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The letter was heavy in Gordie's hands as he paced the hallway in front of Chris's locker, turning the envelope over and over in his hands. It seemed to weight a hundred pounds instead of less than one. Or maybe that was just his mind, weighed down with thoughts of afternoons spent together in treehouses, on train tracks, of cigarettes and playing cards and blue eyes and Johnny Cash on Gordie’s transistor radio. So many years of memories playing through his mind, almost thirteen summers, thousands of days. Yet no day quite like this.
”Hey, fuckface.” Gordie nearly jumped out of his skin as Chris appeared seemingly out of nowhere and threw his arm around Gordie’s shoulders. He’d always been tall, but he was so much taller than Gordie now. How hadn’t Gordie noticed that before? “What’s this?” He plucked the envelope from Gordie’s hands, before the sounds of protest could leave his throat.
”It’s for you!” Gordie blurted out, his eyes wide.
”Oh, cool!” Chris began to tear the envelope open, but Gordie grabbed his hands to stop him.
”No! Please, just... wait. I gotta catch the bus.” With that, Gordie turned on the heel of his beat-up sneakers and ran, literally ran, down the hall, his heart pounding in double-time with the sound of his feet slapping against the floor. He never looked behind him to see Chris finish opening the letter, curiosity written on his face, and read it, his wide eyes skimming the paper until they froze on those words Gordie had never said out loud to anyone but his parents. He did not see Chris fold the letter, shove it in the back pocket of his jeans, and lean back against his locker, eyes following those ratty green sneakers down the hallway.
Gordie skipped the bus, opting instead to keep running down the sidewalk. He was headed in the direction of his house, but by the time he stopped to look around at where he was, he was long past his house. Oh well, he didn’t really want to go back there anyway. To see his mom and dad and Denny’s empty room. So he kept running, still not winded. The high school track team had been good to him since those old days when Chris always used to beat him. When he stopped again, he was standing on a hill he hadn’t stood on in a long time. Almost four years. And in a few months, he would leave for college, and he would never stand on it again. He turned his head up to the treetops, holding up a hand to block out the sun, scanning the tree line for the last remnant of his childhood. And there it was, run down as it was, but still standing.
He found a handhold on the tree and yanked himself up, hand over hand, foot over foot. He was much bigger than he had been the last time he had climbed this tree, and it seemed so much smaller now. The trapdoor he had knocked the secret knock on so many times had snapped at the hinges and fallen loose. The weathered floor was littered with leaves and pine needles, but seemed solid enough. Gordie paced it, running his fingers through his hair, much longer than it had ever been. It was done, and Chris would probably never talk to him again, but so what? They were going to different colleges anyway, so it didn’t matter. Gordie tipped his head back to rest against the faded wooden wall.
Something knocked against the empty frame of the trapdoor. Someone. Gordie almost didn’t recognize the secret knock until he saw the familiar blond crew cut appear through it.
“Hi,” Chris said, his blue eyes unsure.
”Hi.” Chris wavered in the hole in the floor.
“Can I, um...”
”Yeah. ‘Course.” Chris pulled the remainder of his six-foot-six frame into the tree house and stood across from Gordie, his arms folded tightly across his chest. A packet of cigarettes was rolled into his shirtsleeve, more for comfort than because he really smoked that much. Gordie wobbled from foot to foot, searching Chris’s face, his body language, anything, for any sign. The letter was clenched tightly in his fist. That was a bad sign. You don’t crumple love letters from people you like. “Look, I’m sorry, ‘kay? I-“ Chris lurched forwards, and Gordie braced, expecting a blow at any moment. But it never came. He could hardly even tell the kiss happened until Chris released him, the soft scrape of his rough palms dropping away from Gordie’s face.
”Don’t be.” Gordie froze, unmoving, unspeaking. He couldn’t form a single coherent thought except that he had just kissed Chris Chambers. Or rather, Chris Chambers had kissed him. Chris leaned down, searching Gordie’s still face. “Gordie? Hey, Gordie, you okay?” Gordie didn’t respond. Chris pulled back, dragging his hands over his face. “Fuck. I knew I’d fuck this up. Look, Gordie, I’m real sorry, it’s just that I-“ Suddenly, a smile broke out across Gordie’s face. His eyes refocused on Chris’s concerned ones. “What?” Chris asked, his expression curious rather than concerned.
“Nothing.” Gordie took a hesitant step forward, then another, more confident, until he stood almost chest to chest with Chris, whose head was ducked to avoid hitting the low rafters in the ceiling. “Give me some skin,” he said, and Chris let out a brilliant peak of laughter. Then he kissed Gordie again, and this time, Gordie kissed him back.