Funny How It Happens (Kevin/Joe)
It’s always funny.
You know, that first moment, when you see someone, that someone, the one you call your first love, when he’s there in front of you, for the first time in years, and for some reason, you should maybe say hello, or smile, or at the very least, nod in his direction, but all you can do is listen to that sound of your heart. You know, that th-thump thump that stops sounding deep and ordinary, and suddenly sounds like it’s cracking the way glass does when it’s frozen?
Yeah. In that moment, you have thoughts of everything that happened then. You haven’t thought about him in any significant way in a long time, but right now, it surprises you how many times in the last twenty-four hours that he’s crossed your mind in some way, even in an insignificant moment, when you think, “Hey, we saw this movie together that day and I haven’t seen it since.” Or maybe it’s one of the bad days, and therefore something more along the lines of, “God, this was our song.”
Suddenly, standing here, looking at him, and he hasn’t noticed you yet, of course, because that’s when you have to start acting like a normal person, and not someone who’s been thrown back five years, you feel your heart breaking all over again, because no matter what, you’re different now, and so is he. You wonder what happened, because things had been perfect. You wonder why you can’t remember who broke up with whom. You wonder why things couldn’t have stayed the way you pinky-swore to him they always would.
You wonder if he has a girlfriend. You’ve had a few, since then. One or two, you even called “love.” None of them were as special, and no one fitted the way he did. So, you’re scared that if he’s found someone, she’s replaced you. He doesn’t remember you the same way, because she’s more beautiful, and more perfect for him - the way you swore no one was more perfect for you.
And, of course, you’re single right now. So, it hurts more, because you not only don’t have him, but you’re alone. It never hurts as much, because you’re content with your life right now, as when you see someone who was as important to you as he was.
Standing here, you realize he’s still important, but that’s not really the point, is it? It doesn’t matter any more now than when you told him it was over all those years ago. And, now that you remember that it was you who ended the best thing you ever had, you feel even more like you’ve wasted a lot of time pretending your life matters.
That’s how I’m feeling right now. Because he’s right there. Less than a hundred feet from me, frowning over a display of apples in the produce section (because it’s the most cliché location possible, thereby making all of this worse), as if he’s trying to decide which ones are the best choice to buy. This amuses and hurts me. Because he hates fruit; he has his whole life. That can only mean he’s buying it for someone else. Someone he’s cooking for, perhaps? He used to cut up apples and bring them to me with peanut butter sometimes, smiling, even as he tried to hide his disgust.
But, I let that thought slip out of my head, because he seems to be giving up, and his cart squeaks as he wheels it around and rolls it in my direction. I’m standing stock still, because I can’t move. I’m waiting for him to look up, to see me here, to offer another cliché moment of horrible awkwardness.
His eyes lift, meet mine, and they’re that same beautiful hazel color they always were, and his soft black eyelashes flutter as he blinks, once, twice, at me, like he’s not really sure I’m here. My hands tighten around the handle of my basket, because living alone, you don’t need as much food, and I realize that's exactly how I look - like I live alone; I have no one. And, suddenly, he’s smiling, that crooked way he always does, and his cart’s wheels squeak again as he walks straight toward me, and I’m still standing there like an idiot, unable to move.
“Hey, it’s great to see you!” He throws an arm around my neck, and draws me in for a hug, and I’m only marginally aware of myself, so I barely notice that hand settles on his back in response. He smells like vanilla and coffee. Just like always. His muscles flex beneath my touch, and I try not to think about the way they did that when we made love, because this is awkward enough. “How’ve you been?”
I crack a smile, finally, because this isn’t so bad, as long as we keep it light. He hugged me like we were brothers, which we are, I have to remember, so I have to play that part too. It doesn’t matter that we haven’t seen each other in five years. It doesn’t matter that we have yet to explain the fact that we both moved away from home and away from each other to our parents. I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, nodding. “I’ve been okay. You know how it is. Um, I’m back to school. Trying to get a degree in photography.” I shift my basket to my other hand, nervously. “It’s weird, because I’m one of the older people in most of my classes. I’m so used to everyone saying we were, you know, so young.” My voice softens as I say the words, because I’m referring to times that I haven’t talked about in a long time. Nick doesn’t even bring them up with me anymore.
He doesn’t seem fazed. “That’s great. I’m happy for you.” His fingers light on my shoulder, for a fleeting moment. “I’ve been producing. I don’t know if you’ve talked to Nick lately …”
It’s almost as if he read my mind. He’s always been good at that. I manage to meet his eye, because this is safe territory, and nod. “Yeah, you did his last album. It was awesome. I’m glad that’s working out for you. You always were best at that, out of the group of us.”
He just nods, doesn’t bother blushing, because he’s confident and sure of himself, and he doesn’t need my reassurances for him to know that he’s talented. His eyes are focused on my face, and I have a vague impression that I’m being scrutinized, taken apart, feature-by-feature. Finally, his smile returns, a little softer. “You look great, Joe.” It’s the first time I’ve heard him say my name like that in five years.
I do blush, because no one telling me that has meant anything since him, and there’s no way I look great, because he looks flawless, and I’m scared. For no reason at all, I’m scared. “Thank you.” I manage quietly, ducking my head. My sneaker toes the linoleum floor, and I realize just how frumpy I look. This is the last time I come to the grocery store in sweats.
He reaches out, automatically, to tuck that same strand of hair behind my ear that I did earlier. “We should get together.” He says, firmly, like he’s had to convince himself to say it. “Soon. Before Nick’s birthday.”
“ Yeah.” I look up again, smiling because we’re once again in a safe place. “Can you believe he’s turning twenty-one?” I don’t notice for another moment that I agreed.
He ignores it, for the time being, shaking his head with a chuckle. “I can’t believe I missed you turning twenty-one.” There’s a pause, and I feel a certain awkwardness kicking in. He asks the question I’ve been dreading. “What happened, Joe?”
I look up at him, and feel more melancholy than I have in a long time. Back then, I thought he was the most beautiful person in the world. Now, he’s surpassed that. I didn’t know it was more possible to be more beautiful than oneself. I whisper, “I don’t know.”
His lips purse, twist, thoughtfully. He just watches me, and I stare right back at him, because this may be the last chance I have to see him, despite my unintentional consent to get together with him. Finally, he sighs and smiles. “Can I call you?”
I feel goose bumps. This is all too surreal. It can’t possibly be happening, because that would mean life was going right, for just a moment. My eyes close, for a moment, allowing me to gather myself, before they meet his expectant gaze. “Sure.”
“Really?” His voice cracks, the same way it did the first time he kissed me, a quick desperate clumsy press of lips-on-lips when I was thirteen years old, sitting on my bed, and I told him I liked it.
“Really, but,” I chew on my lip. I’ve said that ill-conceived ‘but’, and he looks a little less hopeful for it. “Could we maybe … forget everything? I mean, start over, from before everything went to hell?”
His sigh is full of relief. “Of course, Joe.” He holds his hand out to me, smiling joyously, adoringly, and I’m so glad I decided to come grocery-shopping today. I take it, allow him to shake it, as if we’re just meeting, for the first time. “Hello, Joseph. My name’s Kevin, and I’ve been in love with you since the day you were born.”