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Your childhood helps shape the way the rest of your life turns out. Every experience does. They form the way you view the world. Now that’s not to say a person's actions and beliefs are solely caused by these things. You as a person are also affected by your nature and the way your brain works. But the things you have been through and the way you are raised still influence you. Sometimes even things that you don’t remember have significance to your life.
Boris didn’t remember much from his time in Russia. Sure he had a Russian accent and he still remembered the language, but other than that and a couple of things most parts of it were forgotten with time. Regardless he had alway thought of it as a big part of his life. He had lived there the longest and even though he wasn’t born there he spent a large amount of his childhood in Russia.
When he was eight years old his father had brought him along for what he had called a “business discussion.” Boris didn’t remember this day at all. But it’s lesson cemented itself into his brain. They were waiting right outside a park for whoever his father was meeting. They were then going to head over to a restaurant for their conversation. They were in a warmer part of the country. The snow had melted a while ago where they lived. His father had never paid much attention to him and he eventually got bored and wandered away a bit.
He was a few feet away from his father and was right at the edge of the distinct line of where the park started. He was attracted to a group of blue flowers. He kneeled down in front of them just to admire them. They were a flower named Bieberstein's crocus, not that he knew that. All he knew was that they were light blue faded out of white with orange lines coming out of the middle. They were pretty. He liked the color of them. He studied them, they had thin petals and the dew from the morning was still on them. And the grass and concrete complimented them nicely. He considered picking them but decided that they were better where they were.
His father must have realized he was missing and went over to bring him back before the other person showed up. He wanted to appeal to the man and figured that showing off that he had a kid would charm him a bit and make him more likely to agree to the deal. His father lifted him up by the arm. He looked down at what his son had been inspecting. “Boy’s don’t like flowers.” He said absentmindedly.
They left Russia not long after. Maybe a week or two. Traveling around the world can change a person but especially a kid. As Boris got older he started figuring out who he was. He had tried to fit in but there was an issue. Every country had different expectations of what ‘normal’ was. So he gave up trying to fit in. It allowed him to be much more unrestricted than most and to experiment with himself. He learned that he liked the color black and drugs. He had an aversion to the sun. But he also eventually came to hate his father. They weren't ever close but they were fine. Until his dad started to hit him. He not only hated him but he also feared him, he didn’t like to admit it but he knew more than anyone what his father was capable of. And it seemed to get worse in every country.
By the time he ended up in the US he knew who he was. Or at least he thought he did. The thing with loneliness is if you've always been it then you don't even notice. He didn’t need people in his life. He had survived with just aquatencies till now and he could continue like that forever if he had to. But what he failed to realize is that surviving and living are different.
There was a boy in his class. Theo, though he barely ever called him that. He had kinda stuck out. He was reserved and brooding. He also dressed like a seventy year old man. When Boris tried actually talking to him the first thing Theo said was “Fuck you.” Boris had thought that was pretty cool. They rode the bus home together and lived on the same otherwise abandoned street. Looking back on it, it was like symbolism. It was only them. Well their families too but still.
Boris had never tried to befriend someone before. He didn’t know why he went through the effort but maybe it had to do with that apparent loneliness he wasn’t even conscious of.
Mostly their friendship consisted of getting high or drunk together and being dumb. They had almost no supervision in their lives so they were able to run recklessly and free for the most part. They got each other. They both had dead moms and shitty dads. But they also both just wanted to have fun and forget about all the awful things they were dealing with. When sober they never asked or talked about their baggage. When high though they did tend to get emotional and too honest.
They had stolen some vicodin from Xandra one time, not enough for her to notice with her abundance of it. Theo was laying down on his bed while Boris sat against it on the floor with a cigarette in hand. Boris had been staring at the wall opposite of himself, lost in thought. He had assumed that Theo had been too. They both tended to do it and neither had spoken in a while. The high was starting to form into a sluggish feeling. It still felt good in a way but not in the way it had moments before. He finally came back to where he was when he felt the heat of the cigarette on his hand. It had been burned down for a while but he didn’t notice. He had barely used it so he threw the butt into his cup one fourth filled with water and lit another.
He turned around to check on Theo and ask if he wanted one. He was already facing him. “What?” Boris asked.
Theo continued to look at him. “Your hair.” He said plainly.
“Is there something wrong with it?” His hand immediately went up to feel if it was off.
“No. I just like the way it looks.” He leaned his head down onto his hands.
Boris smiled despite not knowing why. “Thanks I guess. Little creepy though Potter.” He took a drag off the cigarette.
“Why?” He asked.
“You've been staring at my hair for who knows how long. That’s stalker behavior.” He laughed a bit. The world around him felt fuzzy. The yellow lighting of Theo’s room didn’t help. And it was hot as hell in his small ass room.
“Shut up.” Theo reached down and stole the cigarette out of Boris' hand. “You're the one who stares at Xandra whenever you think she’s not looking.”
“Speaking of which, think she’s shown any interest in me?” Theo knew that on some level the whole thing was just a joke and that Boris wasn’t actually that interested in her. He just liked annoying Theo and knew that Xandra was conventionally attractive.
Theo scoffed at him. “I think she actually kinda hates you. She’s not dumb she notices you looking at her.” Theo took a hit off the cigarette.
“Damn. Can’t blame a guy for trying.” Boris brushed his hair back. Now that he knew Theo was looking at it he felt hyper aware of it. He wanted it to look good.
Most of their time was spent like that. And it worked. The thing was, there was an unspoken rule between them. You don’t acknowledge anything that happened while intoxicated. They were both too vulnerable and knew things about each other that they shouldn’t. If Boris got scared when he was touched too suddenly and too roughly and had to calm his breath for a few minutes, Theo would pretend to have never seen it. If Theo woke from a nightmare about his mother, screaming and shaking, Boris never asked him if he was okay in the morning. They both knew the other remembered though.
They often hung out at their houses when they were empty. On rare occasions when both their parents were occupying the houses they would go to other parts of the neighborhood. Usually they could be found at either one of the abandoned homes or the park.
One time at a nearby building they had been getting drunk and talking about nothing that mattered when Boris got bored and decided to smash a window. The building was unfurnished but pretty big. The sounds of the house echoed. He didn’t really think about it, just wanted something to do. He had punched it with his hand and the glass ripped open the skin on his knuckles. Not that he really cared. Plus the slight buzz he had dulled it a bit. He brought his other hand up to the one that was bleeding. It did sting a bit.
“Jesus Boris knock it off.” Theo said, startled by the surreal noise of breaking glass thundering around the room.
Boris laughed at his annoyance. “Why should I?” He taunted.
“I don’t know.” He said exasperated. “It’s not yours to break.” He wasn’t quite sure why it bothered him. “Even if no one lives here, someone owns this house.”
Boris thought it was ironic. Theo may not remember that he showed him the painting, but Boris did. ‘Not his to break’? Like that painting was his to take. No one outright owns this house and no one outright owns that painting. It’s fair game.
He could have kept going. Hit another window just for the odd joy of seeing how much he could fuck up his hand. But Theo was looking at him expectantly. He wanted him to stop, even if the reason was bullshit. So Boris sighed theatrically and moved to go sit against the wall. He grabbed the bottle he’d left there earlier and threw his head back while drinking it. When he faced forward again Theo was looking at him. The look was identical to the one he had a few nights before when he complimented his hair. Same as before Boris immediately became hyper aware of his appearance. “What?”
Theo just shook his head at him and sat down next to him. Boris looked over at him ready to say something but didn’t. Theo was staring forward blankly. He took in the way he looked. His straight hair covers a large portion of his face from this angle. The way his glasses stuck out. The serious look he regularly had. He watched, captivated, while he grabbed his bottle off the ground and drank. Ultimately his head rolled to the side and he stared back.
They spent a decent portion of time just looking at each other like that. But they never brought it up again. They were drunk.
One of the last days before Theo left was spent at the park. They just sat there, completely sober. They were complaining about everything under the stupid sun. Boris had been half paying attention to his own rant when he stopped. He saw a patch of blue just a few feet in front of them. Theo looked over at him wondering why he had cut his sentence short, but before he asked anything Boris stood up. He walked over to what he had seen and kneeled down to get closer.
It was a small patch of flowers. A patch was kind of an exaggeration, there were five in total. They were light blue with a yellow center and smaller white petals in the middle. They were little and barely noticeable. He could see Theo’s shadow slowly grow larger as he came up behind him. He bent down to the same level as Boris.
“I didn’t realize anything could grow here.” Of the many places he had been, the desert of Las Vegas had definitely been the one with the least amount of plant life. All he had ever seen was sand and tall pieces of grass in a few places. The idea of flowers growing despite that was odd.
“Me neither.” Theo responded.
Boris turned his head slightly to look at him. In that moment Boris had wanted to say so many things. He wanted to tell him about how lonely he had felt before him. He wanted to tell him about how he stole the painting and that he would give it back. He wanted to talk about how much he needed him. About the confusing way he felt. He wanted to ask about all the things they had silently agreed to never bring up. But he never got the chance.
“Oh shit what time is it?” He asked suddenly looking around like the world would give him an answer. “I have to head back. See ya!” He called, standing up and walking back towards his house.
Boris sat there in silence. His gaze never leaving the spots of blue in the plain sand. He thought about all the things he had wanted to say. Maybe if he had just picked one he could have gotten something out. But he knew that he was too afraid to say any of it.
Somewhere in his consciousness his brain shot out a phrase he didn’t recall ever hearing. ‘Boy’s don’t like flowers’