Here Comes The Sun [wattys 2016]

APRIL 2007

APRIL 2007

"Is Jem, like, short for something?" Alex asks.

Jem is still scrolling through Alex's playlists with the volume turned cranked up too high so Alex removes the earbud from Jem's ear and repeats his question. They are sitting on the hard concrete of The Bowl with their backs against the cold sides and their shoulders pressed against each other's. The days are starting to get warmer and Alex hates it. Not because of the weather but because he always felt that he dresses better in the winters. He just looks like a skinny weed dealer in the summers, according to Ronan. (Ronan also claims that he looks like a homeless snowman in the winters.)

Alex likes how Jem dresses. He mostly wears his black hoodie (the band it advertised was called 'The Black Lips' and they were pretty awesome, he discovered.) over jeans or sometimes an old grey coat. Or he would wear jackets in neutral colours. Alex had not seen him adorning any bright colours. It was as if he was trying to play down himself by dressing simply.

Jem flashes him an annoyed look as he snatches the earbud and puts it back in but he holds Alex's gaze. "Yeah, Jeremy."

For some reason, Alex laughs. "Jeremy? Your name is Jeremy?"

"Why is that so funny? What's Alex short for?"

"Alexis."

"You're shitting me."

"Of course I am. It's Alexander."

Jem laughs. His smiles always begin slowly and work their way to his eyes until he looks absolutely magnificent, like he could never stop smiling. "Alexander. Nice."

"Literally nobody calls me Alexander." Alex says. He leans into Jem and presses shuffle as soon as Metallica begins to play.

"Except, like, my Great-Aunt Rosa. Or my grandma. But she hates my name."

"Why does she hate your name?"

"Because it's too 'Western'."

Jem snorts. "It could be worse. You could be named something like... Chad."

"Or Jake."

"Or Chris."

Alex recalls a boy named Chris at his old school. Once during sixth grade, Chris's friends had pinned Alex down while Chris covered Alex's face with the mashed potato that was being served in the cafeteria. "Not Chris, please."

*

"Grandma might come home this weekend." Alex's mother peeps into his room. She's a tall woman, with black hair and olive skin and sort of tired, worn out eyes as if someone had leeched the colour out of them. Alex knew who had leeched the colour out of them but he said nothing. He never had.

"What? Why?" He eyes her over his math homework.

"I don't know. She just called. She wants to see the new house and everything."

"Check up on us." Alex supplies.

"Basically." His mom says.

Alex chews on the end of pen thoughtfully. His mom comes forward and gently slaps his hand away from his face. "You know I hate it when you do that."

"Uh huh." Alex replies but he keeps down the pen nevertheless.

His mom doesn't leave. She pats down the corner of his bed before sitting gingerly. When Alex doesn't say anything she doesn't either. They watch the last shreds of the afternoon's sunlight fade away on his walls. Alex finds himself getting impatient. He needs to finish his homework but it seems weird to do it with his mother in the room. He realizes she's waiting for him to say something.