Chapter Text
/John/
The salty air from the coast floats through the car, while rain taps lightly on the roof. Alex is singing along to Bryce Vine, I'm sitting back, one hand on the wheel, the other on my cup of coffee. We were about an hour from New York, and Alex was obviously excited. He and I have never been to New York together, so we know we're going to tear up the city tonight.
Alex and I have been friends since sixth grade. He moved to South Carolina from the Caribbean. He was an immigrant, scared, not knowing many people, and thrown into a mostly white neighborhood. He moved into the house across from me, and at the time, he was this sad kid who would sit outside and turn up his walkman and read while his cousin did god knows what. I didn't have many friends in the neighborhood, due to the fact that I was the only other person of color on the street. So Saturday afternoon, I decided I couldn't take the boredness I adorned and the fact that this kid looked like he was being fed not enough, so I invited him over to my house. He looked up, a little shocked, but then nodded and stood up. We went into my backyard, neither of us really saying much, but then he gasped.
"You have a trampoline?" He said excitedly.
"Yeah! You wanna jump on it?" I asked.
"Hells yes," he replied to me.
I was shocked, at the time, by his language, but I kinda appreciated his bluntness. After we jumped on the trampoline for a while, my mom invited both of us in for sandwiches and chips. Alex and I were talking non-stop. The summer after sixth grade Alex spent most of his time at my house. We talked a lot, he told me about his cousin, how most nights were filled with the sound of a creaking bed and a pornstar moan. How his cousin gets drunk a lot. I told Alex he was always welcome to stay with me. So, often times, he did. He and I quickly became best friends.
Middle school was awful for both of us. It was a majority white school, so racism wasn't uncommon. It affected Alex and me differently though. Alex got quieter, hid more, and often times he would text me in the middle of class and I would go straight to the upstairs bathroom where Alex would be panicking and trying to breathe. I would hold him and whisper lyrics to songs he's never heard. For me though, getting called the N-word just made me angry. The first two fights I got into I was beaten into a pulp. But then I started working out. I got stronger, I got better, so when some kids pushed Alex at the mall and told him to go back to his country, I knocked them on their asses.
High school was better. By this point, people knew that Alex was under my protection and I would easily defend him, so we were left alone. Alex started writing a lot, and I would get high and let him read what he wrote to me. It was always so beautiful. He has such a way with words. The way he spoke, it was mesmerizing. In the junior year, we both saved up and bought a truck. It was a small ford ranger with a cover over the back, but it was our truck. Senior year was a difficult year for Alex. His cousin committed suicide, he was struggling to maintain a four-point-oh while dealing with funeral arrangements. He broke once, and then that was it.
He had texted me at three am asking me if we could go for a drive. I was tired but I knew he needed it, so we got into our truck and started driving. Alex looked a mess. The bags under his eyes had become more defined and obvious in the past few weeks. He was struggling to get a scholarship to the college we were going to. He was struggling. I drove us out to a rarely used high way and we both got out and laid down on the pavement. We were just staring at the sky, close enough so that our shoulders were touching. Alex looked almost not even there. I had watched my best friend of almost six years start to fade away in the past two months. I found his hand with mine and we linked our pinkies. It's something we did when Alex was anxious or scared, or either of us was just sad.
"I'm sorry," he said, sitting up.
I sat up with him and adjusted myself so both he and I were facing each other. "Why?"
"I just, I haven't even talked to you in a while. You don't even know what's going on with me. When has that ever happened? We always know what's going on with each other. I'm sorry," he said. I saw, even in just the dim moonlight, his eyes watering up a bit.
"Hey, hey kiddo, it's okay. I get it, you're going through a rough time," I said, placing my hand on his knee.
"John I did a bad thing," he told me quietly.
He knew I noticed. I sighed and gently wrapped my hand around his wrist and ran my thumb across it through the hoodie it seemed he'd been wearing for the past month. "I know."
"I'm sorry," he said, his voice shaking.
"Hey, don't be sorry. I'm not mad. I just want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what time it is. Come over, you're always welcome," I told him.
And then he started to be okay. We both got accepted into college, we both got a dorm together, and now we're both driving up the coast in our truck. Alex was wearing a hoodie with a picture of Edgar Allan Poe and then the phrase, 'I am a writer, therefore, I am not sane,' and a pair of slim black jeans and some checkered high top vans. His hair is in in a messy ponytail with hair falling out of it and framing his face. I'm adorned in a pair of slim blue jeans and a soft flannel with the sleeves rolled up. My hair is pulled back into a bun since it's too curly to leave down and have a full vision while driving.
"I can't believe it," Alex says.
"Believe what?" I ask, laughing and turning down the radio a bit.
"We are literally going to be in New York in an hour. We are going to college. No more South Carolina, no more racist comments, just a life of drinking, writing, and laughing," Alex says. Since we crossed the state line of our old state he's seemed a lot more carefree.
"I can't wait," I say.
"I'm glad we're roommates," Alex says, smiling at me.
"Me too. I don't think I could manage college without my best friend," I say.
"Psh, you would kick ass without me," Alex says laughing.
"I'd rather kick ass with you though. Is it weird that I'm kinda excited to like, maybe meet people who aren't white?" I tell him, thinking about all the new people we'll be immersed in.
"Oh my god, I'm so excited. Maybe I'll meet another immigrant. Maybe people will stop telling me to go back to my country. Oh my god, maybe you won't have to get into any more fights." Alex was getting excited and his Caribbean accent glimmered through a bit. He never quite picked up a southern accent, but his Carribean accent faded a bit.
"I'm sure this will be one of the best couple of years of our lives," I say, smiling at him.
"It will," he replies.
We drive for a while more, breathing in the city air, getting stuck in a bit of late night traffic, but finally arriving at our hotel. The dorms don't open until tomorrow, But Alex and I decided to drive in today so we can sleep in a bit and then drive to the campus. We started driving around ten this morning, and it's about eight now, so we grab our night bags and head in. It's a small old hotel, and since it was cheaper, we got a room with just one bed. Alex and I have shared a bed since seventh grade. We're just kinda used to it. Alex sleeps with his back against the wall with most of the blanket wrapped around him while I sleep with one arm and leg off the bed and no blankets at all.
"Would you like a cot?" The lady asks when I tell her we booked a single queen.
"Why would we want a cot?" Alex asks.
"No reason," she says snidely. I roll my eyes and snatch the key from her hand, then make my way to the elevator with Alex. When the elevator starts going up I start jumping, which instantly gets Alex in a flurry.
"Laurens! What if it breaks?" He exclaims.
"It won't," I say, still hopping like a rabbit.
"What if we get stuck in here and we're late for college and then I lose my scholarship and then I have to go back to the car-"
He's cut off by the elevator door opening on our floor.
"Yes Alexander, I'm sure that is what's going to happen," I say, smirking at him and stepping off.
"Don't call me Alexander," he snaps, laughing a bit.
"I'll call you whatever I please," I reply, laughing as I open the door to our hotel room. It's nice, quaint. A nicely made bed is pressed against a wall, a small kitchen is near it with a few sitting chairs. A door to the bathroom is next to the cooking area. I sigh happily and walk in with Alex. Since we both woke up at six to finish packing, load up the truck, say our goodbyes, and eat breakfast, we are a bit tired. So I get out my pajamas while Alex showers. I pull out my book from my suitcase, a small one about the revolutionary war, and sit on one of the armchairs, placing my feet on the coffee table.
A few minutes later Alex comes out of the shower so I close my book and walk into the bathroom. I peel off my shirt and look in the mirror. My body isn't overly buff, but a prominent six-pack. I take off my pants and turn on the shower, letting my skin and muscles relax. Driving a lot always makes me feel really stiff, so I like to take hot showers and stretch afterward. I know Alex will be reading some five hundred plus page book so it'll be a good time to stretch out my back and legs and whatnot.
When my shower is done I wrap a towel around my waist and walk out to the main room. Alex, like my prediction, is reading an old book called New Politics Of The Old South. I smile a bit and slip on a pair of white-grey sweatpants, then begin to do a bit of yoga. I stretch out my hips, my back, my arms, and legs, and soon I feel nothing but euphoria. I climb into bed next to Alex and roll so that I'm facing him.
"Read to me," I request. Reading has always been a bit difficult for me due to underlying dyslexia, but Alex has never been one to deny my request. He likes to read to me, sometimes I think he just likes to hear his own voice, but I never minded. I like the way he speaks. It makes me feel alive. He speaks with his heart on his sleeve, and if you really listen to him, you can tell exactly how he's feeling with each and every word he says. I listened to him become sad when he read me War And Peace, I listened to him laugh as he read me A Midsummer's Night's Dream. I love the way he reads.
He began reading from the book and I closed my eyes and listened. He spoke intelligently, he spoke quietly. He knew that I was listening to the words, but more to his voice. He knew that he was helping me fall asleep. It's what he does sometimes. Because I do have trouble falling asleep, so he just talks to me. And I listening to his soft voice until my body is lulled into a deep sleep. And that's what happens here. Alex helps me fall asleep. And that's all I needed from him tonight.