fiction

The Quiet Reckoning

~ Natal Galvan

“Daddy! I need help!”

A cry pierced the air, a symphony of irritation and mild alarm; it heralded no menace, only the onset of a deluge of tears that dared to breach the ramparts of my heart, long fortified. There, in her vibrant fuchsia chariot, the little girl and her companion sat, teetering on the edge of too-grown for such whimsical rides. Midway through their suburban odyssey, the spirited steed faltered, its electric lifeblood drained, leaving dreams momentarily stranded.


“DADDYYYYYYY!” He was still inside, and these young ladies had a block to drive.


Suddenly he bolts out of the house as if he had been catapulted but some unseen force, hops down the four small steps, landing on the sidewalk with a WAP! Within seconds he makes his way down the sidewalk and around the back of the Jeep. Grabbing onto the back, he begins to run, pushing them down the sidewalk and sending them all into laughter.


This is the moment that I burst into tears.


It dawned on me then, the stark realization that the bond I yearned for with my father was a dream unfulfilled, now lost to time. A year and a half had passed since his departure. His health had always been fragile, leading to numerous scares, but our estrangement made these moments less poignant. In truth, he had been absent from my life; thus, his passing did not leave a void.
On the day of his passing, my tears were not for the loss of a beloved father, for our love had never blossomed. Instead, I felt a peculiar sense of curiosity. Visiting him a week before, I saw a man unknown to me. He lay silent, eyes closed, hands twisted in pain or discomfort, his mouth agape. Caretakers attended to him, wiping away drool, moistening his lips, offering water through a sponge.


A solitary encounter with him became memorable when I played a song from my childhood from the movie, “An American Tale,” which we cherished. His reaction was unexpected—his face contorted, tears flowed, and he emitted sounds of deep distress.


Before me was a stranger, a man whose life had barely brushed against mine. I didn’t know his favorite color. I did not know his favorite food. I didn’t know what genre of movie he preferred. I knew little of him—his likes, dislikes, or passions—save for his love of music and women. Whether his feelings for us were born of love or guilt, I could not discern.


I’m not going to say that he never tried, but there were certain wounds too deep, etched onto the soul of my being that wouldn’t allow for that to fully happen. There were rare occasions in which I had been the one to try. I’d reach out to him with a plan of action. We’d talk for hours going over what our lives had been up to that point and sprinkling in how we had to try to fix it, this, us. We’d hang up the phone, I’d feel light, and accomplished. That bit of motivation would then be followed up with silence. He would disappear and we wouldn’t speak for what would be for a couple of years after that. This would be our pattern until the day he died.


As a reader, I was aware of the potential regret of not connecting with him, a sentiment echoed by my family. Yet, now that he is gone, it is not regret that weighs on me but a profound disappointment—a longing to experience the sorrow that eludes me, the natural grief of a child for their father.


For months after he died, I would anxiously wait for the moment everyone had been warning me about. The moment of missing him, of yearning to hear his voice, or to hold his cold hands (his hands were always cold- “Cold hands, warm heart” he’d say!) but that moment never really came. I would try to sit in silence and see if I could feel his presence. I’d try my hardest to pay close attention to my dreams to see if maybe he’d visit me there. I soon realized I was reverting to childhood, always waiting for him, wanting him to visit, always being met with disappointment. So, I gave up again like I had years back.


Perhaps I won’t grieve as I did upon witnessing my neighbor, his offspring in tow, navigating a bubblegum-pink Barbie Jeep under the somber March skies. Yet, there’s solace in the breakthrough, a quiet epiphany embraced in solitude. It was a moment graced with a tender reflection of him, untainted by even a whisper of bitterness.

Pushing Fantasies

~ Natal Galvan

***FICTION***

It was a life that he created on a lonely day, long ago. His partner, Paul, had just gone to rehab and there he was, left behind raw and emotional. It was like a tornado whisked through, devouring his life and then spitting it all out, leaving him to pick up the pieces.

He sat at his computer feeling alone and all he craved more than anything was attention. His mind began to wander, his thoughts like an eel gliding across the deep dark waters of his mind. His thoughts turning dark and adventurous, borderline sinister. He decided to Google for things he had never thought of googling and before he knew it, he had created a profile on a site where people went hunting for dark things.

Instantly he began to receive messages. Small windows popping up all over his screen and all from men who were also wanting and seeking relief in their cravings. He chatted with many of them finding pleasure and amusement, and into the night he played with his new found friends.

Just like with anything else that starts off new, he had become instantly obsessed. The following day, although exhausted from staying up all night, his mind never drifted far from the new world he had discovered. He daydreamed of the stories told to him by his newly found lovers hidden behind his computer screen. He dreamed of playing out the scenarios that had been typed out before him, fantasies his mind had never before fathomed of. He was hooked and could not wait to get to his house to sit back on his couch and cruise the scene just one more time. He knew himself.  He could get into way too much trouble if he kept this up, but one more night of fun couldn’t hurt.

*

He got home, relieved that his partner Paul was still away detoxing. He wouldn’t be back for another two days and that gave him comfort. In his mind, he was much too ready to leave the relationship but wasn’t wanting to rush to the breaking up part. He hated breakups. Whether it was him that was doing the breaking up or the other person, the ending of a relationship always sucked for all parties involved. Knowing that Paul would arrive back home with sensitive emotions from going through detox, he knew it would not be easy.  Rob grabbed his laptop and quickly decided that instead of thinking about his real life situation, he would instead get lost in a world of fantasy.

Though he chatted with many men, there was one that stood out from the rest. He was a silver fox of a man. His pictures reminded him of a silver haired Hercules. With his broad and muscular chest and shoulders, and each of his arms the size of both of Rob’s thighs put together, he could only dream of what a man like that could do behind closed doors. How long had it been since the last time Rob had been intimate with someone? It was a shame that Tomas lived states away. Rob knew that sex with Tomas would be fun. He imagined Tomas pushing his limits and testing his boundaries. The thought immediately made him hard and he hurried in logging onto the site and searching for Tomas’ page.

                                                                *

Tomas wasn’t really Tomas. His name was Dwayne and he was an overweight middle aged man and married. Together they shared 4 daughters. One thing was for sure, he hated his life. Everything about his life brought agony to his soul. He felt that his entire life was a complete lie, one that he had been living for over 45 years.

Dwayne was born both male and female and although they decided to make him into a man and call him “Dwayne”,  he always felt like a Diana instead. His parents had chosen for him and he always knew that they had chosen wrong, but with a misogynistic father, and a subservient mother, there was no way he’d be getting out of this one. Even long after they passed he still help up his end of the forced upon bargain. He was married after all and at that time he was on his second daughter with his lovely wife Madeline. There was no way he would break his wife’s heart. His secret was tucked away held by locks and chains, but no matter how deep inside he buried it, the true version of Dwayne was dying to be let out.

He held even deeper secrets. His love of men was undeniable. Although he had never been with a man, the fire burned within. Sure, his wife was beautiful and kind. In his most honest opinion, he didn’t deserve her. He married her for his parents. He did everything for his parents and though he was grateful to have her in his life, she still didn’t quench the desire he had for others. 

One night as his wife and daughters were out have having a girl’s day, he decided to go online and search for a distraction from his mundane and unfulfilling life. What he ended up finding was a whole new life, a new identity. He hadn’t chosen to be a woman but instead created Tomas. A handsome man chiseled out of marble but infused with the same lust Dwayne carried. It wasn’t long after his profile was approved that he met Rob, and with that came an addiction he never thought possible. 

                                                                   *

“5 DEAD IN LOVER’S TRIANGLE ENDING IN MURDER SUICIDE” 

Detective Juarez slammed his phone on the desk rage cruising through his veins. How had they gotten word so quickly? The department hadn’t even contacted all of the victim’s family yet and headlines were already circulating. Not even 24 hours had passed since he had initially arrived on scene, a scene that was forever seared into his memory. A quick flash back took him to the moment he had arrived on the farm. He walked up the dirt driveway only to be stopped by his first piece of evidence. He crouched down and extracted a pen from inside his navy blue blazer and used it to pick up the shoe to take a look. A size 8, closed toe shoe with fresh dark red droplets now decorating it, most likely coming from the body that lay just a few feet from where he was. He could make out the bubble gum pink polish on their now blue colored toes, and thought to himself that if it weren’t for where the body was located he would have just assumed that they were peacefully sleeping. 

All in all the crime scene looked to be the scene from a horror movie. The buzzing of flies was deafening and with the minuets ticking on, the smell was beginning to make it unbearable to breath. A total of 5 bodies ages ranging from teenagers to middle aged, one of them being the person to have inflicted such savagery  to the victims and then to themselves. He immediately thought to himself that this looked to be a crime of passion.

Looking back at that moment, he knew that this was an open and shut case. Juarez knew who had committed the crime and how.  Now he just needed to know the details, the why behind it all. How had it all began? In order to move on from such a travesty he had to try to piece together the days leading up to what had transpired the evening before, but before he could go on with his investigation, he must go  and speak to the families. 

Hopefully he would get to them before the news headlines did. 

Giving More FXS

~ Natal Galvan

For that split second…

for that “flick of two fingers” split of a second he thought to himself,

“What the fuck are you doin’?” It was the perfectly phrased question when thinking about his life. The question only popped up into his mind once while he fucked her. But now every time they hung out, which seemed much more often than he was currently comfortable with, the question danced in his mind.

What was he doing with his life? What were his goals? He’s got dreams and fantasies, but what are his goals? A better question would even be what was he doing with her? Someone so grounded and career driven. A woman, he felt, was way out of his league. Not because he wasn’t “worth” it but because she’d never give him the proper time of day. He could provide a roof over their heads, cover the major bills, and still have enough to go out on the town with friends for some smooth jazz and whiskey. Still, all this without a socially accepted title, is an embarrassment.

For a split second…

for a split “blink of an eye” second he thought about leaving her. He still thinks he just might. Just let her sit there at the table waiting. Her deep red recently polished nails fidgeting with the white linen napkin that sat in her lap. His soul is much more valuable than some swanky new job title he’d now have to accept in order to meet her unspoken standards. He peered at her through the crack of the bathroom door. He had direct view.

She was beautiful there was no doubt about it. That kind of beauty that takes your breath away without registering why first. Her eyes were kind and you knew her soul was full of love, with just a tint of sadness. She was relateable and within seconds she could make friends of strangers. She was that kind of beauty. Yet, because of that very beauty he was almost ready to run past their table and out back towards the kitchen doors.

How horrible would it feel for him to have to live with such judgment, mostly self imposed, and such pressure? How would he measure up in her eyes? Could he ever be her equal? He would most likely feel second at best.. *Push yourself* something internally whispered.

She instantly turns her head towards the direction of where the men’s bathroom lies. He knows she cannot see him but he can see her fully now. That face, that stare, slowly taking his fear away. He snaps out of whatever absurd thought he was in the middle of having and straightens himself up before heading out the very doors he was just hiding behind. The look on her face spoke volumes. She was waiting for him and he could not keep her waiting any longer. Without her knowledge she had injected him with courage and he walked towards her fearless. Anything can happen. She loved him, he saw that in the flicker of her eyes as he approached their table. This story could turn into “happiness ever lasting”  just as easy as it could end in tragic heartbreak, but he gave a fuck and that’s why he won’t be running away. He cares about knowing the outcome to this story. He gives so much of a fuck that he will trek the journey and see to it he strives hard for a positive outcome.

He wont let fear govern his life, nor love, because he wants to live and he wants to love. Simply because he gives a fuck.

Before he reaches his chair, he slowly walks over towards hers. He reaches down, one hand wraps under her chin tilting her head up, and he swoops down like a vulture, taking her mouth in to his. He kisses her passionately but only for a quick beat, and then he lets her face go and goes to sit in his chair, not once taking his eyes off of hers. A slight smirk revealed itself, her red lips still perfectly painted, perking up in the corners. He waved their server over and ordered a second bottle of wine. Their finest, her favorite.

He’s got this….

Closet Crazy

~ Natal Galvan

*** Fictional Story***

Tick… Tick… Tick… Tick.

Only about thirty more ticks to go from my authentic grandfather clock that sits gallantly in the corner before I can slowly end this session.

Everyday I sit in this blue chair, with my freshly ironed dry cleaned clothes, polished loafers, and perfectly combed hair. I face my client while holding my notepad and pen and jot down anything I feel like I should be jotting down. It’s more for show actually. I scribble down things like their posture, words or phrases I notice them subconsciously using, ticks they may have, even when they’re lying to me. I always know when they’re lying to me. When you’ve studied people for as long as I have, it becomes second nature to spot a lie.

Most of my clients are good people. Their lives are usually quite boring which leads them to deal with their boring lives in a destructive manner. Each case different in the manner they go about getting rid of the monotony their lives have become. All similarly ending in destruction. This is why they come looking for me.

I listen to their pitiful stories. All complain, some of them while yelling. Others spend their entire session crying out without even saying an understandable word. Most of the time I just sit there and listen. I listen without having to really listen to them. During most of my sessions my brain runs on complete autopilot. I tune into the “important” parts and tune out the fillers with important thoughts of my own.

Today has been a busier day than usual. I started off my morning with a 22 year old girl who has sexual fantasies of being with an older man, a man who much resembles to that of her father. That session was followed by a husband who’s wife recently uncovered his severe gambling and cocaine addiction and gave the the ultimatum to seek help or leave. After him followed a 5th grade English teacher who absolutely hated his job and who’s never experienced a romantic relationship in his entire life. He’s 53 years old and since our last session has secretly begun diving into the depths of the deep dark web in search of deep dark fantasies. Their issues are typical for their individual circumstances. With each case I end our sessions with prescribing them drugs to help them “cope” with their issues but to be honest, they were all much more sane before they started to come to see me. Before the drugs.

Western medicine has never been my thing. When I say “my thing” I mean you will never catch me taking any type of Western medication. Garbage is the word that comes to mind when thinking about man made medicine. I am more of a meditation and homeopathic remedies man myself, yet I cannot deny the amount of money one can make by pumping patients with garbage. When done right, one can keep sick people sick, and make a killing doing so. No pun intended. So I prescribe them this, then I’ll mix it up and tell them to take that. Never once do they debate the advice given to them. As long as I listen and prescribe, that’s all they care about. I give them exactly what they want. I dope them up to help them better deal with the harsh realities of life. Realities that for the most part were self inflicted. They never question the possible side effects of what has been prescribed to them neither the long term nor short. They don’t ever question the motives one may have when prescribing such garbage, neither big nor small. No explanations are ever needed. Just a piece of paper with a solution to a symptom and a signature and off they go.

I run a very small and very private practice so there is really no one I have to answer to other than the board. Not once have I ever had to answer to the board. In fact, in order for a patient to be even seen by me you first have to be referred by someone on the “inside”, then verified by me personally. This means full background check. I look into their old medical files, their criminal record if they have one, and dive deep into their most personal affairs. Finding out a patient’s deep and darkest secrets is key to having complete dominance over them. I makes it easier to keep them eating out of your hand.

Funny, I wonder how quickly things would change if any one of my clients found out the truth of the deep dark secret I, myself, hide. A lie that stares them in the face session after session. A sick truth that patients are too blinded by their own issues to see. I thrive over that advantage I have over them. The advantage of being able to see what lies before me because unlike them, I have no issues of my own to deal with. My issues aren’t “issues” instead they are a beautiful way of life.

I am not here to help my patients. I am not here to make them feel better.  To keep my small practice small but yet thriving I make sure to keep the minds of my patients sick. I keep them coming back for more. Their repeat illness allows for my small business to make money. A visibly thriving practice and a polished look  helps disguise the truth that lies within my mind, soul, and basement. How else would I keep my secret a secret? A handsome family man, who is financially well off, and never tires to try to “better” society through is profession. There is no better cover than that.

“It amazes me how day after day you deal with the crazies, only to try to better their lives and make the world an easier place to live in. For them and us. That’s so honorable of you…” is what friends and family say.  I can only imagine the look on their faces if I told them the truth. That no, I could care less about bettering humanity. The simple truth was that dealing with the “crazies” made me appear to be normal.

I wrap up the second half of my day with two more appointments. I close up shop as the sun begins to set, and head straight home to my wife. I find her in the kitchen, happily awaiting my arrival, plating my homemade dinner that was still nice and warm.

Tonight our daughter is working her part-time shift at the mall and won’t be home for hours. I choose to dedicate this time to my wife because meeting her needs keeps her off my back.  “Happy wife, Happy life” isn’t that how the saying goes? So I ask her about her day and although I could give a shit about what this stay at home housewife has done with it, I pretend to listen. Again, mind on autopilot. Throughout our one way conversation, I make sure to interrupt her and compliment her on her cooking skills, calling her below average meal, delectable. With a final wipe of my napkin, I stare her deep into her eyes, and tell her how ravishing she looks, even after a long day like she’s had today. I then reach across the table and kiss her almost animalistically and with one quick swoop, I pick her up and take her to the bedroom where I make love to her passionately. I make sure she is exhaustedly pleased, and soon enough we both are. After much unwanted pillow talk, I get up and make her a nice cup of her favorite bedtime tea. Only  after she drinks the cup in its entirety, and her snores begin to fill the air around me, am I free to become the rawest version of myself.

I wait a few beats before I make my way out of the bedroom, gently closing the door behind me. I don’t worry about my wife waking up. Not after grinding up three melatonin pills and slipping them into her already potent tea. Guiltlessly I make my way through our rustically decorated home, and shut off all the lights, only leaving the driveway light and hallway light on. A guide for when my daughter arrives. With the house dark and quiet my daughter never assumes I’m still awake. She believes I am in the room with her beloved mother, gaily spooning each other until morning. She has no idea that night time is my time.

I make my way past the kitchen and towards the door that leads down into the basement. I open it and instantly am hit with the cold that creeps up from the darkness below. I quickly find myself reaching into my pocket for my penlight. I descend the stairs quickly and point the light towards the bookcase that is randomly placed against the wall. As I reach the bookcase, I place the penlight back into my pocket. I push the heavy bookcase to the side and lift the old, dusty rug it stood on, exposing the trap door that it hid beneath it. Just simply seeing the trap door and knowing the secret that it held inside made my heart race and my dick hard.

With a strong tug I lift the trap door and once I find the proper footing on the thin iron steps, I allow for the door to come back down, lowering it gently back into place. I am again engulfed by darkness. It swallows me whole, heightening all of my senses, including that of smell. I have grown accustomed to the musky smell that this place gives off. The smell is now one that soothes me. It makes me feel at home. I slowly climb down the stairs waiting for my foot to hit the ground and once it does, I take my penlight from my pocket and point it towards the door that stands at the very end of the hall. I quickly cut down the hall, anticipation rising deep within my chest, reaching the door in seconds. I grab the door knob and twist to open. No lock needs to be undone for although what lies on the other side of this door is locked in, the side I stand on is always free, allowing me to come and go without having to fumble with a lock and key.

I open the door slowly and as I step in, I admire what lies in front of me…..

 

Missed Opportunity

~ Natal Galvan

**He spent his whole life waiting for her to arrive in order to fulfill many of the dreams he had envisioned for himself…

and then he died.

Once he arrived to heaven he was given the chance to speak to God. He frustratingly asked him,

“Why did you have me return home without allowing me the experience of finding true love and being able to live out my goals and dreams? What had been then the purpose of this experience?” With an air of peace and love God answers him,

“My son, I laid before you many chances to accomplish the dreams and goals you had set for yourself. Each time you allowed them to slip from reach simply because you didn’t want to go through the journey alone, not knowing that you had the strength of me in you to do so successfully. If you would have followed any one of the leads the Universe had arranged for you, not only would you have accomplished goals and turned dreams into reality, but in the course of doing so you would have met who would have been the love of your life in physical form as well as finding the love of life in every form”**

Someone I know inspired this mini story. A soul who lives life sitting on a couch waiting for love to find them in order to finally live out the life they have always dreamed. I see nothing good come of it. All I see is a precious journey being wasted simply out of fear or dislike of having to go through it alone.

Sometimes it is taking the step of venturing out of your comfort zone that allows for grander things to come into your life. Sometimes it is stepping off of that ledge and diving head first into life that saves you from a tragic fall, that saves you from the death of spirit.

Don’t wait to do the things you love. You may never have the chance to do them again. Don’t weaken at the thought of solitude. Be strong and marvel in it. By doing so you will gain strength in yourself, and love and appreciation for yourself. You’ll discover that all your finest treasures have been with you this whole time and the desires you seek will manifest in ways that you never thought possible.

The message is simple: LIVE.

072-2  Photo Credit: Natal Galvan, Location: Santa Monica, CA

 

Sandbox Blues

~ Natal Galvan ~ 2 Comments

Mother swings me off her hips and gently places me into the box of soft white dust.

“Sit here and play a bit. Mommy is going to sit over there and have a chat with Suzie.” She points her painted red nail to where this Suzie woman is already sitting. Mother kisses me on the head but before she walks off she points again but this time directly in front of me and says, “Look, you have a play pal.” and with that she turns and walks off. I glance from my mother back to the kid sitting. It’s a boy and he looks as if he has black snakes slithering around his head, but what looks like snakes are actually his thick curls slightly swaying in the breeze.

“Lets make friends.” As my mother would say. Determined to not sit by myself any longer I get up, my legs wobbling a bit at first. I slowly and steadily make my way over, smiling to myself. My joy is cut short. As I finally make my way over to him I notice the trails of  moisture off of his cheeks sparkling in the sun. He’s crying. I reach him but I don’t sit at first. I’m just standing there staring at him and after a few beats he turns to look at me with his big blue watery eyes. He takes a couple of quick deep breaths, which gives away that he had been fiercely crying earlier, I know the drill. I plop down next to him and he turns to look away, bunching up dust in his tiny little fists and then slowly releasing it, allowing it to slip between his fingers.

That was the day I had met my best friend Henry. Now looking back I should have known then what was going to transpire later on in life. A relationship that begins on such a sad accord could only be giving clues as to how it would later play out, no? The day we met we spent the entire time doodling in the sand. His tears had eventually dried out and replaced by a tiny smile. Since that day, any time mother took me to the playground I always looked for him, and he was always there. Henry didn’t have a mommy. She had died while giving birth to him, a tragedy that he was never able to forgive himself for. His father was some big wig over at the DA’s office and was never home so Henry’s nanny was the one to really raise him. Henry only lived a couple blocks away from me so we ended going from playground buddies to classmates. As we got older we became inseparable. If we weren’t in the same classes, we met up at “our” lunch table and made sure we caught each other up on whatever we had missed out on. If we didn’t have the same lunch period that school year then it was on the bike ride home we played “catch up”. If either of us missed school, you better believe  that the other would show up after school with arms full of homework along with updates on the latest gossip. Of course we each had other friends but they didn’t come close to being as tight with Henry and I as we were with each other.

I remember it was sophomore year in highschool when my good girlfriend, Cherie, asked me, “Kira, why don’t you and Henry just date? He’s cute and you two get along so well. You’d never fight! Might as well!” She said enthusiastically. “Have you two ever done stuff ?” I slapped her arm. It was almost a natural reaction.

“Cherie!! No! Of course not!” I laughed loudly.

“So, No you wouldn’t date him or No you two haven’t done anything?!” she giggled.

What no one knew was that Henry and I had been each other’s first kiss. We had been in the 7th grade and it was a couple hours before before we were headed to our first middle school dance. We had dates and were speaking about them as I finished styling my hair for the night.

“The slow dances are going to be cool. I never really slow danced with someone before.” He said. “Well actually, ma and nana did a couple times when one of her favorite songs played. That doesn’t count though.” He then seemed to get a little distracted. I could tell he was thinking about her. Henry’s nanny died the year before and it was a tremendous loss for him. Since he never got to know his mother, his nanny was “mom” for him. To be honest, he probably missed his nanny more than his own mother.

“Well..” I tried changing the subject. “the last song of the night is always a slow song. It’s when you’re supposed to kiss your date.” The distraction worked for his full attention was now on me.

“Na uh! How do you know that?!” he asked skeptically.

“I heard the other kids talking about it in the hallway yesterday. They were talking about how you had to time it perfectly so you’d get done kissing before they turned the bright lights on.” I finished doing my hair with one final spray of my hairspray. I made my way to the bed where Henry was sitting. He was picking at a little lint ball that was holding on to my comforter.

“Well I wasn’t nervous about tonight until now. I’ve never kissed anyone before. What if I mess up? Or what if we kiss for too long and they turn the lights on!? Or what if she doesn’t even want to kiss me?” His mind was racing. It was pretty typical for Henry to get anxious. He was beginning to sweat a little.

“Dude! Relax! You’ll be fine! I happen to know that Amy is ecstatic to be your date tonight so why wouldn’t she want to kiss you?”

“I don’t know! What if I begin to stink or I’m not as decent as a dancer as I think I am?! Who knows! Girls are fucking weird!” He wiped away sweat from his brow. Any second now and he would start hyperventilating.

“Hey!” I shoved him.We both began to laugh and it wasn’t long after that my idea struck. “I have an idea!!!” I shot over to wear my CD player sat. “What if we practice?! I’ve never kissed anybody either and Brian’s like an expert. I don’t want to seem like a complete amateur. We could just practice on each other!” I was super excited. I mean, what are best friends for, right?

Henry thought about it for a moment, “I don’t know.Won’t it be a little weird?” Just like him, always questioning everything.

“How would it be weird?! We’re best friends! Who better to practice with?” I was rummaging through the stack of CDs that were shelved right next to the player.

“What are you doing?” He asked, still sitting on my bed but this time staring at me.

“I’m going to play a slow song and we’re going to practice kissing. It’ll help us to get the timing down too.” I found the CD I was looking for, popped it in and went to track 11.

“I never agreed to this. This is a really weird idea.” He ran his long slim fingers through his hair.

“Oh come on. Why do you find it so weird? Am I not pretty? Do I smell bad? Is there something in my teeth?” I walked towards my bedroom mirror.

“NO! You look great and there’s nothing in your teeth. I would have said something by now. He stood up and walked towards me. He stood a few steps behind me so that I could see his reflection in my mirror. “You don’t just find it a little weird two best friends practice kissing? It would make us each other’s first kiss! That’s not weird to you?”

I turned around and walked over to where he stood. I took his hands and placed them around my waist. I wrapped both of mine around his neck. The music had been playing and soon we began moving to the beat. We danced for a minute and once I felt like the timing was right I reached my lips up towards his. He met me halfway and we stayed there for longer than anticipated by either of us.

“Kira! Henry! Time to go! If you want to meet up with your dates and drive together we have to leave now!” My mother’s voice shook us apart like an electrical current. We began to laugh hysterically.

“Ok mom!” I shouted through my laughter. I ran over to the Cd player and shut it off and before running out the door grabbed my purse which sat on the bed. Henry was right behind me as we reached the door but before I opened it, I turned to look at him, “Honestly, I’m glad you were my first kiss.” and with that said, I turned the door knob and headed downstairs.

We had a great time at the dance that night and when the moment came, we each pulled off a spectacular kiss. Deep down inside, I felt like it was nothing compared to my first kiss.

The school years passed and towards the end of senior year we both found ourselves suddenly single. We went to our senior prom together and neither of us found it anymore appropriate. That night we ended up at an after-prom party. It was at our friend’s cabin right out on the lake and everyone was invited. We all partied hard and once the sun was about to make its appearance, Henry and I decided to end our festivities like any other normal teenager and headed to Denny’s for some early morning breakfast.

We’re sitting opposite of each other and spread before us was smorgasbord of breakfast foods, a personal buffet line. Except that we didn’t have to get up to get our food, it was all in hands reach. We stuffed our faces with blueberry pancakes, french toast, bacon, home fries, omelets, homemade biscuits, cinnamon sugar pancake puppies. You name it, if it was a breakfast item, we made sure to get an order. Halfway through our meal Henry takes a deep breath and leans back into the booth. This is one of his dead give-a-ways in letting you know that he had hit his limit. Me? It’s like I have a bottomless pit in my stomach so I just keep gorging myself. After a few minutes of silence Henry blurted out, “I’m joining the military, Ki” I was in the middle of chewing on some seriously stuffed strawberry french toast and hadn’t realized I had yet to swallow. There was sweet cream cheese stuffing on my lips, I could feel it. All I could was stare at him at first. Had I heard right? I was chewing so maybe I had misheard. The military?  “I know,” he continues,”You’re wondering where this came from and how it’s not “me” but…I really don’t know what else to do once we graduate. I hardly know what I want to do tomorrow let alone 5 years down the line. How could I dish out a shitload of money on college classes when I don’t know what I want to do for the rest of my life?” I slowly swallowed what I had in my mouth. The taste of the sweet strawberries and the deliciousness of that cinnamon battered french toast made my stomach feel much better. “I already took the entrance exam. I tested pretty high,” he smiled. “I passed the physical too. I feel like this would be good for me Ki. It’ll buy me sometime while I decide on what to be when I grow up. Plus, they’ll help me with school and great benefits.” He forked through the pile of blueberry pancakes.

“Hey! Don’t! Not unless you’re going to eat them!.” I fanned his hand away from the food. I take my early morning Denny’s sessions seriously. “So I did hear you right. At first I was questioning my hearing.” The shock of it all was still trying to sink in. “My best friend Henry is going into the military. That’s no joke, Hen. I’ve seen documentaries with kids just like you. They join for the money to fund an education they cannot afford. You know what happens, Hen? They comeback losing limbs or in a box, dude.” I was working myself up now. How could he leave? Off to fight other people’s battles for some extra time to think of what he wanted for his future? “Plus, who’s going to be my bestie while you’re gone? I’ll be stuck in this  town just going to college with no cool friends.” I protested selfishly.

“Ki, stop being dramatic. I’ll be fine. I’ll come back in one piece I promise and not in a box.” He picked up a strip of bacon and chomped half of it off. “You’ll make friends at school too, just watch. You’ll forget all about Hen.” He smirked at me.

“Those “friends” I meet won’t be half as cool as you so forgetting about you is out of the question. I am really going to miss you. I can’t believe you’re really serious.”

“Before you know it I’ll be back, Ki. I’ve just got to do this for me.” He just stared at me. I knew he meant business. He was that kind of person. Once he had made up his mind about something he stuck to it no matter how nervous or anxious it may have made him feel. It was one of the qualities I admired about him the most. Not like myself who was fickle and a complete walking contradiction. I grabbed his hand and held it tightly between both of mine.

“I’m going to write you all the time, Hen. I’ll keep you posted on everything. It’ll be like you’re not over in some weird and unfamiliar country. You’ll feel like your home.” I said.

And I did.

I wrote him, if not everyday, than every other day. I wrote to him about everything. I gave him every detail on the college life so to make him feel like he was attending with me. I of course kept him up to speed on the latest town gossip so he felt like he had never left. He would write me letters back talking about how awful the food was and how he was slowly adapting to military life. The years went on and the communication stayed constant and before I could even fathom the day was here. He was finally on his way back home.

He arrived a week after my college graduation. i drove 3 hours to go pick him up from the airport. I was so excited to see him. I hardly remember the last time I got to see his face in person. As I pull up to the curb I see him standing there. His curly hair was gone and although he looked more muscular, he also looked a lot thinner than what she remembered. His eyes wore dark circles and were a little sunken in. He smiled when he saw my car but the light in his eyes didn’t look so bright. I had barely placed the car in park when I ran out and over to where he stood. We embraced like we did that night of our first kiss, hugging tight like lovers would. A strange feeling hit me then. I stare up into his eyes and saw so much sadness that my eyes teared up. “Are you ok?” My voice barely more than a whisper.

“I feel much better now.” He said as he too stared into my eyes. At that moment we were frozen in time. It was at that very moment we both realized what was so obvious to everyone else all these years. To be there in his arms was exactly where I needed to be. Cars began to pile up around us, some of the drivers beeping for us to get out of the way. On the way home we were silent, only stealing glances at each other while the radio filled the air.  That night after we made love he said to me, “You were the only thing that got me through the dark times. You and your letters. It was through your letters that I soon came to realize how much I loved you and how I couldn’t wait to see you face to face again so I could tell you. I was a nervous mess when I was getting ready to fly back home, but once I saw you pull up and looked at that face, I knew it was going to be alright.” He smoothed hair away from my face and kissed my forehead.

“I love you too.” Were the only words I could get to come out.

I now stand here staring at Hen, thinking about all the beautiful memories we made together. I will make it my mission to allow only the good memories out weigh the sad ones, out weigh the final one.

When Henry came back, he was a truly changed man. Where as before he was an average boy with slight anxiety and nerves, he now was suffering from constant panic attacks during the day, and horrible nightmares at night. His moods would sway from one extreme to the other within a blink of an eye. We went to various doctors and psychologists but it wasn’t long before Hen was wrapped up in complete and utter depression.

I had just gotten home from work the day I found him hanging in the living room with a note at his feet that read, “I’m sorry Ki” and to this very day I carry that note around with me at all times. Some people carry around pictures of their loved ones around in their wallet. I carry my boyfriend’s suicide note. I always go back to thinking about the day we met in the sandbox and how since that very day we had become inseparable. We had grown to become so close and it took us so long to make our friendship into something more, yet it took absolutely no time for life to take it away. I lost my best friend and the love of my life in the same day and because of that I carry with me a heavy blanket of sadness. Beyond that sadness there does hide a bit of joy though because I knew Hen like no one else in the world did. I had the opportunity to not only know him but to love him and that is something for me to truly treasure. On a good day, when I close my eyes I can recall so many beautiful memories and I am undoubtedly so blessed to have them.

I give him one final kiss on his cold, pale forehead. I place my hand on his and let it linger there before I pull away from him. With every step I take my chest constricts knowing that he would be in that box forever, his final resting place at age 26.

I reach the church doors and push open. The sun beams immediately hit my face warming my cheeks and my soul a little. I take in one deep breath and as I let it out heads down the steps and towards my car. I unlock my car but before I get in  I take a few seconds to stare at what was across the parking lot in front of me, the park, and two little kids playing in the sandbox.