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When Jeanie’s hand flies up in the air and her loud complaints interrupt the class yet again, the exasperated teacher looks to Pete with his grabby hands and motions him to move up to the front.
Chris watches this play out quietly from his front row seat, staring back over his shoulder to where Pete gathers his belongings with a guilty yet affronted scowl, before turning away to peer at Mr. Wilson.
The teacher is looking at the front row in consideration—Chris stills and quickly averts his eyes. He likes his front row seat; he can read the blackboard more easily from here. He doesn’t want to be moved.
“Nathan,” Mr. Wilson says then, and Chris breathes out in relief. “Please switch seats with Peter.” Pete twitches at the use of his full name, glaring at his shoes.
“What?” Chris’ neighbour, a fellow blond with wild curly hair, looks bewildered. “Me?”
“Yes, you. Hurry it up a bit, I’d like to get on with the lesson.”
Nathan frowns slightly, but saying nothing more as he grabs his bag and moves out of his seat, heading over to the back of the class. Chris watches his somewhat-acquaintance leave—too bad, they were just getting along—and his eyes briefly drift over to the boy next to Nathan’s new seat from which Pete had been moved.
He has big, striking grey eyes that meet Chris’ blue ones in curiosity before waving at him with a cheeky grin that Chris returns with a tentative smile.
Then the boy turns away to greet Nathan—”Take a seat, young man!”—and Chris turns away to pay attention to the lesson.
This is the only significant interaction Josh and Chris have in third grade.
“C’mon, Chris, don’t be a downer!” Pete mocks him with a friendly bump, shoulder-to-shoulder, and Chris rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time that day as he continues walking resolutely towards the bus stop.
“I’m not skipping school for you, Pete—it’s just not going to happen.”
“Wuss.”
“Beats having detention.”
Pete sighs, trudging alongside his diligent friend. He’s a pale red-haired kid who gets into fights and only ever does his homework when Chris lets him cheat off his—sometimes Chris wonders why he still hangs out with this guy, but it’s been five years and Pete has attached himself to Chris like glue.
“Fine, whatever, be a goody-two-shoes,” Pete grumbles, the two coming to a halt at the stop. “Not like I care.”
“You’re pouting,”
“No m’not.”
“I’m not doing it, Pete.”
“Live a little, will ya!” the redhead erupts, gesticulating wildly. “Richie and that Washington kid skip classes all the time, and no one even notices!”
“Richie doesn’t even go here anymore, he went to another school, remember?” Chris replies easily, though the mention of Washington makes him pause. What was his name again? Something with a J. Was it Jeff? Jason? He’s pretty sure it’s Jason. “And Jason’s parents are rich, so he can get away with anything.”
Pete frowns slightly. “Wasn’t his name John?”
Chris merely shrugs.
“Who cares? The point is…”
Washington—Josh, Chris finds out later in high school—is ridiculously popular.
Hard not to be, when your parents are loaded and you’re everyone’s favourite prankster. Chris catches glimpses of him in the hallways, always surrounded by people, grinning and laughing, high-fiving jocks and flattering the cheerleaders.
Chris watches him and his friends from afar. They’re the it-crowd, the cool kids, the trend-setters—the white noise in Chris’ every day life. He hears about their parties, their getaway trips, their weekend outings, and every now and then he catches himself wondering what it would be like to be part of a group like that.
The thoughts pass him by as soon as they emerge, however, and Chris Emmett’s life rolls on.
At one point there’s a girl in his chemistry class, Phoebe, who steals his first kiss in an abandoned corridor after school, giggling and blushing cute-like when their noses accidentally bump at first and Chris thinks they have to be dating now. He spies her next Tuesday making out with one of the jocks, Matt, behind the bleachers. Chris feels relieved.
Pete, however, assumes he’s heartbroken and tries to hook him up with the sister of an acquaintance as a pitiful rebound. Chris can’t remember her name but he remembers fumbling awkwardly to unhook her bra in the bathroom as a party raged on in the rest of Pete’s house. It’s the first time he touches a girl’s breasts and all he can say about the experience is that it felt weird more than anything else.
Then there’s Alicia, who gives him his first blow-job. Chris prefers not to look at her while she does it. Afterwards neither of them repeat the act and neither of them mention it ever again.
Chris’ love-life dries up like a wilted flower after that, and he has to be the only one in the entire school to dread the prom as much as he does—he has no date, and no girl he likes enough to work up the courage and ask out. Pete points out a cute blond girl, Yvette, who mentioned she might be interested.
Finding himself alone in the boys’ bathroom Chris looks himself in the eye and tries to find some backbone.
“H-hey,” he says to his reflection which instantly grimaces at the lame opener. He clears his throat. “Ahem—hello there!” His reflection groans and slaps a hand to his forehead. “Christ, what’s wrong with me… okay, alright, you can do this, Chris. It’s not rocket-science, just-just ask. Ask!”
Breathe in, breathe out. Take three. Let’s go.
“Hi,” Chris smiles his best smile. His reflection is unimpressed, but he soldiers on. “I wanted to ask you something—you got a date to the prom yet?” A pause. “Oh, really? I haven’t gotten a date yet either! What a coincidence, huh? So uh, would you be, you know, i-interested in, um, like, g-going to the–”
“Sure.”
Chris spins around so fast he nearly trips over his own feet, eyes wide in horror as they zero in on the boy lingering near the doorway of the bathroom. Josh Washington grins widely in amusement, and Chris starts sputtering as his face grows red.
“U-um, I was, I was just, I mean, I—”
Washington raises his hands in an effort to placate him. “Hey, it’s cool, I was just messing with ya,” He wanders into the bathroom, towards the urinals in complete nonchalance. “You practicin’ for a girl?”
“Huh?” Chris blinks. “Oh! Oh, yeah, def-definitely a girl, yup.” Washington gives him a sideway glance, but doesn’t remark on that.
“You don’t sound like you’re doing very well.”
Chris’ shoulders slump. “Yeah, I guess, not.”
“Hey, if you don’t have the confidence, just fake it ‘til it’s real,” Washington replies airily as he turns to the urinal and unzips. Chris has the strange urge to turn his back when he hears the water flowing. “Be direct, and assertive. Girls don’t like the nice-guy, wishy-washy act. It’s cute, but it gets old.”
“Uh…” Did Washington just imply he was cute? Chris blinks. “Thanks?”
“Anytime, man.”
Chris awkwardly shuffles out of the bathroom.
Later, when he retells this incident to Pete, his friend just snorts.
“Always knew he was a fag.”
Chris decides not to mention how the thought of going to the prom with Josh Washington sounds much more appealing to him than going with a girl—any girl.
It’s late February and all everyone can talk about for the longest time is Hannah and Beth Washington. Chris doesn’t pay much attention to it. He briefly wonders about Josh, but forgets about him just as quickly—he’s not involved, after all, and he has other things to worry about.
It’s been almost a month and the hope of finding the girls is all but gone, not when they were up in those mountains, covered in snow and inhabited by all sorts of wildlife as they are. It’s a shame, is what most people say. They were such nice girls.
Pete remarks wryly that no one would’ve likely given a shit if they hadn’t been rich and local celebrities.
As the months pass through that year, Beth and Hannah (and by extension, Josh) are all quickly forgotten and Chris trudges on through life feeling as content as any eighteen year-old would be at the prospect of burying himself into college-debt in the near future.
However, there is a single instance in which the events are brought up again to the forefront of his mind—
He meets Josh at the parking lot of a Walmart.
Except it’s not so much as meeting Josh as nearly running him over with his shopping cart when the guy walks right into it.
“Oof,” the Washington clutches at his stomach painfully and Chris quickly pulls his cart away in embarrassment, not recognizing him at first.
“Sorry! Sorry, I didn’t think you were…” He trails off when realization dawns on him. “Josh?”
The haggard looking young man with bags underneath his eyes and a sunken, pale face glances up at him with a quizzical look. “Do I know you?”
Of course Josh Washington (who pretty much looks like he’s auditioning for the role of a zombie) wouldn’t have remembered someone as insignificant as Chris—and this isn’t even necessarily self-deprecating, either. He was a total nobody in high school, and that’s a fact.
Still, that doesn’t make this less awkward. “Oh, uh, it’s-it’s Chris. Emmett.”
Josh hums in thought for a moment until it seems to occur to him. “Wait—Coward De Niro?”
“Er, excuse me?”
“You know, you were talking to yourself in a mirror? Like the scene in Taxi Driver. You’re that guy, right?”
Chris scowls, offended. “I’m not Coward De Niro! I-I was just, I was just prepping myself, alright?”
“Sure you were,” Josh smirks faintly, but it’s not nearly as bright and wild as Chris remembers it to be. It’s as if his his soul was sucked right out of him—which, considering the death of his sisters, shouldn’t be so much of a surprise.
“So, um, you on your way to… buy things?” Chris nearly cringes at himself and Josh actually laughs at that, though the sound rings a bit empty.
“With pick-up lines like those, no wonder you’re having girl trouble.”
Chris stiffens and instantly feels himself turning red in the face. “I wasn’t—”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” Josh walks around the shopping cart, bumping him on the shoulder with a fist. “You’re a very masculine manly man, I gotcha.” He pauses for a moment in thought. “Repeat that line for me.”
“What?”
“What you asked me before. Repeat it.”
“Uh, alright,” Chris says hesitantly, not sure what Josh is doing but deciding it’s best to go with it. “You on your way to buy things?”
At this, Josh flashes him a devilish smile. “Only if you’re on sale, baby.” While Chris’ jaw drops, Josh fist pumps and congratulates himself. “Boom! Still got it! You takin’ notes, tall stuff?That’s how you pick up chicks.”
“Hey, I’m not a chick!” Chris protests heatedly. “And it took you one try to get it right, that doesn’t count!”
Josh merely shrugs, seeming entirely too self-satisfied, and just as he opens his mouth to no doubt deliver another roguish one-liner, he suddenly starts swaying a bit, a hand moving up to press on his head. Chris grabs him by the arm and steadies him just in time before he stumbles.
“Woah, you alright, man?” Chris asks in concern, and Josh shakes his head as if shaking something off, glancing up at him and lips turning in a pitiful imitation of his mischievous smirk from before.
“Yeah, no worries,” Josh assures him easily, even if Chris suspects heavily that he’s lying through his teeth. “I just have some migraines from time to time—it happens. I should probably wrap this up quickly.”
Chris nods slowly, almost surprised at how disappointed he is to cut this unexpected meeting short. As little as he knows of Josh, and as little as they’ve interacted in the past, he feels as if maybe, if things had been different, they could’ve been friends, good ones, maybe even something more. They could’ve had a lot of fun together, in a different life or a different world.
As it is, Josh gives him a mock-salute and saunters towards the store, Chris watching his back until he disappears into the large building.
Maybe it’s not too late.
Chris resolves to ask for his number the next time they meet—unaware of the fact that this is the last chance he had.
He reads the obituary in the newspaper two months later, and feels hollow.