Gift of a Lifetime

II

Ryan and I became the best of friends. I'd go to his house a lot, which had a nice vibe and two loving parents; and an older sister, who I hadn't gotten to know very well because she seemed to hide in her room most of the time. We didn't visit my apartment that often, considering it was usually messy, messy both physically and mentally; my mother was very welcoming when he came but I could tell he was a bit uneasy in the mess of cups and plates. He was very kind to me, more than I thought boys would normally be, and I returned the favor, though I felt I was getting a bit too close to him.

I was always on edge, the fact that there's a possibility we would have to move away to a cheaper place terrified me, or that something would happen between us that created confusion or anger, or that maybe he'd get a girlfriend and drift away from me. But usually, no matter how many other friends we had, which was little to none, we were inseparable.

• • •

One day in history class, we were reading Purple Skies together in pairs. After me and Ryan had found each other and interlaced fingers, as a signal that we are partners, I felt something. A spark. A deep happiness and comfort exploded in my chest as I saw him smiling and calling me over, or whenever I saw him; his deep green eyes, shiny dark brown wisps blown over his forehead, everything about him seemed perfect to me. The extraordinary thought of liking him had crossed my mind, but I knew it wasn't normal to like boys like that. But standing there next to him, his hand in mine, I felt safe.

"Alright, find a seat and begin reading," said Mrs. Rellabundt, or Mrs. R, "You have the rest of the period to read the next two chapters."

When he let go of my hand, about to sit down, leftovers of the electricity rushed up my arm and into my chest. This warmth stayed with me whenever I was with him, elevating whenever we touched, even if it was our knees under the table, or when he punched me playfully and when I did it back, or even the soft brush of one of his fingers when I handed him something. It's sounds crazy now, because now I'm realizing that I might've had a crush. But if he ever knew, everything would fall apart. If he found out that I'd liked anyone that was a boy, he'd probably be weirded out. And it'd be awful to lose a friend like that. To know that someone that close to you had seen you as someone they loved, and not their best friend? That your best friend had felt something like that for you all along, and you never even got a hint? The way all of the clues in the past would come pouring over you while you're trying to sleep, or just trying to do something normal like homework, or having a simple meal? I would never put Ryan through that.

The whole time we were reading I hadn't been able to pay attention, not because he was right there, but so many distractions, so much chatter and sounds -a book or pencil being dropped, someone randomly raising their voice, the flutter of pages, a plastic water bottle crinkling as the air was sucked out. It was so disorientating, so much that I'd flinch at random sounds, leading Ryan to ask if I was okay, which he'd have to repeat because I hadn't heard it. Asking him to repeat a paragraph when only subtle words had stood out like sky or said or example of. It was draining. I've walked out of a class before because of the teacher suddenly yelling at a misbehaving student. No one followed after me, thankfully, because I liked to be alone at these times.

I was about to walk out when Ryan grasped my shoulder. I spasmed in panic, before the warmth of his palm had settled in. "Are you okay?" he asked me in a soft tone.

I winced, the noises becoming louder and louder. A bang of a metal water bottle on the tile. A pencil dropping onto a fake wooden desk, a sudden ha!

I couldn't take it. I got up and speed walked to the door, and as I walked out, the room fell silent.

Not again, someone whispered. A giggle.

Running down the hall, nearly in tears, I finally found an exit outside. The cold winter air hit me like a train, knocking the breath out of me. I used the few moments of catching my breath, which was blatantly time-wasting, to look for a safe place. A few meters in front of me there was a small fountain with benches on two opposite sides, a square area surrounded it, benches here and there, a chip bag and a plastic water bottle sat under a bench in the left side of the square. I found a corner directly to my right and sat down.

I breathed in the cold, stale air, leaving my lips dry and my throat raw. My chest began to burn. My breathing quickened. The thought of a teacher or a student skipping class coming outside and seeing me curled up in the corner and falling apart, it all seemed too surreal. The burning in my chest increased as I cried, bringing me the fear of having an asthma attack. Flashes of my past life burned like hot oil, Lindsey's arms around me in my hospital bed, dying in her presence, the day I first coughed up blood, sleeping all day, my first signs of cancer, living my last two years of that life inside of a hospital. The terrifying thought of getting lung cancer and leaving my beloved best friend all over again, only this time I wasn't guaranteed to have another chance. Judging by the years I've existed in the waking world I'd be 23; that would've been plenty of time for me, and it would be logical to just immediately be put to rest. It wasn't death that bothered me, but the dread of leaving the world behind.

My soul almost leaped from my body when I heard the door open. I couldn't help but look up from the cluster of anxiety and weakness. It was a boy. Taller than me, I could tell; black wavy mullet, circular-square and dark brown rimmed glasses. Slim, lean body with dark clothing, his backpack crinkled and empty. He had come from the entrance across from the one I came from, standing there, mid-stride, holding the door open with one hand.

"Dude, are you okay?" He sounded genuinely concerned. I was frozen. I couldn't believe this was how I would meet someone new. At my weakest moment -my worst anxiety attack since I got here.

He walked slowly towards me, as if I were a wild animal about to attack. He made a weird face, as if weirded out or disgusted, "What happened to you?"

I would've told him, but 'I got scared of the noises in the classroom and ran out' didn't seem very reasonable. He got a few feet away from me, kicking a rock out of the way after an awkward pause. It was dead silent, except for the wind picking up against my shuddering breaths. "Mind if I sit?"

I didn't dare speak, refusing to make eye contact, I knew my voice would break and I'd embarrass myself even more. When I didn't answer, he sat against the wall that I was leaning on, bringing his knees to his chest and resting his elbows on top. The next few moments were one of the awkwardest moments of my life.

"Jayden Eastman," he looked at me, expecting me to say something.

"Thomas." I really didn't want to talk to anyone right now, but I didn't want to just walk away.

He turned to me, leaning on his hand. "Alright, Thomas, what's the matter, eh? You skippin' or what?" By his tone, I could tell he was a good guy, and he just didn't know that much how to deal with things like this.

I frowned in thought, contemplating whether I should say anything, and what I should say if I did, and when I looked up at Jayden he lifted an eyebrow in a mix of impatience and amusement. It almost brought a smile to my face, but I really wasn't in the mood.

"Anxiety." I looked away to the side in embarrassment. I couldn't stand expressing my feelings. It made me feel weak and vulnerable.

He saw the look on my face and said, "Don't worry. You don't need to talk about it." With that, he got up and left.