Say Those Three Little Words

“Travis is so cool!” Josh exclaimed, entering the Sykes’ home and dropping his bag on the floor. It was Wednesday, and the other kid was all Josh could talk about for the past two days. Oli was happy for him, but he secretly admits to being sort of jealous.

“Seriously. I somehow convinced him not to get wasted or whatever before school so we could actually talk and work together.” He went into the kitchen and filled a glass with water. Oli looked in the fridge for something to snack on but found nothing. “He likes a lot of the same things as me, and he also agrees that society is fucked up.”

“Oh really?” Oli said, closing the fridge door and looking over at the teenager. Josh was leaning against the counter with the glass to his lips, studying Oli intently. His eyes were darker than usual, hinting that something was wrong, something bigger than what Josh was letting on.

“Yeah, man. I think you’d get along great with him.” He sat the glass down and walked over, pulling Oli into a hug. He turned to whisper in his ear. “You can stop being so jealous of him, by the way. I’ve only got eyes for you, babe.”

Oli sputtered, opening and closing his mouth slowly, like a fish trying to ingest more water or, in the elder’s eye, communicate. Josh laughed, although it seemed forced and almost had a dark tone to it. He winked at him and went up the stairs.

The phone — a wireless that was just installed two days ago and whose number was only in the hands of two people — rang, and a grin lit up Oli’s face. He picked it up, the smile widening when he heard the familiar voice on the other line. “Hey, grandma!”

Upstairs, Josh was sitting in the corner of Oli’s room, diagonal from the guitar’s spot. Free from the public, free from having to keep a smile on his face, Josh let his emotions out into the air. He felt dead inside. He felt like everything in the world was horrible and eating him alive.

Today was his real father’s birthday; a birthday he never would be able to see.

Josh curled into a ball, struggling to keep his tears from overflowing. He felt like all his strength, all his manhood , was being sapped out of him. Here he was, lying on the floor of his boyfriend’s bedroom while Oli was downstairs, slowly unraveling.

His thoughts were spurts of poison running through his brain, telling him things that he’s known for years.

You’re worthless. You’ll never amount to anything.

A sob racked through his entire body and he clutched his midsection.

That’s why your parents left you. They hated you, Franceschi. They hated you and wished you had never been born.

He didn’t notice the door softly opening or Oli stepping through, a concerned look on his face.

You’re ugly. You’re pathetic. Oli’s only going out with you because he feels sorry for you.

Another sob escaped his lips.

“Josh?” Oli whispered, slowly approaching the boy.

WHY ARENT YOU FUCKING DEAD YET? NO ONE WOULD CARE.

The sobs were becoming increasingly violent, and Josh felt like he was losing pieces of his sanity. The voices drowned out all of his other thoughts, and he longed for relief. In any form.

Oli picked him up and carried him to the bed, sitting down and cradling him in his arms. Josh continued to cry into his shoulder, unknowingly clutching on to Oli’s shirt.

The elder did the only thing he could think of doing. Remembering his minor breakdown a month and a half ago, he leaned down and softly began to sing in Josh’s ear.

Every second’s soaked in sadness,
Every weekend is a war.

His voice intermixed with the negative thoughts, and Josh held on to it like a lifeline.

And I’m drowning in the déjà vu,
We’ve seen it all before.

Like an epic battle between good and evil, Josh watched as the song began to overpower those demons. His sobs slowly lessened in intensity.

I don’t wanna do this by myself;
I don’t wanna live like a broken record

He felt like the lyrics perfectly described himself, and that coupled with Oli’s sweet and pure voice, erased the blackness running through his body.

I’ve heard these lines a thousand times,

Oli lowered his voice even more, to where it was almost a whisper.

And I’ve seen it all before.

He kissed away a tear that was trailing down the teenager’s cheek. Josh looked up at him with bewildered yet grateful eyes. His face was red, eyes bloodshot, his bottom lip chapped and quivering. Even at his worst, Oli couldn’t help but think about how beautiful he was. “Are you okay?”

Josh licked his lips, retrieving moisture that was loss from his excessive crying. “O-Oli?”

“Yes, love?”

“T-Thank you.”

In response, Oli softly connected their lips. Josh pressed back before quickly pulling away, hiding his face in the crook of the elder’s neck. Oli held him tighter. “I really hate seeing you upset,” He murmured.

Josh began to laugh, a slow and forced one that caused Oli to look at him in confusion. Josh shook his head, face still buried. “I probably look like shit. Sorry you had to witness that.”

“No,” Oli whispered. “You didn’t.”

“I mean-” Josh laughed again. “This is pathetic. Here I am being a fucking crybaby in my boyfriend’s home. I won’t be surprised if I wake up tomorrow and have a different set of genitalia.”

Oli pushed him away so he could look into his eyes. There was a broken humor in them, like he’s trying to play it off as a joke but he really believes it inside. The elder sighed. “Josh, crying doesn’t make you any less of a man.”

Josh shrugged. “It does if that’s all you can do. I couldn’t pick myself up off that floor — someone else had to do it.”

Oli shook his head. “That doesn’t matter. That’s what society wants you to believe, remember? A man crying is rebelling against those beliefs, and not only that, it’s perfectly normal.”

Josh grinned. “Sometimes, you remind me of my father. He-”

His speech faltered, the grin falling off his face. A black cloud drifted over his features, and Oli was taken back by the sudden change in mood. He looked like he was about to cry again, so the 22 year old kissed him. He lingered there until the bottom lip stopped quivering. “What happened to your father?”

Josh shook his head. Oli leaned back, taking the teenager with him, and held him close as they laid in the blankets. “Josh, you can tell me. It’ll be better if you let it out.”

“I can’t.”

“Josh, please.” His tone wasn’t forceful or impatient, actually it reminded Josh of how he was just a few minutes ago. Lost. Broken. He looked up, and saw Oli staring at him; his eyes flooded with concern and a smudge of hurt. “Let me in.”

That one hit home.

It was one of the last things his mother ever said to him. He was upset a week before their trip — although now he couldn’t remember why — and she had taken him into her bedroom and said those three words. Let me in .

He didn’t. He told her to leave him alone, and he still regrets it to this day. He wasn’t gonna make the same mistake with Oli that he did with her.

Trying to recollect himself before starting his story, he took a deep, more sure breath. “My real parents… when I was 10 they decided to take a trip around the word. So they got me a babysitter and left.”

Oli shifted their bodies so Josh was laying on the bed and the elder was leaning over him. A hand lightly brushed against the teenager’s cheek.

“They sent postcards from each destination. Peru, Tokyo, Austria, Sydney. You name it, they’ve probably been there.” He smiled a little at the memory. “On the last postcard I got from them, which was in Morocco, they said they were visiting America. They said they’d come home after that.”

His composure wavered. Oli kissed him again, trying to make this easier on the younger boy. He stopped drawing a pattern on the skin of his cheek to slide his hand into the teenager's palm. The elder brought their enjoined hands to his lips and kissed each of Josh’s fingers.

“T-They never made it back.” He swallowed. “T- They boarded a boat and sailed across the A-Atlantic ocean. Landed in Boston around 7:00AM on-” He blinked back tears and took another shaky breath. “-S-September 11, 2001. T-They wanted to go to… California, they said. S-So they boarded A-American Airlines Flight 11.”

“Josh…” Oli whispered. He understood now.

The teenager smiled weakly. “T-The plane crashed into the N-North tower of the World Trade Center… Died instantly.”

Oli could feel his own eyes begin to water. He was so young. He thought. At 10 years old he’s been through a lot more than I have in my 22 years of living.

Josh took a deep breath. His whole body was shaking, and he was trying his hardest not to cry again. He didn’t want to be sucked into that vortex twice in one day.

Oli tapped the teenager’s cheek, timidly asking him to look at him. Josh obliged, and they stared at each other, emotions freely flowing between the two. They connected on a much deeper level during that moment, although neither were aware of it.

“You’re so strong.” Oli whispered.

Josh shook his head. “No.”

“Yes. I don’t think I would be able to handle something like that now , let alone at 10 years old.”

Josh shrugged, admitting defeat, and curled into a ball, still facing the elder. He traced patterns on his stomach. Oli sighed, kissing him softly on the forehead, and laid down. Josh instantly moved so his head was on his boyfriend’s chest.

He wouldn’t admit it out loud, but Oli was right.

He did feel a little better.