Page 49 of Sending Love Letters to Animals

“Yeah,” I said. “Get inside, man. It’s freezing.”

“Ugh!” he exclaimed comically. “March!”

“Barely!” I hollered after him as he wheeled up the ramp.

At his front door, Davud waved at me over his shoulder, then let himself inside. Once I was certain that he was inside and the door was locked, I jogged back to my car and the blessed heat. After warming my hands against the vents for a moment, I headed home.

In my pajamas in bed a half hour later, I was so wired from my night out that I couldn’t sleep. Since rest was impossible, I decided to get a head start on my assignment from Davud. I pulled my laptop out and found Some Kind of Wonderful on Amazon Prime. A few clicks later, and I had a movie to watch.

The movie was kind of sappy at times, full of tropes, the fashion was truly terrifying, and it wasn’t quite believable in a lot of parts. I mean, who practices kissing their friend to prepare for a date with another person and doesn’t realize they have feelings for their friend? Regardless, it was actually good. For once, Davud had given me a movie watching assignment that didn’t make me want to never listen to his recommendations again.

Life flies by when everything is going well. That was something I’d never really noticed before. Maybe it was because that life had never gone perfectly for me before. Or maybe I was too up my own ass to recognize it when things were going perfectly. But in the weeks that followed the white flag event at Low-Key Café, life was, simply…good.

The way time moves when life is good is the antithesis of the drudgery of life when things are not so great. Luckily, with rehearsals at least once a week leading up the recital, my assignment in Journalism Club, regular school work, and hanging out with Davud, life never seemed slow.

Chris and I were exchanging letters and pictures at least twice a week now that the ice had been broken and he’d extended some semblance of forgiveness. All of the letters I had provided him were my thoughts I had swirling through my head after I came out to Mom, Dad, and Juno, and how accepting they all were. Juno, as mean as she could be, never once teased me or made me feel bad—or like she didn’t still love me. At the time, I had been amazed at the support from my family.

All of those letters following my coming out to my family had also mentioned how much I wished I could tell Chris about it. How much I wished that I still had my best friend to discuss this new, exciting, and terrifying part of my life. In those letters I spelled out how I ruminated every day over the terrible decision I’d made in abandoning my friend.

After each letter, Chris’ photos became more and more hopeful and colorful. I couldn’t tell exactly what Chris was trying to convey with the happier photos, but I was pretty sure I understood. Not only was he feeling happier now that he understood what I had been going through, and he had chosen to forgive me, but he was showing me how he felt after he got used to being out. At first, he had felt lonely and scared and nervous. Then the sun came out, and he could breathe. He was the gay kid, but it hadn’t been as bad as he expected. He leaned into being exactly who he was inside and out.

Rehearsals with Mr. Melvin and the spring recital students were getting better as the weeks went by, too. Granted, none of them were quite getting the dance moves he wanted them to do for You Can’t Stop the Beat, and he had resorted to teaching them moves to do while standing in place, but they were singing in tune and on beat. At every rehearsal, though they looked odd flinging their arms around while they sang, they sounded great. Each of them was doing well with their individual songs, too.

When the spring recital came, it wouldn’t be anything that would set the high school recital community abuzz, but it would be good. The parents would be happy with how well their kids did in the show. Most importantly, after timing the performances in every rehearsal, we never ran longer than fifty-two minutes. So, if someone wasn’t enjoying the recital, they wouldn’t have to endure it for any longer than an hour-long television drama.

Even though he’d proven himself unqualified to actually participate in the recital itself, Davud usually attended rehearsals with me. Staying after school on rehearsal days gave us more chances to hang out and catch up when I took him home. We could talk about our days, help each other with homework or projects, and suggest more movies to each other.

Telling Davud I had really loved Some Kind of Wonderful wasn’t something I had really wanted to do since I knew he’d act all smug about it. Regardless, I had gushed to him about how much I loved it several times. Surprisingly, he didn’t rub it in my face that I had actually loved a movie he recommended. He’d simply smile cryptically and let it be. I appreciated that, even though he didn’t enjoy Hamilton and that basically made him a psychopath.

Some people, for some inexplicable reason, don’t enjoy musicals that much. Those people are weird. End of discussion.

The weirdest thing that happened leading up to the recital was one particular horror movie marathon night. Well, we stopped calling them “horror movie marathon nights” since Davud started joining us for each one, and we all chose a movie each time. We still always watched at least one horror movie—since those were Jules’ favorites—but we started calling them “movie nights.” The name change wasn’t the weird thing, though.

On the movie night a week before the recital, Davud and I showed up to Jules’ house, ready to snack like crazy and zone out in front of the T.V. in the family room. Connor Payne was there with Jules. Apparently, she had invited him to join in our little movie viewing club. I started to ask Jules if something was “going on” with Connor, but she immediately shushed me. That was good enough for me.

Jules and Connor had become an item. The English project had somehow helped them find a connection. The exuberant dork from English with too much energy and my sarcastic, cynical friend connected in some way. I wanted to rub it in Jules’ face. Tease her about her new boyfriend. But I let it go. Davud and I exchanged amused glances throughout the night, especially when we caught them holding hands, but we didn’t say a word. Not until we were in the car and I was driving him home after midnight, of course.

So…life was good. For everyone. Not only was life good, I was rekindling an old friendship. One that might even turn into something else. Maybe Chris would be open to hanging out—as friends—once the project was complete and we’d given our reports in class. It was possible that after that, we would see if something romantic had been in the works before my bad decision had squashed any hope of it.

It was about time for me. I’d spent my entire high school life without a single boyfriend. Not even a bit of flirtation. I was ready to at least go on a date. Maybe hold a guy’s hand or something. Maybe more. In a few months, I’d be graduating high school and going to college. Or maybe I’d find a job somewhere and see where life took me. Before that happened, though, I wanted to at least kiss a dude. It didn’t have to be more than that, but a kiss would be nice. If it developed into a relationship, even better. Everything else could wait, but a romance would be wonderful.

When I started having those thoughts, fully forming an idea of what I wanted next out of life, I knew it was time to give Chris the final letter I had in the shoebox. On the Sunday before the recital, the same day our reports were due, I dug the shoebox out of my closet a final time. When I returned the box to the dark recesses of my closet, it was empty. Its purpose had been fulfilled.

I’d never expected to read that final letter again. My hands shook as I held the letter up to read it for the first time since I’d placed it in the shoebox.

Chris,

I came out to my friends today. It was…nothing. They weren’t even surprised. In fact, it was almost like they didn’t understand why I was telling them I’m gay. Nothing changed. It was just another day, except now I’m officially out of the closet. Everyone had heard by the end of the school day. No one cared.

Is it weird that I’m relieved, but also offended? No one made a big deal about it at all. I’m happy that no one was mean to me, but I’m also somehow hurt that no one cares. How ridiculous is that?

How stupid was I to be scared? The whole reason you aren’t my friend anymore—because I was stupid. And weak. I was a coward.

So, I’m happy that I’m out and no one cares. I’m also sad that someone I cared about more than anything isn’t here to talk to about it.

I know it’s too late, and you’ll never know this, but I miss you. I think I loved you. I think that’s the main reason I was scared to come out. It wasn’t about my family not loving me anymore or my friends not wanting anything to do with me anymore. I was afraid that anything bad that happened would tear us apart.

And here we are. I ruined everything. Because of how I felt about you. About us. I’ll always be sorry. But I hope you’re happy.