Post by unburntflame on May 19, 2003 5:27:54 GMT -5
One day, just one day more would have ensured that he would be okay. One day more and I would have been able to stop him. But it was too late. He’d deleted me from his life. Like a list of names on a computer, he deleted me. You know, just a few days ago he asked me how you could let someone down so easily, and then why it’s so hard to build up the relationship again. I think that he was talking about Kaysha, his girlfriend at the time. But somewhere on the grapevine I’d heard that she’d dumped him. No reason, no goodbye. Just upped and left. He was really cut up about it. Me, I’m supposed to be his best mate. But he deleted me!! Shows you how much he really cares and all, don’t it? Maybe he just freaked out or something, but gees man, why couldn’t he have talked to me about it? I would’ve listened, even if not understanding or able to give advice.
Mum tried to talk to him, tried to cheer him up. Nothing worked. Even her usual ‘secret’ kiss didn’t bring a smile to those sad lips. He just sat there, in a state of . . . I don’t even know why he was sitting like he was! It was just like he was frozen solid; taken a moment of time and held it still. Like a beating heart that has been paused, just for one moment, one second, one brief snippet of time. Then as suddenly as he’d clammed up, he became his old, jolly self again. Acting like we’re best buds and confiding in me all the ‘secrets’ that boys our age have. The problems that we have with girls, how to kiss, zits, and all the other typical teenage problems that we encounter in day-to-day life. There was one secret that I perhaps didn’t want to hear. This one came yesterday, before It happened. We were sitting on my bed, just like we always used to do. He leaned over to me; I thought he was just going to whisper a joke, so mum didn’t hear, but instead he kissed me on the cheek. I put it down to the breakup with Kaysha, but this thought bothered me for the rest of the day, and the beginning of the next. Before I heard that It had happened.
Looking back now, maybe I could have asked him about then, but I’m kind of glad that I didn’t, because if I had, then I really would have freaked out and ended up hurting him so much more than I did. How can you let someone down so easily? Why is it so hard to put trust in people? He knew he could’ve talked to me whenever he wanted. He knew that I was his mate, and in the country, that means almost as much as family. Like a handshake is as good as a typed-up contract by a lawyer, my mate was as good as a brother. Except for the fact that he told me he was gay.
Mum tried to talk to him, tried to cheer him up. Nothing worked. Even her usual ‘secret’ kiss didn’t bring a smile to those sad lips. He just sat there, in a state of . . . I don’t even know why he was sitting like he was! It was just like he was frozen solid; taken a moment of time and held it still. Like a beating heart that has been paused, just for one moment, one second, one brief snippet of time. Then as suddenly as he’d clammed up, he became his old, jolly self again. Acting like we’re best buds and confiding in me all the ‘secrets’ that boys our age have. The problems that we have with girls, how to kiss, zits, and all the other typical teenage problems that we encounter in day-to-day life. There was one secret that I perhaps didn’t want to hear. This one came yesterday, before It happened. We were sitting on my bed, just like we always used to do. He leaned over to me; I thought he was just going to whisper a joke, so mum didn’t hear, but instead he kissed me on the cheek. I put it down to the breakup with Kaysha, but this thought bothered me for the rest of the day, and the beginning of the next. Before I heard that It had happened.
Looking back now, maybe I could have asked him about then, but I’m kind of glad that I didn’t, because if I had, then I really would have freaked out and ended up hurting him so much more than I did. How can you let someone down so easily? Why is it so hard to put trust in people? He knew he could’ve talked to me whenever he wanted. He knew that I was his mate, and in the country, that means almost as much as family. Like a handshake is as good as a typed-up contract by a lawyer, my mate was as good as a brother. Except for the fact that he told me he was gay.
