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How To Say "I Love You". Words aren't always necessary.
I ran my fingers over the embossed lettering again. It was only a "thank you" card, but I still had tears in my eyes. I had thought he'd walked in, grabbed the first one that wasn't too sappy or "girlie" and left. He'd told me otherwise. I imagined David standing in the Hallmark Store, awash in a sea of choices, agonizing over the prefect card; it was a strange image. It didn't matter if he'd grabbed the first or the last he'd seen; the simple, straightforward style said it all. "To my best friend," was all it said on the cover. Inside, it was as simple, "Thank you for being who you are," and was finished off with his nearly illegible, Dave. Hell, in the fifteen years we'd been friends, he'd never bought me a card. Sure, his mom did for my birthdays when we were younger, but we all knew that no teen-aged guy bought cards for his friends.
He wasn't here. He had walked out, and I had no idea if he would be back. I thought about how we'd gotten to this point. It was like tracing the texture of the card; there were layers upon layers. In the end, it was far more than what was on the surface.
* * * * *
David had never been a very demonstrative kind of guy. He was solid, reserved, and deeply personal. Any call for public displays of emotion shook him to the core. I'd been amazed he'd been able to make it through the wedding. I think the fact that he was too hung over from the bachelor's party I'd hosted to think about it was the only thing that allowed him to say, "I do". I suppose that was one of the reasons Rebecca left him; he wasn't good at the whole "express your feelings" thing. It took extreme measures to get him to open up; it required a lot of alcohol.
Rebecca had been a great woman, though I'd never liked her. That wasn't her fault; I was jealous. The fact that I was in the closet, and in love with my best friend, wasn't her fault either. At twenty-eight, I was still a virgin with no prospects for changing it. Hell, looking back, even her decision for leaving David wasn't her fault. I think he loved her, but she was a high-maintenance relationship and David had always been a "hands off" guy. I think he'd thought a marriage was sort of like rooming with someone where you shared the same bed and had sex. I don't know; in the three years their marriage lasted, I'd pretty much kept my nose out of their personal business.
Of course, she didn't really leave David. She informed him it was over, left for the weekend to be with her mother, and had told him his stuff had better be out of the apartment when she got back. David handled it like he'd handled any other emotional upheaval in his life since he turned eighteen; he got drunk. David was a crying drunk. That was, of course, why he'd left the card. As usual, I was his shoulder to cry on. Yeah, I'd even cleaned up the return trips of his over-indulgence a time or two. For a guy with a solid Irish heritage, the boy couldn't hold his booze. My black ass could suck up twice as much and not get more than tipsy. Of course, my black ass was about twice as big as his; that probably had something to do with it.
Suffice to say, I helped David pack up his shit, and offered him temporary residence on the sofa bed in the spare room. He'd spent the first week in a funk, but then did the "David thing" and got practical about it. He started looking for a place to stay that fit his needs without costing so much as to require a roommate. I let him use the computer as much as he needed. I could use my laptop from work, so it really wasn't an inconvenience. He went to see a few places during the week and said he liked a couple.
I found the card one day when I got home. He'd left it on the kitchen table. He'd been here less than a month, and I realized I didn't want him to leave. That, of course, was ridiculous. David was as WASP as they come; I had no idea what he thought of gay people, and I was afraid to ask. I simply had no idea what had brought it on.
I must have given him a funny look later that night when we came back from the gym. He had taken off his sweaty T. Seeing David's body was anything but new; I'd known the guy since we were thirteen. We'd been working out together for longer than he had been married. What had caught me off guard was that he'd changed his hair; he'd had the same hairstyle since we went off to college. He'd also gotten new glasses. It must be understood that David was so slow to "change" that glaciers moved faster.
David had been harsh with his workout. It was almost as if he was trying extra hard to get results. He shot me a frown. "What?"
I grinned. "I'm getting used to the new look." His frown deepened. "I don't know; it just seems like you're always trying for something that isn't going to happen." Of course, I was one to talk; I'd been in love with a straight, white guy since I was sixteen. "You've got the definition that most guys would kill for and you're always trying to put on weight." I shrugged. "Go with what you've got, man." This was an old argument.
Dave frowned for a minute, and then shrugged. "Yeah well, I don't have anything anyone wants anyway."
"What the fuck does that mean?"
He sighed. "Rebecca had the divorce papers sent to the office today. It's official; we're through." Rubbing his shirt against his sweaty pits, he headed for the shower. "I guess I'm just thinking that if I change the look, maybe I'll change with it."
The poor guy hated the fact he was a lean, tall, man. He worked out daily in hopes of finding the right combination of eating and exercise to get "buff". David wasn't a big guy; ok, to be honest he's a skinny beanpole with auburn hair and a pelt of reddish fur over buttermilk skin. Yeah, David was as Irish as they come. He had exactly what I could never achieve; he was cut like a razor.
We were a riot at the gym together. We'd meet in the locker room, then go warm up on the stair climbers or tread mills, and that was where our joint workouts ended 'til the cool down. I went for cardio burn and low weight, high repetitions. David was always pumping the max he could. It didn't seem to matter what we did, but we never had what we wanted. I wanted to get the roundness out of my shape and be cut like him; he wanted my size.
I waited 'til he came out, and spent a couple moments watching his muscles move as he toweled his hair. Yeah, my biceps were nearly as big as his thighs, but every one of his skinny, tight muscles were visible when he had his arms up. He caught me looking as he finished his hair, and I swear he blushed. Then he frowned. "What?"
"Thanks for the card."
That, at least, rewarded me with the first smile of the day. "Oh." Typical Dave, he turned and left the conversation. I suppose having a big black guy looking at you with puppy-dog eyes and a stupid smile was enough to scare away any straight, white guy.
The card wasn't the only weird thing that Dave did as the week wound on. I couldn't figure it out. I knew he was having a hard time dealing with the end of his marriage, but he was beginning to worry me.
It was a couple nights after the card when he gave me a serious look before he went to bed and asked, "We're best friends, right?"
I thought that was a stupid question. "Yeah, of course we are." What caught me was how doubtful he looked. "What's bothering you, Dave?"
He shrugged. "Dunno. I guess I'm just feeling a little insecure." I wanted to give him a hug and tell him he had nothing to be insecure about, but he shrugged again after giving me another odd look and saying, "Night."
That didn't weird me out nearly as much as when he asked me over the weekend, "Got a date for Valentine's day?" It was only a week away, but the question was totally bizarre.
"Yeah," I nodded at the door, "they've been beating down the door trying to get me. Can't you tell?"
Dave shrugged. "I guess I was just wondering. You've never talked about your dates." The way he looked at me made my stomach sink, "Ever."
"Of course I have." I was certain I'd lied about some girl at some point. I couldn't honestly remember who, or when, but I was sure I had. "I don't need to date; I have everything I want." At least temporarily I had David in my home, and that was what I wanted.
"Oh." He seemed to chew on that one before he got up and went back to his room.
Honestly, he had me spooked. Every day he seemed to get a little more down; that wasn't normal for Dave. He'd always been one to have short-lived funks and then he was right back to status quo. This time, it didn't seem like he was pulling out of it.
With my concern about Dave, I'd completely forgotten about the office Valentine's Day party. Valentine's Day was on Saturday, but the boss rented out his club's banquet room for Friday night; it was kind of an anti the thirteenth party. It started at seven. God I hated office parties, but being in middle management made it a political imperative that I attend. Fortunately, dates were optional.
Dave looked at me like I was an alien when he came in from the gym, probably wondering why I hadn't been there, and saw me grabbing my jacket. I was wearing a dark, burgundy silk shirt, black pants and had a black sports coat. For shits, I'd bought a black tie with burgundy hearts on it for the party. If I was going to be stuck watching my coworkers get drunk and suck face, at least I could fake the spirit of the occasion. "Where are you going?"
I realized I hadn't told him about the party. "Party. I'd forgotten about it." I shrugged. "Don't have anything better to do tonight."
The hurt look on Dave's face didn't register. I was already going to be late. I laughed at the idea that I might actually meet someone, yeah right, and I grinned. "Don't wait up." I was sure I'd be home by ten.
The party was, as predicted, a complete slosh fest. It was a good thing I'm not fond of drinking. I ended up having to take four of my coworkers home. They lived all over town, so by the time I made it back to the apartment it was after one. I walked in to find Dave sitting in his briefs, looking bleary-eyed at the TV, with a mostly empty bottle of Jack on the table. The way his head moved, I knew he was smashed. I sighed as he looked up at me, and I took off my coat.
"What're you doing, Dave?"
He sniffed at me. "Waiting up."
That was obvious, but what I really wanted to know was why. "Yeah, I can see that." It didn't look like he'd been crying, but I suspected once I'd settled down some place, I'd have a wet shoulder again. "Mind if I get out of these things?"
He shook his head, and wobbled a little, so I went back to my room to change. Wet silk sucked; I was going to change into an old T and some sweats. If he threw up, nothing would be ruined. It took me a moment to realize that Dave was standing in the doorway, watching me as I changed.
"Why didn't you tell me?"
"Tell you what? That I had an office party?" I shrugged. "I told you; I forgot."
"No." He wobbled a little, and looked more upset. "Why didn't you tell me you were gay?"
I froze. I didn't want an irrational drunk on my hands. Fuck, why hadn't I seen that coming? I hedged. "What are you talking about, Dave? What makes you think I'm gay?"
He turned, took a couple steps to the guestroom door, and pointed. "That does."
I pulled up my sweats and walked out to take a look. On the screen was the nifty archive; I'd spent a lot of nights using the stories there to sate the loneliness I felt. I cringed. "It's a porn site, Dave. Gay, straight and fetishes. How do you know I'm not into sheep?"
He gave me an angry glare; yeah, he'd had enough to unhinge the emotional doors. "I'm not stupid. I know how to look at a history file. Not to mention, the photo sites are all gay." He walked, unsteadily, to the computer and clicked on the favorites list. "There's this one," click, "and this one," click, "and this one," click, "and this one…" He was sounding angrier with each snap of the mouse.
For me it was like having a surreal nightmare. I hadn't even thought about my favorites links. I was so screwed. I was looking at him in horror when he turned around.
He had tears running down his face. "You keep telling me we're best friends, and I don't even know who you are."
God that hurt. When Dave unhinged, his heart was on his sleeve. The pain in his voice wasn't from my being gay; it was from my hiding it from him. I couldn't meet the hurt in his eyes, so looked at the floor. "I'm sorry."
He practically yelled at me. "I don't care if you're sorry! I want to know why!" Dave seldom got loud, even when he was drunk, and his outburst caught me off guard.
"Why what? Why I'm gay?" I was getting pissed. "I don't know, Dave. I was born this way I guess. I never told you I was -black- either. I never thought I needed to!"
He looked down. "You could have told me."
He was such a hypocritical prick. I waved at him as my frustration built. I had no idea I'd even been frustrated 'til it hit me; at that point, I couldn't stop it. "You never tell anyone anything, Dave! Unless you're drunk! I can't tell what you're saying half the time anyway, because by the time you're liquored up enough to say anything you're slurring!"
He looked like he was going to spit something back at me, but I stepped in and snarled. "What would have been the point? You'd have just forgotten anything I told you when you woke up anyway!"
He suddenly looked like he was going to be sick. I grabbed his arm and dragged him into the bathroom. He didn't get sick, but he didn't look all that steady. I'd had enough. He knew, so what? I couldn't talk with him while he was shit-faced. Yanking back the shower curtain, I cranked on the cold water and hefted him in. "You want to talk? Get your white ass sober, and I'll think about it!"
He called me everything he could think of, and a lot of things that weren't words, as I chilled the drunk out of him. The bathroom floor and I were soaked when he finally stopped fighting me.
He was shivering and mumbling "enough" when I shut off the shower. God he looked miserable, and I felt guilty. The shower had chilled out my anger as well. I pulled him out and he kind of melted against me while he shivered. I wrapped him up in a towel, dried him off, and guided him back to the couch. "I'll make some coffee."
David watched silently from the couch as I made a big pot and brought out the first mugs. He looked a lot more alert, and a lot sadder. We drank down our first mugs in silence. I didn't need the coffee, I was wound enough, but it was easier to have him mimic me than try and force him to drink alone.
"How are you feeling?" Any conversation was better than nothing.
"Like my head is full of cotton; not drunk, but not hung either." He winced a little and then frowned at me. "You're a bastard, you know that?"
I grinned. "Yeah, you said that in the shower."
He looked back at his mug. "I'm sorry I yelled."
"I'm sorry I never told you."
He shrugged. "I didn't go snooping; well, not at first." He looked at my skeptical expression and frowned. "I didn't. I was trying to find where I'd dropped a favorites link for one of the apartment searches, and I clicked the wrong thing."
That made sense. "Oh."
Sighing, he lifted his mug. "Bartender, give me a double?"
I grinned. "Sure."
He sipped the mug after I handed it back, and cradled it in his hands. He wasn't shivering any more. "I guess I've been trying to get you to tell me since I found out."
His behavior over the last couple weeks started making sense. "When was that?"
He shrugged. "The night before I bought you the friendship card." He grinned. "I stood in that fucking store forever trying to find one that said what I wanted."
I was touched. I'd never expected him to spend time trying to express his feelings. "I really loved the card." Hell, I'd put it away in my only photo album.
Nodding, he took another sip of his coffee. His eyes never left me. "So, are you going to tell me why?"
"I told you why."
He set down his cup and stared at me. "I've spent the last two weeks worrying that if you were hiding this, that maybe you were hiding other stuff too. I'm scared, Jim. You've always been the person I could turn to and now I'm not sure I can."
I looked at my hands. "Do you remember who you used to jack off fantasizing about when we were teens?"
He grinned. "Yeah, Marla Thompson."
I swallowed and tried to meet his eyes. "I used to jack off about you."
That seemed to blind-side him. He only looked at me and I could see the "David security wall" come up. "Oh."
I stood up. "That's why I never told you. It wasn't that I didn't value our friendship, Dave. You're my best friend. I love you. I didn't want to ruin it." He stared "I'm going to bed. If you want to talk more later, cool."
I left him sitting on the couch being distant-David. The moment the discussion had turned to something really intimate, like the fact that I'd been in love with him, he'd shut down. There was no way I was going to share the fact that I was still in love with him. It took me forever to get to sleep; I kept worrying about what was going to happen. I woke mid-morning to find Dave looking at me from the chair.
He didn't look like he'd slept at all. "Is it later?"
It took me a moment for my brain to figure out what he was asking. I rolled onto my back and looked up at the ceiling. "Sure."
When he didn't say anything, I looked back over at him. He waited 'til our eyes met, and then he asked, "Do you still feel that way?"
The problem with having someone continue a conversation from the night before, as you wake up, was that you can't think up answers fast enough. I stared at him blankly for a moment before I looked away. "I'm not a kid any more."
He was still watching me when I looked back. "Do you?"
Now I was the one getting angry. He didn't have the right to ask me that question. Mr. "can't open up" had no business trying to force me to. Of course, I was shaking at the same time. I sat up, pushed off the bed, and walked out. He followed. I made it to the kitchen and found that he'd made a new pot of coffee. I poured myself a cup and tried to control the trembling in my hands as I took a swig. He stood there and waited. Finally I practically slammed the mug down and snapped at him. "What the fuck do you want me to tell you, Dave?"
"The truth." His eyes held mine, but they were inscrutable. Maybe it was the fact that he was so good at hiding his feelings, or maybe it was because he hadn't slept. What ever it was, I couldn't see a thing in them but me, squirming on a hook.
"Yes." I hissed it at him. "Yes, ok?" I threw my hands up and waved them frantically. "I'm just a big fucking queen who's hopelessly in love with his straight best friend." I grabbed my coffee and swallowed down another gulp. "Feel better?"
He stared at me. He looked so tired. If I wasn't feeling so panicked and vulnerable, I'd have hugged him and made him feel like everything would be all right. Finally, he said, "No."
My heart sank. He turned and went back to his room. I was kind of numb when he came back out with his coat and left. I have no idea what I did for the rest of the day. I know I got showered and dressed, and I know I ate something, but I spent most of the day feeling lost. I was sitting on the couch, tracing my fingers over the only thing David had ever given me that expressed something akin to love when he came back in.
God he looked like hell. I set the card down and stood up. "Have you eaten?"
He shook his head mutely and I went into the kitchen. "I'll make something." What I really wanted to do was to hug him to me and tell him I couldn't lose him. The look on his face made me wonder if it was already too late.
I'd started some water for pasta when he said, "I'm going to take a quick shower."
How To Say "I Love You". Words aren't always necessary.
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