’t want to.”
“We’re having way too many treasure moments lately. I thought we knew everything about each other after all these years.”
“You’re deflecting,” I say, grabbing some chips which I then start chewing. My mouth is dry and I don’t know if it’s from the booze or the awkwardness or something else entirely.
“Yeah, I am.” He starts tapping his feet on the ground in a rhythm I can’t place, but is probably to one of the songs that is playing inside of his brain.
“So…?”
Crickets.
“Yeah, now it’s definitely awkward,” I conclude, taking a larger sip than I was intending and it almost ends up in the wrong pipe.
“Getting out of the closet was less awkward,” he says, folding an arm behind his head and making himself comfortable.
“Is that what this is? Going back into the closet?”
“No, I’m still very much into men. Big fan. Biiiiiiig fan,” he empathizes with a grin.
“What is this then?”
“This is like getting into that closet that leads to Narnia. I’ve got one foot in my normal world, where I like men and men like me and things are uncomplicated. And the other foot is in a brand new world, where lions talk and I drink tea with a faun. Only it’s not a faun, it’s a girl, and it’s not tea, it’s whiskey.”
“Are you calling me Mister Tumnus?”
“No, I’m calling you Misses Tumnus, weren’t you listening to what I was saying at all?”
I snort.
“I’m not even sure if I’m actually into girls.”
Now I’m just confused. Remy said he’s in love with me, and that was the conclusion. That’s what we’re talking about right? Me being a whiskey drinking faun? I can’t have had so much to drink that I’m so drunk I don’t understand this conversation anymore. I’ve built quite the tolerance.
I feel Chester’s eyes on me and I must look as confused as I feel, because he actually laughs out loud.
“God, you look like how I feel half of the time right now. I don’t like girls; I don’t trust them. When a pretty one walks down the street, I don’t turn my head to stare at her. I can see the physical appeal of them, appreciate it even. But I’ll never trust them. But then there’s you, and I see you with Remy, and I get this gnawing feeling inside of me.”
He falls silent for a moment, trying to dissect the feeling I guess. “I think it’s jealousy. Not like ‘I’ve got tickets to Tool’-jealous, but ‘That’s what I’m missing in my life’-jealous.”
Now that he’s talking I don’t want to interrupt him. I want to see where this is going.
“At first I thought it was because of Remy. Because we’ve been together and now he has something with you. Which makes me extremely jealous, because he told me he’s not really a relationship kind of guy and you seem to be pretty relationshippy together.”
“I think the adults call that a couple,” I say without being able to hold myself back.
“See, I don’t even know the proper terms for it. But it’s not just that. It’s more.”
He takes the bottle to his lips and tips it back, drinking for longer than should be wise.
“It’s you… It’s some feeling that scares the crap out of me. And not just because feelings are scary, but because there’s the very real chance of me fucking this up. And I don’t even know what this is. I do know, I don’t want to fuck our friendship up. But I also know I stand a very real chance of missing out on you if I don’t give in to these feelings I have, because I’ll lose you to Remy.”
I look at him in a different light. Here’s my friend, gorgeous inside and out, pouring his heart out to me. “I don’t want our friendship to be ruined either.”
Another swig before I let myself fall back down on the ground as well. Leaves work their way in my hair immediately. Should’ve tied it up. When I turn my head so that I’m facing Chester, I feel confusion. We stare at each other in silence, his baby blues laser focused on mine.
“I’m freaking out over here, Abs. I feel like I’ve already fucked up our friendship.”
I let out a massive sigh.
“It’s just… This comes out of nowhere for me. Until Remy pointed it out it never even occurred to me. You’ve always been my better half. My gay better half. I never looked at you that way, because it’s never been an option.”
He keeps looking at me in silence, before he turns his head and stares up at the darkening sky again.
“And now that it’s an option?”
“It’s awkward,” I answer and also look back up to the sky. “Or as you so eloquently put it: Awkwaaaaaaaaaard.”
He snorts. “Truer words have never been spoken.”
We lie in silence for a while, as I try to gather my thoughts. Platonically. I’ve always thought about Chester platonically, because everything else simply wasn’t an option. How do I feel about Chester? Like I always do, like he makes my life better, makes me better. Peeping over my platonic-glasses I can admit he’s attractive, he’s always been. But am I able to see past my friendship with him? And what the hell does this mean for me and Remy?
“This is all very complicated,” I conclude. “I mean, with Remy and all.”
It seems to dawn on him what I’m actually admitting by bringing up the situation with Remy. I wouldn’t do that if the door to Narnia was completely closed and I don’t like him in that way. It’s just still… awkward. Damn, I sense a theme for this evening.
“Remy is actually really cool about everything,” Chester almost whispers. Before I respond to that, I check how much whiskey I’ve had to drink. Quarter of the bottle. In what? Half an hour? Yeah, I might be drunk. My head might be making me hear stuff he’s not really saying. I feel a little buzzed, but perhaps I’m more buzzed than I think.
“I might be a little drunk, but I think I just heard you say Remy is cool about all this.”
He snorts. “You’re not drunk, you’re buzzed, you’ve got the tolerance of an alcoholic. No offense. But you heard me correctly, Remy is cool about it.”
“Why do people always say no offense right before or after they’ve said something offensive?” I sit up and turn around to grab a cookie from my backpack. Best to have something in my stomach to suck all the alcohol up. “How do you know Remy is cool with all of this? You’ve hardly seen him and I was there the whole time.”
“We text, Abs. I’m actually quite gifted with technology if you hadn’t noticed.” This time I snort.
“What did you text about?”
“Started off with him wanting to know if I was okay after the concert. Then we just started talking. And we haven’t stopped since.”
That does sound like a Remy thing to do, to ask him how he’s doing. When I eye the sky I see the first meteor. “One,” I count, before we fall silent again. I’m thinking about everything, and everything seems complicated.
“How accurate do you think our counting has been the last couple of years? We’ve been drunk off our asses at the end of the night ever since we started taking booze with us.”
“Very inaccurate. But that’s never been the point.”
He reaches over and grabs my hand and tangles his fingers through mine. I look at where our hands lie on the forest floor and it’s like I’ve discovered that leprechauns are real or something. Seeing our tangled hands is weird. And awkward, while we’re at it. I’ve held Chester numerous times, but somehow holding his hand right now is different. I can feel his light touch through my whole body.
“What is Remy’s view on this?” I want to hear it from him, even if I asked Remy the very same question myself just a few days ago after having a freak-out in my bathroom.
He ponders for a while. It can’t be because he doesn’t know, but I think he’s struggling with how much to tell me without messing with Remy’s trust.
“Remy’s a free spirit. He, well, he’s open to the idea of being together with more than one person. Says if there’s more than one person to love you, he wants you to receive all that love.”
I swallow hard. This is all going too fast. I’m still catching up to the fact that Chester is not just into guys, he’s into me. The whiskey drinking faun. And the boy I’m dating? He’s having conversations with my friend about open forms of a relationship. So I go with the only tactic I can honestly use right now: I deflect.
“And how do you feel about that?”
“Don’t know. I’ve never thought about having a real relationship with anyone, let alone with more than one anyone. Anytwo, I guess. I just figured I’d cross that bridge when I got to it. First hurdle was checking if there’s even a slight possibility for us while not fucking up our friendship, before worrying about the how and the what.”
He lets go of my hand to take another swig of his spirits. “That sounds very reasonable of you.”
“Eh, had an extra session with Ryan. I actually listened to him for once and didn’t spend the whole hour cussing him out.”
A laugh leaves my mouth. “Is Ryan okay? Was he able to comprehend what was happening to him?”
“He was very confused,” Chester says with a toothy grin. He’s way too proud of that.
“Good on you,” I praise him. Something is twirling in my stomach, and I don’t think it’s the booze. So I just spit it out.
“I need some time to process,” I whisper. I’m afraid he won’t hear me, but it’s useless, because Chester watches me like a hawk and notices every little thing I say or do. Always has been that way. How the hell did I miss that he’s into me? Now that I’m putting the pieces together it’s obvious. Perhaps I didn’t want to see it because opening that can of worms can be dangerous.
“Yeah, take all the time you need. I know I’m confused as fuck, can’t imagine what it’s like for you.”
That’s oddly out of character for him. He’s used to seeing things his way. Empathy isn’t his strong suit. Or at least, so he likes to make himself believe.
“Two,” he says, seeing another falling star. I look up at the sky, but I’ve missed it already. Our hands are still tangled, and starting to feel normal again.
“Do you think the meteors are people using the magic words and making them fall in love?” I ask, thinking about what my aunt Viv told me about my mother and the boy in her window.
Chester lets my hand go and grabs my bottle of whiskey.
“Hey!” I protest.
“You’ve not had enough to drink to be rambling like this. What’s in this? Are you doing drugs? I thought we decided that if we’re going for the druggie lifestyle we’d do it together.”
I let out a laugh I can’t hold back. “I solemnly swear that if I’m up to no good, I’ll do it together with you. But I don’t think I’ll be taking up the habit any time soon.” I stare at the sky that has gone pitch black now. There’s a lot of stars to see out here in the woods. No lights from our surroundings polluting the sky.
“My mother apparently told Aunt Viv that she gave a boy the magic words to bring her back the moon to earn her love. I’m wondering if the meteor shower is just little specks of stardust, earning people around the world true love.”
Chester stays quiet for a while. “I know, scientifically speaking, that’s bullshit but I kind of like the idea of it.”
“Me too.”
Suddenly it feels like someone is squeezing my throat, and I don’t know where the sadness comes from. It’s this whole murder thing that makes me think of my parents more often than normally. I don’t think about them that often in my regular life, and when I do, I tend to think about the times before they died. The fun we had, the vacations we went on, my dad taking me to the library, my mom cooking stuff with me in the kitchen. This whole serial killer stuff? It makes me remember them being tied up and duct taped to the seats of their car, while they were driven into a lake. By fucking mistake.
In theory I’ve had enough therapy to have worked through this, but I don’t think there’s a way to actually process something like this. They were my parents for fuck’s sake, and they were taken from me by mistake.
“Three,” Chester says, and I try to look up, but my vision is blurry from the tears that are pooling in them. I try to will them away, but instead one of the fuckers leaves my eyes and trails down my cheek. I hope that Chester is watching the sky, but of course he notices. He pushes himself up and brushes the tear away from my thumb, the metal of his thumb ring feeling foreign on my skin.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mom and Dad,” I answer, knowing he’ll understand without me elaborating. I rub away the tears that have not fallen from my eyes yet, rubbing some of my mascara away with the motion as well. I think girl code states that I should care about getting panda eyes and fix it, but this is Chester and he’s seen me in way worse shape than with a little running mascara.
“I used to fantasize it were Satan Co that got taken by your parents” killer and he’d kill them instead,” he admits as he takes a giant swig of his drink.
“How’d that turn out?”
“Meh, didn’t like it. If they’d done that I wouldn’t have met you. And they say that drowning actually is one of the most peaceful ways to go. The lack of oxygen puts your brain in a survival state, where you see beautiful colors and feel peaceful. If I’m fantasizing about my parents’ deaths, it’d have to be less peaceful.”
“Why do you know what it’s like to drown?” I ask like that’s the most important thing to focus on after what he said. Weirdly, I’m not worried about Chester fantasizing about his parents dying. Somehow I think it’s healthy he uses his anger and puts it into murder fantasies instead of pushing all of it down and pretending like it isn’t there.
“Did some research for you. For if you ever wanted to know about what happened to them. At least I’d have the answer to that.”
Opposed to all the other things he doesn’t have an answer to. The tight feeling around my throat disappears, and something warm spreads in my insides. This is how he shows he cares, and always has. Knowing that he’s probably had this information for years just on the off chance of me ever asking is slowly getting him out of the friendzone I’ve put him in.
Fuck, this is complicated and not what I need right now. I look back up at the sky and see three meteors falling down right then.
“Four, five and six.” His eyes dart back to the sky again, and I look at him from the corner of my eyes. His shoulder length blond hair is spread over the forest floor, and I don’t mind secretly admiring him. It’s still awkward though. It’s like you’ve had a peanut allergy all your life and suddenly you can eat peanuts and are presented with a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. Of course you want it, but it’s still fucking scary to take a bite. Going out of the friendzone with Chester could put me into an anaphylactic shock and I don’t think they have an epi-pen for this specific kind of allergy.
“What’d you settle on for their hypothetical murder?”
“Impalement,” he says without skipping a beat.
“Impalement? Like, sharp stick up their asses?”
“Exactly. I’d like my last words to them to be that they can stick it up their asses. Pun intended.”
“Seven,” I say, as I see another meteor.
Chester focuses on the sky again, and I snatch my bottle of whiskey back from him. If I keep drinking at this rate, I’m going to pass out long before dawn. Perhaps that’s not the worst thing to happen either.
A memory shoots through my mind, and I chuckle out loud. Chester looks at me to see what’s going on. “Remember that one time,” I start, but he cuts me off.
“The time you threw up over Daniel Smith’s loafers because we snuck in booze to the dance?”
I snort. “No, I meant…”
“The time we both thought the other would take our pet hamster home for the summer and it ended up staying at boarding school so the concierge took it home, and it totally liked him better and stayed to live with him indefinitely?”
Now I’m just laughing out loud, while I try to shake my head that that’s not the memory I’m going for.
“Oh, then it must have been that time we got into the supply closet and put colored dye into the hand soap and like half the kids had pink hands for two weeks, and we mocked everyone without pink hands because they don’t wash their hands after going to the bathroom?”
“God, stop, I’ll never stop laughing. I forgot about the soap,” I say as I try to wipe tears of laughter out of my eyes. “No, I was thinking about the time you caught mister Humphries making a mathematical error, which he kept denying, and you used literally every chalkboard in that room to prove him wrong. And then when he called his friend who was in NASA to tell you that he was right and you were wrong, and the friend deadpanned that Humphries was a dumbass and he should not be allowed to teach kids math.”
Chester grins. “He refused to look at me for the rest of our time at school. I think he didn’t even really look at my tests, just gave me an A+ without going over my answers.”
“How do you figure?”
“I once used two full pages on a question about relativism in math on how he was a dickweed, and I still got an A+.”
I can’t stop myself from laughing. And once I start going, Chester follows suit. Before we know it we’re rolling over the forest floor like two maniacs. Right then, it’s just us again. Ches and Abs. No more awkwardness. There’s enough time to figure all this shit out. But right now, during this night, everything is alright again and we spend the rest of the time counting the specks of stardust coming down to earth, making sure people all over the world find true love.