Something Beautiful.

The beeping of my alarm cuts through my dreams and I groan as I roll over to turn it off. It’s so damn early. Saturday is one of my only two days a week I let myself rest. So why the hell am I getting up at 5:30AM? I want to collapse back on my bed and sleep until noon like I usually do on Saturdays, but I force myself to get up and stumble towards my bathroom.

As much as I wish I could forget about this whole waking up early thing, I don’t have a choice. Technically, I don’t have to be awake, but I promised my best friend I would go to his cross country meet. Sounds pretty boring, doesn’t it? Sitting around watching guys run a little over three miles when you usually can’t even see half the race isn’t exactly my choice of Saturday morning activities. It’s our senior year though, and my best friend is the captain of the cross country team. Today is their first meet, and so I told him I would come support him.

His name is Jules, but it’s pronounced Julius, which is what his parents and pretty much all adults call him. I call him Jules as in Jewels though, because even if I try, I just don’t get Julius out of seeing Jules written down. Anyways, he just might be the most eccentric person in my grade. Jules is French, and although he’s not an American citizen, he’s been here since freshman year when his parents got green cards to stay and work here. Jules is fluent in both French and English and he’s taught me a little French. I mean, yeah, it’s all cuss words, but I figured getting a head start on French one I’m taking this year would be a good idea.

The water in my shower is hot and the steam gathering in my bathroom makes me open my eyes wider, but it does nothing to help with the yawn I try to stifle. Even though I’m awake I’m still tired and I wonder again why I love my best friend so much. My phone buzzes from the counter and I reach out of the shower to read the message. Jules had sent me a text asking if I was awake and getting ready. I smile to myself and turn back to wash my face. Jules was nervous. He may be our best cross country runner, but his nerves are terrible, which is why I’m going today. The kid’s crazy and he needs as much support as he can get.

When I get to the course they’re running I can spot Jules from a mile away. The girls are running when I get there, so all the boys are sitting in a cluster. Most people are brunettes. There’s a few blondes, but there is one ginger who sticks out and is frantically waving to me. I wave back and he collapses onto the ground with his hands in his hair and he’s looking as though he might throw up.

“Hey man,” I say as I walk up. “You doing okay? He’s still laying down pulling at the tuft of red on the top of his head, and his eyes are closed as he’s muttering to himself in French. He opens one eye to look at me before squeezing them shut again.

“No,” he tells me, his French accent sticking out from the other conversations around us. “I’m not. My damn nerves. Mes nerfs. Putain. Putain. Putain. I grin at him because I know if anyone besides me had been able to understand him he definitely wouldn’t be team captain much longer.

“You’re a baby,” I tell him and nudge him with my foot. “And you’re lucky I’m here. I almost didn’t get up. I mean, really Jules? I had to get up at 5:30 to get here on time. Shit, I was supposed to sleep in today.”

“I didn’t sleep at all last night,” he huffs under his breath as he sits up. “You know, it wouldn’t seem quite as bad if you would actually run with me.” Jules is staring up at me intently now, but we’ve had this conversation a thousand times and he always loses.
“Nope. I run for me. Not for competition. You know that. Besides, it’s too late. Three weeks into senior year is way past time to start a sport.”
“But Shane – “ he starts before he’s cut off by one of his teammates.
“Hey Fries! Are we going to warm up soon?” Someone calls to him. Jules stands up and grabs his sweats to pull on.

“How many times do I have to tell you French Fries are not actually French!?” He cries throwing his hands into the air. I laugh along with the cross country guys and Jules starts an animated speech in French. He glares at all of us and throws his hands around a lot, which only causes us to laugh louder. “Putain,” he mumbles. “Let’s go warm up.”

Jules acts like he hates his nickname, but I know under it all he really likes it. Freshman year was hard on both of us. He had just moved from France and with his crazy personality and heavy French accent nobody really wanted to be his friend. The nickname came in sophomore year which was when he was finally fully accepted by our grade. We became friends by default when our Fathers began working together. I first met Jules when we were at Glen’s, our town’s all night diner.

His family had just moved into town and my dad decided our family should eat with his new business partner’s family. I’ll admit, I was intimidated by Jules at first. His whole family has orange-red hair and although I thought his two little sisters, who were eight and five at the time, were adorable, but Jules’s boldness and loud voice made me wary of him.

In the end we became friends that day though, and when we started school that year we had all of our classes together. Our friendship started as just school friends, but after all the shit we went through together that year it was impossible to become anything less than best friends. Hell, we’re practically brothers. Jules introduced me to running and now it’s one of the most important things in my life. Being his best friend has definitely changed my way of life. Before I became his friend I was really shy and I hadn’t really hung out with anyone from school since sixth grade. Jules changed that though, and when we walk down the halls of school there’s plenty of people I stop and talk to.

Jules really is one-of-a-kind. He has random outbursts in French and sometimes he’ll sing and dance around in public, not caring who is and who’s not staring. He has a way with girls that most guys would kill for, and even though I think he uses the fact that he’s foreign to get girls a little too often, it’s one of the most entertaining things about going out in public with him.

Jules’s race finally starts, and he’s out in front from the very beginning. I know he has absolutely nothing to worry about, even after all his fretting. Hell, he’ll probably win state this year. I find a comfortable place to sit down and watch the runners until they disappear into a wooded area and out of sight.

When the runners can be seen again they have less than a half mile left and Jules is in first by at least 200 meters. I know simply winning will never be enough for Jules, and he picks up his pace. He’s running solely against the clock now because there’s absolutely nobody in danger of catching him. He crosses the finish line breathing hard and looking like he might collapse. The state he’s in right now is another great reminder as to why I don’t run cross country or track. When I run I like to go at my own pace and think while I run so I can finish barely short of breath, even if I am always soaked in sweat. Right now there’s more sweat coming off of Jules than the amount of rain we’ve gotten in the last month, and his breath is coming so shallow it looks as if he might have a heart attack. Yeah, definitely not my kind of thing.

I grabbed a cold bottle of water and started to walk to the finish line, but everyone was surrounding Jules and telling him good job, and I even noticed a couple college coaches talking to him. I hung back for a minute and waited until he was alone again before I walked over to him.

“Hey, Salop,” I call out to him, “You’re still three seconds behind the school record. I’m disappointed in you!”

“Ta gueule,” he replies with a grin as he grabs the water out of my hand. Jules takes a big gulp of the water and throws his arm around my shoulder. I cringe away from the sweat because I’m already dressed for the day and I really don’t want to have to change before we do whatever Jules has planned for the day.

Two girls from school close to Comfort walk up to us. One is a little blonde with blue eyes who has a pretty face, and the other is a tall brunette who is also pretty, and I know exact what’s coming. They’re giggling to each other and whispering as they approach us and their eyes are on Jules.

“You ran really well,” the blonde says to him with a shy smile on her face. Jules glances at me and back to the girls as he grins.

“Merci. That’s very kind of you to say,” Jules replies with a voice so sincere I can tell it’s fake. What is he up to? Usually when there’s pretty girls flirting with him he’s all over it. Jules isn’t exactly a man-whore or anything, but he’s the biggest flirt I know. Maybe it’s a French thing, but you’d think after three years in the States he’d have stopped kissing girls on the cheek to say hello every time he sees them. Sometimes the girls will look like they’re about to faint, and honestly, it’s a little sickening.

“Yeah, well, we know talent when we see it,” the brunette says and bites her lip. She’s the more brave of the two, and she reaches over to put a hand on Jules’s arm. “Maybe it’s that red hair. You run so fast it’s like it caught on fire.”

“No,” the blonde argues, “It’s definitely the fact that he’s French.”

Ugh. These girls are absolutely hopeless. Not only are they obviously totally smitten with Jules, but their flirting is over-the-top and gross. I’ll never understand girls, and if a gay guy can’t understand them, I have no clue how straight guys can stand to date them.

“I don’t think it was either of those things, actually,” Jules tells them. Yeah, he’s definitely up to something. He slides his arm around my waist and I stare at him with a quizzical look on my face. What the hell?

The girls stare at him for a minute, clearly confused. One of them is eyeing his arm around my waist and things are quickly becoming awkward. “What makes you run so fast then?” She asks.

“Well, I think it’s my boyfriend here. He’s kind of my good luck charm,” Jules says to them, and then leans over and plants a kiss on my cheek. I jump back and stare at him as the girls make say something about their bus leaving and hurry off the way they came. As soon as they’re out of earshot Jules busts out laughing and I shove him away.

“What the fuck, man?” I ask him but he won’t stop laughing. He’s doubled over now, and I’m starting to think I don’t understand guys either. “Those girls were pretty. Why’d you do that?”

Jules finally catches his breath and looks up at me with a mischievous smile. “They’re at like all of our meets,” he explains. “I’m gonna have to see them again. Plus, there were two of them, and only one straight guy. You can’t keep both of them happy at once.”

“So you tell them you’re gay and I’m your boyfriend?” I ask. He smiles and throws his arm around my shoulder again as we walk to where his bag is. “C’est foutu,” I mutter, and Jules laughs even harder than he did earlier. He lets go of me and takes off running and twirling while he sings at the top of his lungs. How he already has that much energy back Ill never know, but I swear if someone knew one of us was gay but didn’t know which one it was, they would totally think it was Jules.

I follow the bus back to the school and when we get there Jules goes inside to shower, promising he’ll be out soon. I sigh, but I don’t really have a choice so I wait patiently for him. Today is one of those rare weekend days he’s off work, so we’re going to the mall a few towns over. The mall is Jules’s favorite place because it’s crawling with girls. Personally, I like going because I can usually find something I like to buy. I’ll meet the occasional guy there, but I’ve never met a guy I’ve genuinely liked at a mall. They’re just too obsessed with clothes. It’s annoying, honestly. Almost as bad as some of the girls Jules flirts with.

“Let’s go, I’ve got girls to see,” Jules says as he climbs into my car. I shake my head at him but I start my car anyways. He’s wearing a tank top and a pair of shorts and you can see the tattoo that spans his chest. That tattoo is one of his biggest chick magnets. Not only does it look really elegant, but it’s in French, so depending on what girl he’s talking to, he can say it means different things.

Some days it means “Life Is Beautiful”. Sometimes it means “Live Laugh Love”. Hell, sometimes it even means “Live with no regrets.” It all depends on what day it is, and how gullible the girl is. Being so close to the French speaking part of Canada, French is the second language most people around here know. Almost everyone takes it as their language class in high school, so its next to impossible to not know at least a handful of words. I’d think anybody can clearly tell that beautiful, which is in beau French, is nowhere in l'oppression baise , but you’d be surprised at how often girls believe it says “Life is Beautiful.”

“Showing off your tattoo again?” I ask him. He grins at me, but doesn’t reply because he’s too busy eating an apple. “What does it mean today?”

“Casse-toi!” he tells me. I smirk back at him as we pull out of the parking lot.

“So we’re telling everyone it means to fuck off? I’m sure that will attract all the girls.” Jules shoves me and I fake swerve from the contact, causing him to scream like a little girl. “You’re an idiot, Jules. Really, I don’t know what girls see in you.” He huffs and mumbles something about being too exhausted from cross country to really even know what’s going on.

“If you could show yours off more you wouldn’t be complaining as much,” he tells me. “When we got our tattoos I thought the whole purpose was to show them off and be proud?” He asks me. We had gone earlier this summer to get tattoos together after we both turned eighteen. He was older than I was, but we both have summer birthdays, so at the end of August, right before school started, we got them. His is across his chest and is blaringly evident. It says ‘Fuck Oppression” in French, which matches his personality exactly. Not only does it go with his free spirited personality, but the tattoo itself is loud, just like him.

Mine, however, is a smaller and not as flashy. It’s simple and one worded. It’s written in black ink and it’s barely four inches across, an inch and a half tall. My back right shoulder says ‘Life’. It’s small and out of sight, but it’s for me, not anyone else, so I like it that way.

Jules stares at me expectantly, but I laugh and turn up the music so we ride the rest of the way without speaking except for singing to our favorite songs while Jules beats on the dash board. As much as both of us love music, he can’t keep a beat and I sing off key, so we make a terrible duo.

We spent the rest of our day at the mall not really buying anything, but finding plenty of girls for Jules to talk to. We talked and laughed and ate the greasiest pizza ever from the food court. Although there were a few times I was embarrassed by Jules’s obnoxious singing, I wouldn’t trade my best friend for the world.