drama club {boyxboy} {willxnico}

Wait a Minute!

Some things don't work

Some things are bound to be
Some things, they hurt
And they tear apart me
But I broke my word, and you were bound to see
And I cried at the curb

When you first said "Oel ngati kameie"

/////

Talking to Nico that night made me feel exhilarated. My heart sped up around him and I couldn't not deny the feelings that were developing and after our last conversation, I don't think my heart could go back. He listened, though as annoying as his shrugs and grunts were, it was clear to see that some part of him cared. Nico talked in a way that made him different from the other kids at our school. He spoke as if he were unsure what to say and acted spontaneously, not thinking twice. Maybe he was aware of it himself and that is why he often didn't talk. It was a blessing and a curse, I imagined. You didn't have to worry about him lying but sometimes it could make the current conversation awkward. I wouldn't blame that on him though. He only hung out with Hazel, probably only talking to her.

I was so curious to opening this kid up and knowing more about him that I swore to myself to make it known to him that I was a friend. Even if we were destined to just stay friends because he might fall in love with girls, I still wanted to share a bond with him and be close.

All I could think about was him as I quietly opened up the door to my father's house and tiptoed in. I saw him passed out on the recliner, the tv playing football. God, he lived up to the alcoholic cliché, but I guess most were the same. I should have paid more attention to my feet because I stepped on a loosened floor board, causing it to freak. He began to stir awake, snorting and sitting up, full alert. He wiped his nose and his eyes met mine. Oh, God, i could only think to myself, don't be angry.

"Hello, my boy," he said, waving loosely and without balance. There weren't any beer bottles surrounding him. In fact, the living room looked cleaner than it had before I left. "Musta fallen asleep during the game."

"Are you thirsty?" I asked quietly. I didn't want to be too loud if he were hungover and if he were, maybe offering a beer or whatever alcohol beverage he kept stored would keep him off me.

"Would ya mind gettin' me a water, son?" he asked and sat up, stretching his arms.

I obliged. Seventeen. I was seventeen and still afraid of my dad. My hands were shaking but I was surprised on his choice of water. Something was weird. I walked into the living room and bent down, handing him his water.

"Thank ya, son. How's football?"

"We've a game next Friday," I said.

"How's about I go, yeah?"

"Coach may have me benched."

"Nonsense, you grew up lovin' football. Used to play it all the time with your ma, 'member?" He said. He didn't talk drunk. He spoke normally, as normally as he could. The remembrance of my mom made my heart beat. Ma died when I was 8, beaten to death, money stolen, and left on the side of the road on her walk from work. I'm not going into details because if I do I might puke and cry. She wasn't much more wonderful than my dad, my parents both being irresponsible teenagers when they had me, but she did her best. She cut back on the alcohol and had this accent like she were from Boston. She did care for me as a mother would unconditionally love her child. She dropped out of high school to spend her full time job as a mother. She was a lovely person but had huge flaws of her own. She smoked, she yelled, she drank, but she tried. Dad never tried after the police told us she was gone.

Yet, here he was, the first time I had seen in months intoxicated. "Tomorrow is Saturday isn't it, son?"

"Yes father."