A boy called Aries

I knew someone once. A boy I'll call Aries. He was a few years younger than me and although we got along well, I considered him more of an acquaintance than a friend. Don't get me wrong; he was nice. He was sweet, he was easy to talk to. But I only ever saw him in religious settings. I rarely saw him outside of those times; the times that truly build a friendship. The hung outs over video games or skate parks, café meet ups or friendly get togethers over a BBQ or movie night. I didn't even have his phone number. Nevertheless, I enjoyed speaking with him when we did engage in conversation. He was funny and never failed to make me laugh. Aries had a nickname for me that only he used. I hated when anyone called me this name, but when he did it, it was ok. I kind of liked it. It gave me a sense of familiarity with him, even though I didn't think I'd earned that familiarity.

Aries came from a religious family; his parents married quick in their younger years and remained together as a model spiritual couple. They are still married to this day I believe. They had five children, all of whom attended religious service of their own choice in their teenage and young adult years. Aries' siblings are now all married with children of their own. Aries is the youngest of the group, though only by a few years. He remains single.

I'm writing about Aries because I believe there's a story untold in his life. A story of love and sadness and utter heartbreak. Perhaps some of it is simply conjecture, my overactive imagination at work again. But I think there's some truth. Even if just a little. And even if there's only a little truth to this story; it's just as heartbreaking.

Aries was an honest man. I attended a bible study of sorts for several years, of which Aries attended also. We would pray and read scripture and discuss theology and religious doctrine. But it was more than that. We would share things we were struggling with in our lives and in our spirituality. We would offer support and encouragement to each other. We would listen and offer advise if we understood a person's struggle, if we had been there before ourselves. I guess we were more than acquaintances. Aries was always very open with his struggles. Well, kind of. He would talk about how he was struggling emotionally. He would talk about his grief. It was always moving; it was like I could feel how sad he was, how difficult life was for him at that time. But I never quite understood why exactly. I always got the feeling like there was something more he wasn't sharing. Like he kept the reason behind those emotions and struggles hidden. At least, it was hidden from me. I hadn't earned a place in his life to know those inner secrets. Only the impact.

A while prior to this group, Aries' best friend lived with him for some time. I don't know exactly how long, but I know he didn't have a good home life and Aries' parents were kind enough to offer him a home for as long as he needed it. They were very close. I don't know where it happened, or how long he had been living there, or if even he had returned home when it happened. I know none of the details. Only that Aries' best friend took his own life, devastating Aries and taking a piece of Aries with him.

Aries grieved deeply for his best friend. And for a very long time. This was a big part of his struggles with life. And of course, it would be. Anyone who has lost a close friend has felt the same loss. He was absolutely heartbroken. And there was nothing anyone could ever say to take that heartbreak away from him. I saw it on his face; I felt it emanating from him. I thought they must have had such a strong connection for his grief to be so intense as it was, and to have endured so acutely for so long.

I think maybe there was more to it.

You see, a year or so later, Aries' mother shared something with me. Something she should not have shared. Something personal and intimate, and of which was Aries' choice to share, when and with whom he chose to share it. And he did not choose to share it with me. And the manner in which she told me was.... disturbing.

I had agreed to lend a hand to the recent venture the religious group had become involved in. I didn't have much free time and so was only able to volunteer for a few shifts. On one of these occasions, Aries' mother, I'll call her Jane, was also helping. Jane was a talker. She could talk to anyone and would do just that. And I'm generally a quiet person. I'm a better listener than talker. So, this was perfect for Jane; she could easily engage me in whatever conversation she liked for as long as she liked. I would be an attentive listener; glad to be rid of the social pressure to make conversation. And so, the day went on in a pleasant way.

I don't recall how this came about in our conversation. I don't know if something led us there or if it was just out of the blue; something that sprung to her mind in that moment. Or was it something she wanted to share, to get off her chest, to soundboard with another person? To gauge another's reaction? I'm not sure. Whatever it was, Jane started talking about her youngest son. And these words came out of her mouth; "oh he struggles with homosexual thoughts." She said it so cavalierly. Like she was saying it in passing. Like it wasn't this piece of his identity he had chosen to keep hidden that she had just revealed to me. Like she hadn't just outed her own son.

My initial thought; "Oh, he's gay!" So much made sense to me in that moment in regard to things Aries had said cryptically about his struggles. I understood so much more now. But...I shouldn't have. He hadn't revealed this piece of himself to me and I should not have this insight to his life. But it couldn't be undone now.

Jane continued to talk about this. She spoke of this like it was a dark cloud over his life. God had burdened Aries with this infliction, and it was Aries' plight in life. He would most likely live a single life; that must have been God's plan. He would not bear children because of this. They were praying God would rid him of this burden; save him from this life of sin. I couldn't respond to her. She didn't notice my reaction, of course. I was just as quiet as I had always been. To Jane, there was no difference in my demeanour or engagement with her. But I was more silent than usual during this interaction. I was internally silenced by it. I wondered if I could be silenced by this as a bystander; how ingrained was Aries' silence?

I look back on this revelation and considering knowledge in these matters, I can't help but wonder...

What happened behind closed doors? Was it one-sided, or mutual? Were there stolen glances and brief electrifying brushes of skin? Did it make them feel alive? Was there whispered conversations and the type of laughter that lights up your face in joy? Was there butterflies and smiles and hand holding? Did lips and skin and bodies meet? Were they caught? Were there arguments and lectures and shame? Was he the love of his life? Has anyone ever compared to that connection and the utter heart shattering, devastating loss I witnessed when he was gone?

Will a part of you forever be empty? Is that why there appears to have been no others in your life for all these years? Is that why you are still silenced? Is that why that photo depicts a place waiting to be filled by a loving 'wife'? Do they still not understand? Do you? Are you still praying to be saved?

I will never know the answers to these questions. And perhaps, well most certainly, they're not my answers to know.

But oh, how I wish I knew his story. Their story, maybe. Then I would write it for them. And more tears would be shed in their honour, as countless others have shared in that same heartbreak. I know no other details of his life. I can only wonder and hope he has found some peace with himself and knows what it is to love and be loved, unashamedly. I can only hope he has found a treasured place for his grief and that they meet again somehow, in whatever role they desire. Friends? Lovers? It matters not.

And so, this is where my story ends, full of questions, no resolutions. Only heartbreak and sadness and wonder. And ultimately, incomplete. The story about a boy called Aries.