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They Say Love Kills, This Time It Really Did (Jorge Arturo - New Orleans, LA)


            It all started with a second glance. There was nothing odd about high schoolers eyeballing each other, hormones being what they were. But it was odd to get a second glance from him. He wasn’t the sort of person that had heterosexuality branded on his forehead like some homophobic bull. But he also wasn’t the type of guy you stuffed into trash cans for exploring glitter as an accessory. 

He was aloof in that damaged way middle-aged women obsessed with vampires loved to write about. He was cute, but August had learned early on to suppress any thought or idea that would make anyone think he was gay. He wouldn’t have even looked twice at him. 

Except Jake Morris looked twice at him first. 

Jake’s place in the social hierarchy should have been enough of a warning. After the last bell, he could always be found palling around with some of the guys from the football team. But the second glance grew into longer stares and even hallway hellos. When they had their school shooter drill, Jake crouched right behind him. Jake’s hot breath tickled the nape of his neck. Every unbridled hormone was begging to explode. 

Aunt Rachel complained about how long he spent in the shower that night. 

It was impossible not to romanticize it. The cool, aloof, and wounded boy whose friends would never really understand him. The love in his heart and penis for the cute, questionably “straight” gay boy with hair yellow like the sun. He even wrote a poem about it. A very bad poem. 

Eventually, August couldn’t take it any longer. He had to know. And he felt particularly emboldened after Jake allowed a stray hand to linger on the small of his back as he walked by. Surely this meant love. 

He penned a note – several paragraphs of words that danced around one idea – and left spaces in between them so that Jake could respond in kind. He didn’t think it was “obvious” (it was), but figured when Jake read it he would understand. 

August almost delivered the note at least six times throughout the day, always losing courage at the last second. That was, until the last bell. 

He recognized that inexistant tooshie and disheveled Jan Sport backpack from several paces away. And for once, Jake wasn’t surrounded by a flock of young men prepared to obliterate August for even daring to look at them the wrong way. Jake closed his locker and looked down at his phone, typing a long message August wished he was at the other end of. But that didn’t matter now – soon he probably would be! He ignored every organ of his body that begged him to turn the other way. His heart felt like it was mere moments from failing – not from any serious malfunction, but because it was too humiliated to be a part of his circulatory system anymore. Why couldn’t it be a part of Stacey Graham’s circulatory system, it probably wondered. The biggest risk she took was trying to keep the side ponytail alive. 

Jake turned to look at August when he realized the distance between them was shrinking. The corners of his lips pulled back into the sweetest, most kissable smile. “Hey,” he said again, in that cool, Jake Morris kind of way. 

August had rehearsed what he was going to say the entire day. “Hey Jake,” he’d begin, with an aloofness that would put Gwyneth Paltrow to shame. “I just wanted to give you this note. It’s from me. I just thought we could… clear some things up. And maybe then go get a root beer float later.” It was cool, without being too disinterested. 

What he ended up saying was, “thisnoteforyou,” slipping the sweaty, folded piece of paper into Jake’s hand, and then hurrying past him toward the school’s exit, where he proceeded to throw up into a trash can. Some of the football boys were out on the lawn and encouraged his embarrassment with those nasty, teenaged boy cackles they were so good at producing.  

August regained control of his innards and then raced home. Aunt Rachel made him cheese-stuffed ravioli for dinner – his favorite. She could tell something was wrong. August denied it and ate his cheese-stuffed ravioli. 

In his room, later that evening, he began to regret that stupid note. He also regretted the way he handed him the note. He regretted running away. He regretted being uncertain about how well his shirt matched his pants. He counted sheep, but instead of counting sheep, he counted every single mistake he’d made in his living memory. And he fell asleep curled up inside of a yucky shame cocoon made up of thick comforters, used tissues, and fun-sized candy bar wrappers. 

“August, it’s time to wake up!” Aunt Rachel’s voice rang through his room like a bell signaling his execution. She began searching his yucky shame cocoon for body parts he could talk out of. “August.” 

He groaned and pulled the covers back over his head. “I don’t want to go today.” 

“Why not?” 

“I’m sick.” She dug past the sheets and felt his forehead. 

“You’re not sick.” 

“I’m dead. Tell them I’m dead.” 

“I can’t just tell them you’re dead because then they’re gonna send someone over to make sure you’re dead. It’s just not a viable excuse anymore.” He groaned. Her voice took a more forgiving tone. “What happened at school yesterday?” 

“I did something stupid and I told somebody I liked them and I shouldn’t have done it and now everyone at school is going to know and they’re going to ruin my life. “ 

Whether or not he included pronouns in this sentence, he knew Aunt Rachel knew. You just couldn’t spend so much of your life with someone and love them so deeply and not know. She paused to consider the weight of his run-on sentence. She found his hand and held it in her own. “You did something… very, very brave. You did something more difficult than most kids your age will probably ever do,” she squeezed his fingers. “And I’m really proud of you for doing it.” He failed to see what there was to be proud of. Reckless, impulsive decisions? Most kids’ parents tried to eliminate those by grounding them or holding their cellphones hostage. 

Aunt Rachel waited a few moments to consider her next question. “Are you… safe? Are you going to be in danger if you go?” 

August frowned but shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t think so? I mean it’s not 1976 anymore, people know that people are… different.” He’d never actually said it aloud before. “But this isn’t the most open-minded town in the world, either.” Other kids said cruel things to one another – hateful, even. But he couldn’t think of an occasion where anyone had been brutalized. His generation was raised by the participation-trophy generation – they’d been beaten over the head with the idea that everyone should be treated (relatively) kindly. 

Aunt Rachel considered this for several more moments. He wished he could’ve been a fly on… the inside of her brain. “Your mom always told me to make sure I kept you safe.” She glanced at the photo of a blonde woman with mournful eyes sitting on August’s nightstand. “If you don’t feel like you’re going to be safe, then don’t go. We’ll figure something else out.” 

August considered the alternatives. But he just didn’t see evaporating into thin air as a solution. Who could live like that? “No,” he said, “I’ll go. I think it’ll be okay.” 

Nobody tells us how hard it can be just to survive in our own skin, sometimes. But just know that no matter what happens, I’ll always be here for you.” 

His phone buzzed from within his sheets and his heart sank. But the insatiable urge to know what text provoked the vibration was far, far worse than anything it could have said. 

 

See u at school today? :) Hope we can talk. 

 

It was Jake. 

August braced himself for a barrage of mean comments and stares the moment he stepped into the school building. But they never came. He went to first period, and Mr. Lavicetti proceeded to talk about his divorce. He went to second period and the snickering girls in the back of the room continued to gossip about their friends. He even made it to lunch without a single second glance from anyone who might mean him harm. 

Then he saw Jake and an army of butterflies invaded his stomach. Jake sailed through the cafeteria looking slightly more upbeat than usual. August searched every inch of his face for any flicker of an expression that would suggest something was wrong. But he found none. The thick ocean of anxiety he was drowning in was beginning to turn into delightful chocolate milk. Maybe this hadn’t been a mistake, after all. 

August tried to make casual conversation with his lunchmates, but his eyes kept darting in the direction of the Cool Table where Jake chuckled with his friends. It was towards the end of the lunch period, when August was thoroughly coated in sweat, that Jake looked back at him. He smiled and then gestured to his cellphone. 

Meet in the bathroom in 5 

His mind began to race, leafing through page after page of possibilities of things that could happen between two guys in a bathroom. Most of them were not suitable for film or television. He considered the quality of his breath and what underwear he had opted to wear. Neither inspired a tremendous amount of confidence. But he went. 

The bell for fifth period rang. August would never wonder what he missed in those first ten minutes of Biology. Jake had him up against the wall, kissing him passionately the way people do in those romantic comedy movies August pretended to hate so much. The euphoria of having his dreams realized washed over him along with the scent of a worrying bowel movement. He felt like Julia Roberts at the climax of all her redundant movies. This was love! Real, real love. 

“Just promise you won’t say anything, okay?” Jake whispered into his ear. 

“Yeah, of course,” August agreed. 

“Will you meet me again? Tonight?” 

August considered his curfew. But when Jake kissed him again, he realized he’d be willing to break most contemporary laws to keep feeling this way. “Yeah, of course.” He seemed to forget most other words. 

“Good,” Jake said, hands traveling to unsavory places, “10 o’clock. At the creek.” 

The creek. August knew the creek well. Well, he didn’t know the creek well. He knew about the creek because other people who had significant others told him about the creek. They told him “that’s where people go to hook up,” and then they’d all smirk in the same way like they were in on the same, naughty secret. Like maybe that’s where they went to have sex and watch tv shows their parents said they couldn’t watch. Well, whatever the secret was, August was ready to find out. 

Jake left August in that rundown bathroom stall wondering if the past 7 and a half minutes had really just happened. He caught sight of his flushed cheeked and the ruddy spots on his face Jake’s stubble had left and decided it must have. He told the classmates who asked that they were just hives. Mrs. Boyd threatened to send him to the office if he showed up late again. 

 

 

August spent at least an hour and a half trying to decide what kind of clothes people wore to The Creek. Tighter clothes? Clothes that were easier to take off? Tearaway pants? He then spent 43 minutes trying to get directions to The Creek from his friends (none of whom had ever actually been invited). 

He stumbled through the rest of the day, unable to focus on any one task whole-heartedly as the reel of possibilities played through his mind. They’d find each other in the darkness of the wilderness. They’d embrace and kiss and whisper declarations of love into each other’s ears. Jake would gently grab his hand, and then pull him further into this remote sanctuary of darkness. 

“Where are we going?” August would say. 

“You’ll see,” Jake would reply with a loving smile. 

They’d come across a clearing drenched in moonlight and fireflies. They’d fall into the grass and exchange passions. He wouldn’t be able to hear over his beating heart. Beat. Beat. Beat. Beat. He’d close his eyes and wonder how something so wonderful could happen to him. 

He couldn’t wait. 

Even the sun seemed in a hurry to bring nightfall as it slipped beneath the horizon. He told his Aunt Rachel that he had accidentally taken the drowsy allergy medication instead of the non-drowsy, and that he planned to just “ride it out.” 

“You never say ‘ride it out.’” She noticed. 

“It’s a new thing kids are saying.” He didn’t give her more time to ask questions, rushing back to his bedroom and locking the door. August yanked his sheets back, stuffing pillows underneath them before recovering them and molding them into the shape of a chunky teenager about half a foot shorter than he was. But he was too excited to nitpick. He changed into his The Creek attire (a t-shirt with a naughty euphemism on it and his lucky blue jeans) and then slowly lifted the back window. The only thing separating him from his freedom, now, was a bug screen. Simple enough, he reasoned, beginning to tamper with the pegs on the corners of the screen. This was intended to keep pests out – surely, he could outsmart it. 

About ten minutes later he realized he could not outsmart it. He needed some sort of tool, and he was not confident in his ability to handle many tools, nor his ability to come up with an excuse for why his allergy medication hadn’t yet knocked him unconscious. So he did the next best thing he could think of. He kicked the screen out. 

Nothing ever felt so liberating. In just 24 hours, he’d gone from your run-of-the-mill teenager to a complete bad boy with a secret boyfriend that he was going to The Creek with to hook up and watch R-rated movies with, or whatever. He couldn’t wait to do the The Creek smirk next time someone brought it up. He also couldn’t wait to see Jake again. 

Fond memories in the bathroom stall came swirling to the forefront of his mind. August grabbed his bike from beside the house where he’d “forgotten to lock it up,” staying low to the ground as he walked it out to the street and then speeding down the road. The Florida winter air was unforgivably cold (at least 60 degrees) and urged him to find his way back into Jake’s arms. It was a miserable little town that flashed by as he pedaled with all his might, worried that the wrong person would catch a glimpse of him and tell Aunt Rachel he was out past curfew, and then he’d probably get arrested or something. 

But the danger only added to the romance of this night – they were star-crossed lovers meeting in the dark of The Creek, the only place they could exchange their passions without fear of persecution. 

Eventually he made it to 11th Street. The fence by the road had a snap in one of the rungs from where a girl drunk-drove into it. Just like he’d been told, there was a makeshift path leading away from it into the woods – brown grass underfoot that had relinquished its efforts to live after enough people stepped on it. 

The path carried him toward a thicket of dark trees huddled together as if for warmth. He’d driven past this place a number of times, never imagining that anything interesting happened within. It was just far enough away from the center of town that most folks wouldn’t pay it any mind. Just far away enough from the center of town where teenagers with authority issues could do whatever their limited imaginations came up with. 

As he stepped further into the wilderness, August began to second guess himself. What if his friends had been wrong and this wasn’t The Creek. What if someone had sent some mass text to all the cool kids and told them The Creek had been officially moved to… the abandoned farm on Lionel Road. 

A dark figure drank in the moonlight up ahead. August stopped, watching. 

“August?” Jake’s unmistakable rasp cut through the air. August breathed a sigh of relief and hurried forward into Jake’s open arms. “I’m glad you could make it.” In the moonlight, Jake looked different. There was no affectionate red glow in his cheeks. No intimate stare. In their place was a nervous expression – an urgent expression. He grabbed August’s hand a little too tightly and pulled him further into the woods. 

August laughed and glanced over his shoulder. “Where are we going?” 

“You’ll see,” he said. But there was no loving smile. 

They emerged into a clearing of dead grass, beer bottles, discarded chains, and a burning rubber tire. He was greeted only paces in by the smell of urine. The Creek was just a feeble stream that ran nearby. Jake fell into a rusty lawn chair by the fire, gesturing to another just across from him. August sat down and wrapped his arms around himself, glancing between the boy who set his heart on fire and the very real fire. 

“So how wa-” 

August felt the taut rubber of Joey Donovan’s sneaker smash into the side of his face as he fell into the dirt. He barely had time to register what had happened before its twin kicked him in the ribs. Another foot drove up into his stomach, knocking the air clear out of him and spinning him onto his back. 

He only recognized two of the boys. But he was surrounded by at least five, Jake among them. Their faces were scarlet, not from the fire, but from the hate in their hearts. They let August know exactly what they thought about him. They let him know how pathetic he was. They spit on him. Kicked him. Threw dirt and garbage on him. 

Jake hurt him too. Jake hurt him just as badly. The boy he’d met in the bathroom during Biology class was replaced by someone with a lot of anger in his eyes. August imagined Jake probably hadn’t told his friends the entire story.  

Then something happened. The world around him lost its vibrance. The horrible red that bathed the clearing was swallowed into a vacuum of grey. The cacophony of hateful slurs, chirping crickets, and crackling fire faded into nothingness. Then everything started to go black. 

Was this death? 

What came next alarmed him. A pale face stared directly at him through this new darkness. It scowled. It approached through the night. Fingers with long, dirty nails reached out at him, grabbing his face. They were surrounded by carnage – burning buildings, screaming women, smoke and ash thicker than oil. It was a woman he’d only seen in his worst nightmares. Bloodshot, pale blue eyes stared into his own. And then she screamed a horrible, guttural scream, and everything blurred again. Suddenly he found himself between these two worlds – the carnage of the nightmare and the carnage of reality – and all he could hear were more cries for help. 

He wanted to make sense of everything, but he was churning in a whirlpool of betrayal and rage. Any sensible thought was buried beneath pounds of desire to make someone feel his pain. Dead – he wanted them all dead! He could feel wind and movement and heat and hear the sharp rattle of a chain. 

The cries from the nightmare married cries from lower voices – male voices. Jake’s voice. “What the fuck!” 

He sensed the other boys running away, scrambling over busted furniture and broken glass as they fled into the night. He opened his eyes. The nightmare and the woman vanished. His hand was extended in front of him, fingers bent except a single pointer. 

Jake Morris stared down at him. He swung high above by a chain from his neck.  

There was no charm or mystery in his eyes, now. Only a glassy blue stare frozen atop a look of horror. August lowered his hand, sobbing and gasping for air. He propped himself up on his elbows, head pounding as he looked left and right for anyone else. 

“Is that a fire over there?” An unfamiliar voice reached the clearing from what seemed several yards away. Pain and terror were interrupted by a new contender for his attention: panic. August groaned and gasped as he struggled to his feet. He could move, but breathing was still uncomfortable. Footsteps approached. There was no time. 

He hurried out of the clearing into the brush, back in the general direction of the path that had led him there. 

“Jesus Christ!” He heard someone say. 

August thanked every god he didn’t believe in when he emerged on the other side of the forest and saw his bike awaiting him. There was a gentle, unchanged stillness in the air on 11th street as though he’d travelled back in time to the moments just before he saw Jake. He saw those lifeless eyes again.  

If only that had been the case. 

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