Stand By LaChambers

Ch. 5: Our Story

(The youtube video attached is the song I listened to when writing this)

[ GORDIE'S POV ]

"I like him, I really do. I mean the team better keep him, he's not too bad of a ball player," said my father over the telephone.

I was at home in the kitchen, overhearing my father's conversation on the phone. My mother was out in the back field folding up our clothes that were washed the hour before.

I set my glass of water down, and took a look outside at the empty streets of our small town. Children were prancing around, giggling and laughing as though they had no worries in the world. I was jealous of this.

Suddenly, a voice loud enough to stop an entire city in its tracks, pierced through my ears.

"Gordon, you spilled your damn water all over the table," my father began "-clean it up before your mother sees it, she's been doing enough work around here."

"Yessir" I shuffled over to where the towels were, grabbing one carefully so the pile of them didn't tip over. My hands swiped back and forth across the table until it was so clean, I could see my own reflection.

Without making another sound, my feet pattered out of the front door of the house heading straight for freedom. I didn't stop in my tracks, until I came across the hill that Chris had shown me a few days before.

Ever since that moment in the hospital after I passed out from dehydration, Chris and I hadn't talked as much as we used to. We're just best friends. That sentence rang through my head as if it was just said. The situation continued to bother me.

Did I want him to say that we were a couple?

Did I want him to keep holding onto my hand?

Truth is, I didn't know what I wanted at the time, but now I do. I wan-

"Gordo!" A sweet and caring voice had interrupted my thoughts. A hand creeped over my right shoulder, bringing a body with it. A body I was too familiar with by now. The body of Chris Chambers.

"Hey Chris," my voice managed to squeak out.

"What's wrong?" he met the grass as he sat right down next to me. His shoulder was rubbing against mine, nudging me to spill whatever was going through my head.

"Nothing," I answered, although he didn't seem satisfied so I added, "-I'm just coming up with a new story in my head."

Theoretically, I was. It was the story of two lost boys who had grown closer than ever. About one boy who had been confused and lost in his feelings and another who caused this cluster of emotion. Of course, this wasn't a story I could share with just anyone at all.

It was my story. It was our story.

"Well what's it about?" he anticipated.

I couldn't tell him about my fake story. What if he hates me after? What if he puts the pieces together that it's about us? What if, what if, what if.

"I-I'm not exactly finished yet," I stuttered. We weren't finished, our story wasn't.

"C'mon, can't you tell me some of it?" he begged, eager to get it out of me.