Change

The first step was my shoes.

I had an old pair of converse I got in high school sitting in my closet. I’d wear them occasionally, because sometimes I’d get nostalgic. They were ratty, black, worn; nothing special, really. So when Alice told me to throw them out, I thought nothing of it.

We met at a concert—not one of mine, of course. It was a local band. They were okay, but not good enough to stand around for, so I left the crowd and sat down at the bar. Perched next to me was a petite blonde with fantastic eyes. I must have been eyeing her, because soon, she asked,

"Aren’t you going to introduce yourself?"

Now, I’m not exactly a smooth-talker. I’ve had girlfriends before, and I’m certainly not a virgin, but I’ve been shot down plenty. And here, I was nervous. Clearly, she was out of my league, with her model-esque lips and that. So I said,

"Oh."

I didn’t mean to say it. I meant to say, ‘Hi, I’m Tony.’ But I was intimidated to all hell and I fucked it up.

Alice, though, laughed. “Hi, Oh. I’m Alice. Is that a nickname, or did you parents hate you?”

My stomach flipped over and I managed to chuckle. “Sorry. I’m Tony. Nice to meet you.”

And that was the beginning of our year together. That night, I left with her number and a smear of lipstick on my cheek. I waited the classic three days to call her, but there wasn’t much courtship. It seemed that, somehow, we just ended up in each others’ beds.

Within one month, all of her stuff was at my place. She wasn’t very into music and I wasn’t used to that, so it was interesting to see not a CD collection, but a paintbrush collection. She was fascinated by my guitars. “I’ve never liked electric guitar,” she had said. “But I love how yours look.” And I was fascinated by her paintings. She used grays and browns, with splashes of muted color. I never really got art, but her art was beautiful.

Alice was not the controlling type. One would think she was, with the way she changed me. But really, she accepted anything. The only problem was that she didn’t like clutter. I tend to be a hoarder, but she wanted junk gone.

So that was probably what started it. She told me to get rid of the converse; I obeyed. Next, we cleaned out my closet for clothes I didn’t wear often. Then, we sold the vinyls I didn’t listen to anymore. Every time, she got so happy that I was cleaning up. In a way, it awed me. All I had to do was get rid of something and she’d be in a great mood.

The first big thing that happened was my hair.

When we finally did have sex, my hair got in the way. It was stupid; I usually pull it back. But while she was sucking on my neck, my hair kept getting in her mouth. She had laughed about it, but I was filled with remorse that our first time was ruined for her. God, I thought. This fucking hair. I need to get rid of it.

So I chopped it all off while she was at work. Very badly, too. She practically screamed when she got home. The next day, she took me to a salon to get it done professionally. And just like that, it was all gone.

One time, she remarked that she would never get a tattoo. She probably didn’t think any less of me for having them, but that’s not how I interpreted it at the time. I’d stand in the bathroom for hours and stare at the mess on my skin. I’m disgusting, I thought. I wished so badly that they’d all disappear; I loved Alice more than I loved the artwork on my body and I didn’t want them to compete. In fact, I almost set up an appointment for laser tattoo removal. I probably would’ve gone through with it if it didn’t cost so damn much.

Another thing was my ears. I had started stretching them when I was a teenager. They had simply become a part of me. But I was changing. I was becoming a new man—Alice’s man. If I could have reconstructed myself, I would’ve been a tall, muscular hunk of meat with plain skin and an affinity for hip hop. That’s who I thought she wanted. I did everything I could to become that man. So I closed my ears. It hurt like hell—even more than stretching them did. But they looked fine when they healed. And I figured that made Alice all the happier.

My metamorphosis didn’t stop there, but none of it matters. Alice and I broke up. It was a touring issue. She didn’t like that I was gone all the time, and I didn’t like that I wasn’t pleasing her. One thing lead to another, and we ended it.

I don’t think either of us was happy for a long time. I grieved as if she had died. I had become so dependent on her approval that I didn’t know who I was anymore. And it was becoming a problem.

For a long time, I retracted into myself. Vic was angry, thinking I wasn’t into the band anymore. Jaime, as always, sided with him. Mike, though, my best friend, was understanding. Even when I didn’t speak to any of them for two months straight, he remained sympathetic.

Following the grieving period for Alice, I grieved for myself. I had a moment of clarity—I realized that I had let her change me. It wasn’t her fault, but I became so caught up in impressing her that I didn’t think of myself and what I wanted. God, if I had gotten rid of my tattoos….

Physically, I had only altered a few things, but I didn’t look like myself. Honestly, I thought I looked kind of like an asshole. I knew I couldn’t stretch my ears again, but damned if I wasn’t going to grow my hair back out.

It was hard, coping with that. And one night, after four beers and a few too many shots of whiskey, I had to call Mike before I broke down.

"Bro," I said once he answered. "Come over. Please."

It sounded like he was at a party, but he told me he’d be over in a few minutes and hung up.

I was slumped over on the couch when he entered. “I like whiskey.”

"I do too," he said. He walked over, sat down, and slung his arm around me. "You okay, bro?"

"I don’t know."

"What’s happening?"

I sighed. “Can…can we watch a movie?”

"Okay." He stood to turn on the DVD player. "What movie do you want?"

"I don’t care."

He put in 21 Jump Street and sat back down, pulling me next to him. It felt nice, having someone close to me after months of being alone.

"Can I smoke in here, Tone?" he asked guiltily. I knew he wanted to cut back but I nodded anyway. I didn’t want him to get withdrawals.

After a few minutes, it was clear that neither of us was watching the movie. I was thinking about Alice, and he must’ve been thinking about why I asked him over. So I tried to bring it up subtly.

"Mike?" I whispered. Because of our proximity, I felt his heart speed up.

"What’s up, bro?"

I swallowed. “Was it a mistake, cutting my hair?”

For awhile, he sat in silence. As I was pretty drunk, it seemed like an eternity, though it was probably only seconds.

"Why do you ask that?" he said finally.

I shrugged, accidentally knocking his chin and causing a trail of ash to fall on my couch.

"Are you upset about your hair?" he asked, half-smiling. I tried to laugh, even though his guess was correct.

"I…have I changed, Mike?" I asked seriously. "Be honest. Please."

He took a long drag. “Tone, everyone changes after a breakup. Are you wondering why you’re sad? Any normal dude would be devastated. Alice was a catch.”

"No," I said. "I changed while I was with her. Don’t you think so? I cut my hair, I closed my ears, I got rid of a lot of things…." I rambled for a little while, and he just listened. Soon, I realized I was talking too much and shut my mouth, embarrassed.

"You changed how you look,” Mike said firmly. “Your hair is not you. Your gauges are not you. I liked them…they were pretty sexy, dude. But…you’re still Tony. You know that, right?”

Very inquiringly, he looked into my eyes. Confused, and drunk, I stared back.

"Tone, I know you better than anyone. Fuck anyone who tries to tell you different. When I first met you, I thought you were this quiet little kid…but that’s not you. You’re so unique and creative…fuck, you’re the best goddamned man I know. Okay? Alice didn’t change you. No one can ever fucking change you. And you need to be with someone you deserve." He said this slowly as my heart sped up.

"You didn’t like Alice…." I trailed off.

"Of course I liked Alice. But she wasn’t right for you. She made you sick. She took things away from you. You need to keep those things."

"What things?"

He coughed and fell silent. After a few moments, he said, “I need to put this cigarette out.” Reluctantly, I let him up to go stub it out in the sink. When he came back, his hands were shaking.

My eyebrows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

"Wh…what?" he asked.

"You’re shaking," I said. Somehow, I felt that he was sad. "Mike, come here."

He came back to the couch and crawled up next to me. He was my best friend, and I didn’t want him to be sad, so I took him in my arms and rubbed his back.

"Tony…," he said quietly. I hummed in response, but he never finished. He was shaking against me.

"You’re supposed to be comforting me, you bitch," I said in the hopes that it would cheer him up. Against my neck, I felt him smile. And then I felt his lips press a kiss against my skin.

"Mike?" I whispered, surprised. He pulled back.

"I’m sorry. God. I’m so sorry." He looked horrified.

"No, dude, it’s okay. What’s wrong?"

"I’m sorry I did that, Tony."

I chewed on my lip. “It’s okay.” In my drunken haze, he was glowing. “Come back here. I’m trying to make you feel better.”

Wincing, he eased back into my embrace. “I shouldn’t have done that. I’m sorry.”

"Stop saying sorry," I laughed. With his warmth against me, I didn’t think anything of the kiss. What was wrong about it? Why wouldn’t he kiss me? So I pressed my lips to the top of his head and returned the favor.

Mike looked up at me. “What?” I asked.

"Tony…," he murmured. "Can I…."

"Can you what?"

He sat up. “Can I try something?”

"Sure. What?"

He sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, he looked nervous. A hand slowly moved up to cup my cheek, and another soon followed. I eased my eyes closed.

Then, a pair of lips met mine. Soft, trembling…laced with the stench of tobacco. It was the first time I had my best friend against my mouth, but all I knew was that I didn’t want it to be the last. His taste sent thrills rushing through my body even with the numbness of the alcohol. It lasted only a moment and was nothing but two pairs of lips, but that had to be one of the best kisses I ever had.

Just as he pulled away, he nestled back into my arms. “What did you think?” he asked. Awestruck, I pulled him tighter to me.

"Yeah," I said, my mind halted. "Good."

He frowned. “Are you just saying that?”

"No," I defended. "I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I…I liked it."

"Really?"

"Yes, asshole."

He smiled into my neck for the second time. “Well, good.”

"Hey, Mike?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you wanna stay here tonight?"

Planting another kiss on my neck, he said, “Of course.” I grinned and pulled him onto my lap.

"Well," I mimicked him, "good."