I Remember the Day You Were Born

I remember the day you were born. James and I were playing when his mom announced that we had to come with her; your mom, James’ aunt, was giving birth, to you. Our fun was ruined, naturally, and by the time we got to the hospital, you had already been born, with huge green eyes and wispy hair.

James and I were disgusted.

You were always trying to play with us. We never let you, and by the time we would have let you, we were already done with playing. We were 16, and you were just five.

I remember the day I graduated, and we hugged and you said something about being proud of me and James, but mostly me, and I was just kind of unbothered by the entire thing, because you were eight, and I was almost 19, and it never occurred to me that 8 year olds could know they were gay, or bi even.

Of course, I went off to college, flunked that, and came back, leaving a serious boyfriend behind, when I was 25, and you were just becoming a real guy, not just my best friend’s little cousin. You were lanky and taller now, but you still had those huge green eyes, and I think you knew what they did to me.

So I left.

“Are you kidding me?” I demand, staring at the broken elevator sign. I live on the 14th floor. This day is trash.

I woke up, late, rolling out of bed, and of course stepping on some glass thing I had left there last night, or the night before, or whenever I had last been awake. So, not only is my foot throbbing, but now I’m supposed to hike up and down the stairwell like some kind of sherpa? Negative, so I go back into my apartment, because going up and down that many stairs since my knee surgery will only cause hell. I feel like an old man, 27 and completely useless.

“Warner?” Jake calls, and I sigh.

“Yeah?” I call out. He steps out from behind the wall between the entry and the kitchen, wearing just his boxers, trying to get a rise, literally, out of me.

“You changed your mind about going?” he asks.

“Elevator’s broken,” I mumble, sinking down onto a stool at the counter.

“Aw, poor baby,” he says, smirking. He gives me a kiss on the cheek. “I’m about to go,” he sighs. He lives in Chicago, some three hours away, and was only here on a visit. Why did he come here, I’m not sure. We’re in a long distance relationship, meaning he’s not supposed to be around me.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter into his neck, trying to sound sincere. I care about him, but I’ve been fucked up ever since I moved away from home the second time. I think he knows.

He sighs, says nothing else, and heads into my bedroom, which he claims as his own whenever he graces my presence. He comes back a few minutes later, fully clothed.

“I’m leaving then,” he says, biting his lip, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the entrance, and I stand up to kiss him goodbye. I know he wanted me to take it farther, but I’m so not in the mood to pretend I’m fucking someone that I’m not right now.

“I love you,” he offers first, and I repeat it back, still against him. He pulls away first, and leaves, obviously disappointed in his trip all the way here, which got him only one lay, and pretty much an entire weekend of boredom.

I look at the counter where my phone lays as I’m watching television. It continues to ring, so I get up, and flip it open, bringing it to my ear.

“Hello?” I ask.

“Warner,” James says, “my cousin’s gone.”

“What?” I ask, suddenly standing straighter, “You’re talking about Cadence, right?”

“Yes,” he groans, “And I know you guys got to be friends when you moved back, so if you can get in touch with him, please try and get him to come home so my aunt can stop shitting herself.”

“I’ll call him,” I sigh, and he hangs up on me. He never was one for goodbyes.

I stare at the screen of my phone, Cadence in big letters, followed by his number, my finger hovering over send. The screen goes dark, having been open too long, and I hit send. It starts to ring, and I fumble it to my ear.

“Look who decided to call me for the first time in two months,” Cadence says, his voice making me feel the need to apologize, because he always did that to me, even if I’d never done anything wrong.

“Where are you?” I ask instead, “Your aunt is worried sick.”

“I’m sixteen,” he scoffs, as if that’s some huge shit, “I can take care of myself.”

“Hardly,” I reply in the same tone, “Where are you?”

“Somewhere in the city,” he says carelessly.

“Why did you leave home?”

“My mom let her bastard boyfriend punch me in the face,” he says, sounding disgusted.

“What? What happened?” I ask, sitting down on the floor.

“He found out I’m a fag,” he says, and I can hear his smile, because twisted things like that always entertained him.

I remain silent. He takes a deep breath and lets it out, and I want to tell him to stop smoking, but he just always throws hypocrite at me the next time he sees me smoking.

“Are you really not going home?” I ask after a minute of silence on both of our parts, the background noise around him faint in my ears.

“No,” he says, “I hate that town. I don’t know why you gave it two chances.”

I try to decide what to do at this point.

“Come over,” I tell him.

“I already am, idiot,” he laughs, “tell your little Mexican doorman to let me up.”

“Don’t be a dick,” I say, but hit my buzzer anyways.

“Yay,” he says, and I can practically picture him skipping across the lobby.

“Oh yeah, the elevator’s broken,” I say, and hang up.

“He’s staying with you?” James asks, and I pretend not to hear the disapproval in his voice. He knew something was different between me and him, and me and Cadence. He never approved of us talking.

“Just until I convince him to go home,” I insist.

“He’s stubborn,” James reminds me. I groan.

“Dude, trust me,” I reply, “At least he wont get in trouble here.”

“I can hear you through the door!” Cadence yells, knocking for me to let him in.

“He’s here,” I tell James, “Gotta go.”

“Punch him for me,” James sighs, and hangs up.

I get off of the floor, and head to my door. I resist the urge to mess up my hair, but do it anyways as I reach for the knob. I pull the door inside, revealing Cadence, who I haven’t seen for a year. He looks different, but the same in general since the last time I saw him.
His hair is black now, and he has his lips pierced, but his eyes are the same and the way he hugs is the same.

“Missed you,” he says into my shoulder, and I make an agreeing noise.

“So,” he says, entering the apartment, “What shit did James have to talk about me staying here for awhile?”

I shrug, closing my door and following him in. He flops onto my couch, and looks at me for an answer.

“He didn’t say anything really,” I admit, “He just had a tone.”

“The tone,” he sighs, and sits up, patting the spot next to him.

I sit down next to him and sigh.

“You know,” he says, “It’s only wrong if you let people convince you it is.”

I look at him.

“What is?” I ask him, leaning back.

“You can be in love with me without it being wrong,” he says quietly. I look at him.

“Who said I’m in love with you?” I ask, a smirk playing on my lips.

“Who said you weren’t?” he asks, leaning in a bit closer to me, and I look away slightly. “Warner,” he whispers, and I look back at him, inches from my face. I jump away, and stand up quickly.

“You know I have Jake,” I say, “Why would you even bring this up?”

“Because I miss you, and I know you don’t care about Jake as much as me, so whatever,” he says, throwing his arms back on the couch cushions.

I stare at him, and back up a few steps.

“Don’t start this again,” I say, trying not to sound too desperate.

He lifts one eyebrow, and shrugs, sitting back.

“So you did know I was hinting back home,” he states, and I groan.

“Why do you think I left?” I ask him, and he actually looks a little surprised for a moment, until he just smiles.

“You left just because of me?” he asks.

“You were 14, Cadence!” I snap.

“I know,” he replies, “I look much better now, so I don’t know what you saw before.”

I glare at him, and he just looks at me. I know he’s enjoying this, because he’s so weird about people and how he is with them.

“Me neither,” I agree, and go to my room to get my keys and go drink.

I enter my room, slip on my shoes, grab my wallet, and stuff my keys in my pocket. When I come back into the living room area, Cadence is standing somewhere in between the couch he was just sitting on and my doorway.

“Where are you going?” he asks, but I don’t answer. I shake my head and move past him to the door.

“Warner,” he says, following me, “Where are you going?”

I lock the door on the way out. I even brave the stairwell, just to get away from him.

I stumble through the door, after scratching the red paint off of my door with my key, and drop everything I’m carrying plus most of my clothes, at the doorway. I slam it behind me, and wobble through my dark apartment, into my room, and into my already occupied bed.

“Warner?” Cadence asks quietly, but I just lay down next to him with a grunt. “Where were you?” he asks.

“Bar,” I answer, wrapping my arms around his waist and pulling him to me.

“What are you doing?” he asks groggily, taking my left arm into his hands.

I don’t answer; just lay my head on his shoulder.

“You don’t love me,” I state quietly.

“You’re really drunk, aren’t you?” he replies. I nod against his neck. “Drunk enough to not think about it?” he asks, turning in my arms.

“What?” I ask, turning my face towards him.

“Don’t think about it,” he says, leans up, and kisses me firmly.

So I don’t.

I wake up, my head throbbing, and naked.

“Fuck,” I mumble, sitting up, looking around, and staring at the stuff everywhere. Literally, everything is on the floor, and I groan. I should have known.

I get up, pull on a pair of boxers I find on top of my computer, and walk out into my living room, also a mess, and move into my kitchen. I sit on the stool, one of the two only things still right side up in here, pick up the cup of coffee he made me, and take a sip as I unfold the note that had sat under the mug.

Warner,

I took your debit card, with the pin number on the back (you’re an idiot), and I’m leaving. I figured I owed you a cup of coffee since I won’t be here to make you post-sex breakfast. Don’t let them bother to look for me. I’m finally getting away.

Cadence

I take another sip of my coffee, set it down, and mix another sugar into it.