The Writer

Aged seventeen, I already had my life planned out ahead of me. You might hear other young adults saying the same thing, and you might assume that they’re full of shit. I wasn’t full of shit. I knew what I wanted, and I was going to get it, achieve everything I aspired to. I wanted to be a writer. Not any of that fictional crap though. I wanted to write about me. About my life experiences, my stories. And sure, being seventeen and hardly having lived a life, it was a pretty dodgy decision, but like i said. I was seventeen and had hardly lived a life. There was so much more to come, so much that I could write about. And that journey to begin writing my stories began when I met Alex Gaskarth.
I was never really much use in getting to school on time, or really anywhere for that matter, so it was quite a surprise to myself when i arrived at my biology class ten minutes early on Wednesday, the fifth of June. The humidity of the day had awoken me a full hour before i usually woke up, and i was less than pleased about it. I’d lost an hour of sleep, of my time, for nothing.
I attended the stereotypical high school. Tall blue lockers lining the hallways, an impressive clock tower right on the front of the building, though we all knew that it was only there to remind the loitering students that there were lessons to go to, things to be learned. It was an understatement to say that they were hardly bothered about it. My classroom was boring, and that was that. Pale baby blue walls with the paint flaking off from lack of love and care (Really though, who’d love the school’s walls that much? Nobody), wooden desks set in far too straight words and ‘J luvs Z 4 ever’ scribbled carelessly into them. I’ll bet my whole life that their relationships only lasted another week at the most. There was the far too infuriating ticking of the clock which happened to be the only sound filling the cold room, the room that was too cold to be refreshing for a warm day like today. The ticking was the only sound apart from the occasional heavy sigh coming from myself and the few others who’d cared to attend that day. Well, they we’re becoming pretty more often as the semester went on.
Let me tell you something about school. A lot of unexpected things happen while you’re there. People disappear from your life and others appear as if by magic, but it all leads up to something extraordinary in the end, no matter what happens. When I first met Alex, the first thing I noticed was his voice. He had a different accent to everyone else, yet he still found it necessary to tell me how he’d just moved from England. It didn’t bother me though. I wasn’t bothered by anything about Alex. He was a rather tall person, but not quite as tall as I was and had almost caramel coloured hair, and deep brown eyes to match. He was skinny, but not so much that there should’ve been any kind of concern. He was from a small family from Essex, whereas I had an unusually large family and was originally from Grand Rapids, in Michigan. I’d moved to Baltimore only the year before. He was one of the more popular people at his previous school, but nobody had ever really spoken to me in the year I’d been here, but I’d grown used to that anyway. The first time I saw Alex was when he was seated next to be in my Biology class on that uncomfortably warm Wednesday morning, and he wasn’t exactly much of a talker at all. But then again, neither was I. That was sort of how we became friends, through exchanging irritated sighs throughout the fifty minute lesson. We were similar in some ways, but sometimes I had no idea which. He seemed like a mysterious character to me at first, I honestly only wanted to find out more about him.

Over the next few weeks our friendship blossomed and grew, and we were completely comfortable around each other, we were inseparable. Best friends. Sometimes, even closer than that. Things were still the same, nobody talked to me just like before, and they didn’t speak to Alex along with that. I couldn’t help but feel bad, but he always said how I was being stupid, that he was completely content with just one friend, and then he’d kiss me on the cheek and everything would be better. Really, the feeling was mutual.

Of course, it was the same kind of summery day a few months later when Alex and I were both sat on the cold laminate flooring of my bedroom, sipping cokes and listening to the same overplayed music as we always did when I finally decided to raise the question that had been lingering on my mind for what had seemed like forever.
“So,” I started, and sat up properly so that my back was flush against the side of my bed. “Why’d you move here again? I don’t think that you ever told me the full story, and I’m honestly just curious.” I continued a little more bluntly, only knowing how stupid I probably sounded. Alex didn’t reply for a short while, and he was just staring at me with this blank expression. It would’ve been creepy, but then the sound of yet another terrible American post-hardcore song started and filled the awkward silence, and I could see him visibly relax. That was another thing about us both, out absurd and truthfully dreadful taste in music. It startled me when he did speak though, in some way that once again, I didn’t know.
“My parents got new jobs here; it was supposed to be a good change for me or something.” His voice was reluctant at first, but quickly became more confident. I’d never even heard him speak confidently, but some part of me found it comforting. So I just nodded and looked down to the almost empty glass in my hands, eyebrows furrowing ever so slightly.
“Both your parents got jobs here at the same?” I asked sceptically, before glancing up to my friend once more. I only got a slow nod in reply, and as I looked back down with a shrug, I could feel his eyes almost burning into my skin once again. I was used to it by now, but it was still unsettling at times.
“Okay.” I said simply, and that was the end of that.
We sat for a few minutes after that, me staring at Alex and Alex staring the floor before he suddenly spoke again.
“Rian,” He said suddenly and he moved to sit in my lap, my eyes following his movements. I instinctively wrapped my arms around his waist.
“I’d better be going, I mean...My brother’s probably going to be getting home soon, and I need to be there to let him in.” He said, voice a little rushed, and a hand running nervously through his hair. I just stared at him confusedly.
“Your brother..” I said slowly, and I could see him almost visibly cringe at my words.
“Yeah...” he trailed off, and was quiet for a few moments, before speaking again. “Did I say brother? I meant my mum. My mum’s going to be home soon, she lost her key.”
I smiled at that, unable not to, and just nodded slowly. The fact that Alex was from England meant that he said certain words differently, and it only made me like him even more.
“Okay,” I nodded, not completely convinced, but it was his choice. “You can leave. Tell her I said hi.” I looked back down and finished my drink, and when I looked up again he was gone.

Our relationship was never exactly established. We were close, closer than we should’ve been for ‘just friends’. We did everything together, from copying each other’s notes in class to holding each other at night when he stayed over at my house, occasionally sneaking kisses under the blankets, just because we were young and we could.
But over the next few days at school, I didn’t see Alex anywhere. He never answered my texts, but he never really did that anyway. It eventually got to the point that I’d racked my memory so much to remember where he’d told me he lived, I was tiring myself out. I was exhausting myself completely, but I was desperate to see him. Over the months that we’d known each other; we’d been together every day, either out, or in my room. We never went to his house; he said he didn’t want me there. I never questioned it though. He would’ve told me why firstly if he wanted me to know. But then days turned into weeks, and I was growing increasingly confused as to where he’d disappeared to. I never asked around for him, because since Alex had moved to my school, people had just given me dirty looks, or not acknowledged me at all. It didn’t hurt though. Without him, I just felt lonely, like I had nobody. I honestly wondered why nobody at school was asking the same question as I was, of where he’d gotten to. It was confusing; everything was all so difficult all of a sudden.
Not once did I see Alex Gaskarth after that. After eventually asking around for him after months of me not seeing my best friend, and only getting the same response of ‘who?’ every time, I gave up and admitted to myself that he wasn’t coming back, nor was he there in the first place. It only grew increasingly difficult for me. I longed for him constantly. It seemed so real while it lasted, and that was what got to me. After i realised that i wouldn’t be able to experience it again, I became a true recluse. I wasn’t ever obsessive over Alex. As much as i gradually got over him over the years, i never forgot about him.
I never gave up my dream of being a writer, either. Though i never achieved it, I still wrote. Every day, in the same seat in the same coffee shop in downtown Baltimore. I found my muse as soon as I first laid eyes on Alex Gaskarth. He’s all that I write about. I’m doing it now; he’s all I can think about.
There’s a man stood a few feet to the right of my table. He’s a rather tall person, but not quite as tall as I am and has almost caramel coloured hair, and deep brown eyes to match. He’s skinny, but not so much that there should be any kind of concern. I recognise my best friend, even with the slight scruff lining his face. He looked to me and smiled, that smile that i’d grown far too familiar with over the months that we’d known each other. But before I managed to return it he stood straight, flattened his shirt so it was tidy again and walked out. My eyes followed him. I stared out of the window and watched him walk away from the coffee shop, watching Alex Gaskarth walk out of my life once again.