Date: Thu, 15 Apr 2004 04:07:53 -0700 (PDT) From: rob <robbie_is_still@yahoo.com> Subject: Similar Differences 6 Standard warnings apply. Actually, the site already has warnings. Just to make sure, here're more. ^_^ Most of this is actually fiction but some situations have been taken from real life. The names of the characters are made up/fictional - if there are people with the same names somewhere out there, that is purely coincidental. As with most stories, the author retains all rights to this story. Without the permission of the author, no reproductions or links to other sites are allowed. This deals with male homosexual love. If you are not of legal age (18 or 21, it depends actually where), or if you live/are in a place where material such as this is illegal, or if you are simply offended by homosexuality and/or homosexual themes, please leave. This story has no sex scenes in it. ^_^ -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Chapter 6: Cleaning Up I never got to give Kyle his gift. It was wrapped somewhere - stashed in some corner of my room, gathering dust. Nor was I able to greet him. Or even see him on his birthday. Desperate as it sounded, it was horrible being without him. And it got worse at night, remembering how he held me in bed. Or how we spent a whole afternoon sticking the stars up on my ceiling. That's the trouble with monuments. Sure, my ceiling wasn't a monument to us when we were working on it the past summer. It wasn't conceived to be one at all. But even little things - songs, mannerisms, brands of cigarette or chewing gum - they're all monuments. And because they never change, whenever something goes awry somewhere else, they'd still be there to haunt you. Monuments. Sentinels of the past. At night I just sunk deep into the sheets to keep from seeing them. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- But the stars - eventually I got used to them. What was more difficult to handle was when I'd actually see him and her together. Those times I'd only think, "We were only friends, we were only friends," over and over until the words didn't mean much anymore. It was understandable at the university - he had classes while she had friends there after all. But sometimes fate would throw us together in painfully real ways - like at the mall of at some park or restaurant. She be holding his hand, laughing, giggling, smiling brightly at him. Those times Kyle would avoid looking at me, staring at the floor, or at the sky, or at flyers thumbtacked on message boards as if - all of a sudden - he had an interest in extra-curricular activities. But when Sara'd see me, being oblivious to what was going on, she'd call out and wave. Brightly. Radiantly. Like sunshine. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Cleaning up my room during late December was sort of like a ritual for me. It's like removing all the excess baggage of the previous year to welcome the new year with a clean, pure spirit. On New Year's Day, amid the noise of the fireworks outside, I'd light an incense stick, while praying for good fortune in the year ahead. Of course, I'd have to wear red then. It was one or two days after Christmas that I found myself busy tidying up scattered books, wiping the dust off the telescope, sweeping the floor and polishing it so well that I could glide on it. Opening a drawer, after waiting for the grime to settle, I found a sealed envelope with my name printed on a side. The scholarship. I had hidden it for a while and eventually got to forget about it. Tearing off the seal, I found an application form inside - an application form for any course of my choice. The deadline for me to send it back was sometime in February. I still had time. Scanning through the requirements, I thought that the university offices could have all those ready for me, especially in between Christmas and New Year. Barely anyone had requests during those days so they'd have lots of free time. Rushing to school - there were hardly any cars on the road the days following Christmas - and finding almost no students, faculty and staff, I almost had to beg just to ask for my documents. My transcript was ready within two days. And my letter of recommendation was ready as soon as I saw Mrs. Vergara. She promised me one when I visited the Psychology Department the day I asked for the transcript. "How are the holidays, Mr. Chan?" She kindly asked while handing me the sealed envelope. "They're fine, ma'am. I'm surprised you're still here." "Oh, just fixing a few things up before going home for the break." She smiled. She knew how to put students at ease. It was a talent that I could've sworn stemmed from hypnosis. "Osmond," she rarely used my first name to address me unless it was serious, "I never got to ask you." Wondering what it all was about, I didn't wait for her to finish completely. "What ma'am?" "Have you been in touch with Kyle - even after the project?" I was, I thought. "Yes ma'am," trying to piece the words together. "Yes ma'am. I was, for a while." "Oh, I see." She brought her right hand to her glasses, adjusting them as if to see me much better. As if to burn through me. "I was particularly touched by your project - your reflection papers. Both of you." "Really ma'am?" I didn't think there was anything special about mine. "Yes, yes," she said. "There seemed to be a sort of - how do you say it - connection between the two of you." Remaining quiet, I felt a weight pushing me down, deeper into my seat. "For a while, you say? That's too bad. I was happy for Kyle after reading your project. And for you too," she said in a matronly manner. "It's like you were truly able to make friends." I nodded. "Kyle is very lonely," she paused before continuing. "He reminded me of you, actually." Again, I simply nodded - feeling the weight push me further down. "I'm sorry it just didn't work out." The way she said it, I knew she meant something else. There was a hidden ring to it. And the way she looked at me. Knowingly. As if she understood. She knew. "Ma'am," I began, not knowing how to explain what there was to explain. If there was anything to explain at all. "I know, don't worry, Mr. Chan. But it wasn't really my idea that you work together," she smiled. "It was Kyle's." My jaw must have dropped then. "Yes, it was. Mr. Lopez kept on asking me, for almost two weeks. At first, I didn't know why. I just thought he was going to use you to pull up his grade. But then he mumbled something about being your classmate somewhere else and changing his psychology to our class because of one someone in particular, I knew that there was something else going on." She stopped, finally. I honestly didn't want to hear any more of it. "I'm sorry, Osmond." For some reason, she was apologizing. "It wasn't very professional of me. I just wanted you two to be happy." She seemed to glow from where she sat. A literal halo effect. "Because both of you seemed so lonely." Softly, I replied - thankfully, superfically - I didn't really know. "Thank you ma'am." It was almost a whisper. As soon as I got home, I compiled all the papers and sent the whole package via express mail. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It's been two to three months since. And Valentine's day was looming its head around the corner. People were busy buying flowers, cards, chocolates. It was all very red to me. I was preparing to leave for the Valentine's Day Party the Student Council had prepared in conjunction with the Management Association. Since Marc, the org president, had praised me for upping my participation, I didn't want to miss it although I knew it would just be all about people dancing in twos. And most probably 'one someone' sitting near the wall, checking if the punch bowls were full, or seeing to it that ticket stubs were properly torn, or keeping watch over electrical cables to make sure they wouldn't catch fire... Working makes you forget things, you know? On my way out, marching to my car. That's when I saw him - the person who I never expected but seemed to pop out a lot. I didn't really know what to say. I just ended up blurting out, "Hello." "Hi." Just as if we were replaying first time I entered his room. "Where's Sara?" With cigarette smoke swirling around him in the cool night air, he whispered, "I don't know." "Oh." After a few awkward moments of stillness, I managed to say, "Kyle, sorry, but I'm sort of in a hurry now. 'Bye." "Os, wait a bit." He called. Flicking his cigarette, the orange glow of its cinder bouncing off the pavement in the dark - before dying out all together, he came nearer, walking towards me like he was night itself. Nervous, twitching, glancing around at different spots in our garage - so there's the blue paint I've been looking for! He just stood a few paces away. "Kyle," I really had to leave. "Kyle, I'm running late as it is." "Ossie, I miss you." He said so himself. He was never good at apologizing. It just irritated me. "Let me guess. Sara's leaving soon, isn't she?" Staring straight at me, he answered, sounding hurt, "How can you say that?" His voice had a sandpaperish quality to it - raspy and dry. "Well," I wasn't falling for it. Trying to muster all the coldness I could generate, I continued. "I thought you said we shouldn't be seeing each other much anymore. So I figured you were quite happy with Sara." "Os, it isn't the same." He was practically pleading, whispering. "Even if Sara's moving back." Crickets were making noise. Theirs was the only sound we could hear for a while. "Kyle, I have to go." Though I tried to sound sure of myself, I ended up choking on the last few words. Jumping into my car, I made the engine go alive - accidentally stepping on the gas with much too much pressure to make the car sound like a living dragon. He got in between me and the door before I could shut it, though. "Os, tell me this straight and I'll leave you alone. Tell me you don't miss me too." Looking up to him - his face all strewn and tired - I tried forming the words in my throat. But they died before they could reach my mouth. I couldn't. Not at all. Soon even looking at him got unbearably difficult. "Os, please. One more chance," he sat on his haunches, his face more or less descending to level with mine. The party had already started, I was sure. I could see the green digits on the car clock flashing. "Please?" Taking a deep breath, I did something I never thought I'd do. "Want to come to a party?" Breathing a sigh of relief, he smiled. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Friends - it wasn't like he didn't have lots of them. People he'd meet at parties, in school, his parents' friends' kids. When I asked him why he even bothered with me, he just said that he was sick of how his other 'friends' admired his car, his clothes, his house as if those were everything about him. And when I asked myself why I even bothered with him, I just told myself of how sick I was of other people's group study sessions and org meetings. Since that time I did the inviting, Kyle and I got close again. I couldn't say that it was just like before. But we were together. Again. No matter how brief it would be. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------