Casting Shadows

That incident brought on even more changes. Gerard now knew how I felt about him and I knew he felt the same way about me. There was no way we could define it yet, but it was there and we were aware of it. This knowledge seemed to make all the feelings even stronger. All of a sudden, we were walking on eggshells around each other. The distance between us was thick with tension and it felt almost as though something was forcing us apart while we were drawn together. Like magnets. When he walked past me, all I wanted to do was grab his hand or hug him. I watched him like a hawk, at home, at school, everywhere; and I noticed him doing the same. The urge to defend him and look out for him had always been strong but now it was different. I had become possessive over him. In the past, I'd wanted everyone to be nice to him; now, I got jealous when I saw he was getting along with others. My brain was obviously telling me that it was wrong. So whenever I caught myself acting like that, I walked off, because it was the only way to avoid whatever I was scared of. I couldn't let it happen.

The problem was, when I walked away, he would search for my company even more. And when he walked away, there was a longing I felt in my chest that made me want to be even closer to him. No matter what we did, it seemed impossible to escape from this feeling. It upset me, sometimes to a point where I locked myself in my room and started crying. I would look at the photos of us when we were younger wondering why things weren't the same. I knew we were growing up, that everything was changing but why couldn't we be the way we used to be? I had honestly thought that we would always have the same relationship we had when we were kids. We were only 12 years old and things would not get easier. On the contrary.

Gerard and I spent the following summer at camp. It was my parents' method to further encourage us to become more independent from each other so they thought it would be a good idea to send us away for four weeks with a bunch of other kids. Maybe they had realized something strange was going on between us and it was their way of helping us get over it. At first I was willing to take the opportunity, have fun with the group, follow my own interests and let Gerard do the same without constantly worrying and looking after him. And I was able to appreciate that I could take a step back. We chose entirely different activities - while Gerard joined the visual arts program with creative writing, I picked the Green Corps as well as horseback riding. This meant we often spent a whole day without seeing each other except at meal times and free choice or evening activities. During the first week, we both struggled. I found myself looking for him constantly, still desperate for his company. It was obvious he didn't talk much to the rest of his group and as much as I wanted to help him, I had to stop myself from doing it. Still, when he finally chose to sit with three other boys from his program after nine days although I had saved him a chair next to me, I was disappointed. Of course I didn't dare to let it show but he noticed anyway. So at breakfast the next morning, he sat with me again.

As happy as I was to be close to him, I felt guilty. Why did I have to be so selfish? It was good for Gerard to make friends, it was important. I was keeping him from that. It was hard for me to admit it but in that moment, I did something very grown-up.

'You should sit with your friends.' I said with a heavy heart.

'No, I wanna sit with you.' he replied, a confused look on his face.

'I want you to sit with me too. But you should really sit with your friends.'

He knew what I was doing. And he seemed as surprised by it as I was. Still, he hesitated.

'I'm not going anywhere, G.' I assured him.

Gerard nodded and his hand touched mine under the table. Then he got up, took his tray, and left to sit with his new friends.

I almost started crying but my sadness was surpassed by how proud I was of him.

*

I wasn't used to not being around Skeeter all the time. As soon as I left the arts and crafts tent, I found myself pretending she was walking next to me, holding my hand. She was my last thought before I fell asleep at night and my first one when I woke up in the morning, yet I allowed myself to forget about her during the day. When I was painting or joking around with the kids in my group. My art instructor was very encouraging, and I learned about new techniques, materials, and perspectives every day. Every now and then when my mood changed and my mind went to that dark place again, I was able to discuss the pieces I had created with the instructor and it became almost like therapy for me. Same with creative writing. It was more difficult to use words to describe a feeling or thought so I escaped to the world of fiction, where I could create a reality that had nothing to do with my own. It was a healthy and productive outlet. Skeeter had her animals and I had my art. While she was riding her horses or tracking birds to unwind, I was painting, drawing and writing. Everything was fine and I was really making progress. Until beach day came along.

There was no way I was taking my shirt off. The scars I had on my arms and legs weren't as noticeable and unusual looking. Not so much the ones on my stomach and back. My foster parents had assured me that I would not have to take my shirt off if I didn't feel comfortable with it and I was pretty sure they had also talked to the camp staff about it. When we arrived at the beach and everyone stormed in the water to cool off, I remained seated on my towel. It was really hot that day so everyone immediately picked up on the fact that I didn't go in the water. Skeeter had stayed with me at first but I'd send her away, telling her I would be okay. But now some of the kids had returned and were staring at me, a few of them whispering and giggling. I ignored them, taking out a book I had brought. The incident with the bullies at school had taught me that I could not give them the reaction they wanted; I could not get angry or upset or embarrassed. Skeeter returned and we played UNO with two other kids. It ended up being a fun day and I totally forgot about my discomfort.

We arrived back at the camp around 6pm. After dinner, there was a scavenger hunt planned as evening activity and much to my regret, I was paired up with one of the boys who had laughed at me at the beach. He rolled his eyes as he walked over to me and although I kept telling myself to at least pretend I was cool with this, I knew I was scowling. Thankfully, he agreed that splitting up would be our best option of winning so he set off in one direction and I set off in the other. Soon I was ranging the woods surrounding the camp, with absolutely no intention of actually looking for the clues that were hidden there. I was pissed off. With the other kids, with myself, with the world. Would I ever get over it? Or was I supposed to live like this for the rest of my life? With all these fears and worries and insecurities. The feelings I had for Skeeter that I couldn't explain. How many therapy sessions would it take? How many summer camps? How many challenges did I have to overcome in order to be normal?

It was getting dark so I took out my flashlight. Other kids and staff members were close by and I could hear their voices. I still hadn't found a clue and we only had about 30 minutes left to look.

'Gerard! G! Wait...' I heard Skeeter's voice behind me all of a sudden and I turned around, blinding her with my flashlight. She was crying.

'What's wrong? What happened?' I asked and she grabbed my arm, pulling me with her and away from the path we were supposed to stay on. 'Skee?'

'I just...I...' she sat down on a log, her face in her hands. 'This stupid idiot...he said...he said 'What the fuck is wrong with your brother?' and...and...I just...lost it.'

I sat down next to her and put my arm around her shoulder, trying to calm her down. I was confused and didn't know what to say.

'You're not my brother! You're not! And when people say you're my brother I can't handle it! B-Because...I-I...because...you're not!' she sobbed.

'Skeeter...' I wanted to tell her it was okay, that I understood why she was so upset but she interrupted me.

'You can't be my brother, ever! And you know at first I really wanted you to be my brother! I really really did! But now I don't! You're not my brother, I don't want you to be my brother because I can't feel this way about you if you were my brother! I'm so-sorry.' once again she broke down in tears.

It felt like my brain had switched off. I wasn't even thinking about what I was doing. I just did it. I tightened my hug and moved closer to her. Then I kissed her cheek, a quick peck that I had given her many times. When she still kept crying, I kissed her cheek again. More gently, more softly, leaving my lips on her skin for a little longer than usual. I could feel her freeze and I pulled away, slightly embarrassed. She looked at me with her big eyes but I couldn't hold her gaze, too overwhelmed by this feeling in my stomach. I wanted to get up and leave, I wanted to run. Surely I could hide somewhere in this forest. Instead, she moved closer again and her hand cupped my cheek, forcing me to look at her once more.

I couldn't even figure out if she kissed me or I kissed her. This moment, her lips on mine, it was too sweet to be spoiled by thoughts.

Notes

So....?