“You remember this place?”Barbara said, coming to stand beside me.
I swallowed the lump forming in my throat as painful memories swirled in my mind.“Unfortunately.”
St. Michael’s was the third home I’d lived in, and the one I stayed in the longest. I didn’t remember anything about my past, other than growing up in care. All I’d been told of my life before the homes wasthatI was two years old when my mom decided she didn’t want me anymore and had dumped me outside a fire station. No one knew her name, and allthatwas left with me wasa letter saying what my name and date of birth was, andthatshe was sorry.
I’d been placed straight into the system, and over the years, while other kids around me were fostered or adopted, I was left to rot in the hellhole of various group homes. No one wanted me. I learned quicklythatif I wanted to achieve anything in life, I could only rely on myself, and I worked my damned ass off to better myself.
A clanging sound echoed around the locker room, pulling me out of my thoughts, and I whipped around to see a young boy coming out of the showers, a towel wrapped around his waist, his dark hair dripping with beads of water.
I stared in bewilderment at the fifteen-year-old vision of me. He looked so realthatI found myself reaching out to touch him, only for my hand to disappear through his chest.
“This is a memory, Ben. He can’t hear or see you,”Barbara clarified.“Do you remember what happened here?”
I nodded, unable to form any words to tell her what happened, but I didn’t need to. Right on cue, another boy appeared. My best friend, Henry. He was fully clothed, having showered earlier, but had come back to see what was taking me so long.
“Hey, there you are. I was looking all over for you,”Henry says, coming to stand in front of me while I dry off.
“Yeah, sorry. I was the last to shower,”I reply.
I grimaced at the image. I was always the last to shower. As I’d reached my teenage years, I found myself looking at my friends differently whenever we were in the locker room. I didn’t understand why seeing them without their tops on elicited feelings inside of methatgirls didn’t.
The boys my age had started bragging about how they had kissed girls, someevengoing as far as describing how they’dgone to the next base with a girl. But I never feltthatway whenever girls talked to me, and I knew why.
I didn’t want anyone to knowthatI was attracted to other boys, as it was something I was trying to understand, so I started showering last to avoid being around anyone. Especially after the time I got a boner in the shower with Henry and had to rush out to hide it with soap still in my hair.
Shaking the memory away, I returned my focus to the younger me.
“I can’t believe this is our last night together,”Henry says. He’s been fostered by a couple and is being moved to a whole new state.“Are you gonna miss me?”
I place a hand on his shoulder.“Of course I’m going to miss you. You’re my best friend. I…I don’t know what I’m going to do without you here.”
Sorrow flowed through me at remembering how I felt atthatverymoment. Henry and I did everything together. Losing him was like losing a part of me.
“You’ll write to me, won’t you?”
“Of course I will. But you better write back,”I reply.
“I’ll write every day.”
There was a pause, and for a minute, young me and Henry stared at each other. I knew what was going through my head atthatverymoment. A little voice told me to kiss him, something I’d wanted to do for weeks now, but hadn’t been brave enough.
The voice told methatthis was my last opportunity,thatif I didn’t kiss him now, I’d regret it for the rest of my life. It turned out, I would regret this moment, but not because I didn’t kiss him.
“I’ll leave you to get dressed,”Henry says, tearing his gaze away from me.“I’ll see you upstairs for dinner.”
“Okay,”I reply, my eyes dropping at a missed opportunity.
Henry starts to leave. He takes several steps,thenpauses, and turns around. Another moment passes when we stare at each other, before he walks back to me, standing so closethatI can feel his breath on my lips.
“I…”he says, trailing off as if he doesn’t know what to say.
I don’t know what makes me do it, but I lift my shaky hand and tentatively cup his cheek. He nuzzles against my palm, our eyes locked. Andthenhe does something I didn’t expect. He leans forward, lightly pressing his lips against mine.
There’s uncertainty in his kiss, and for a moment, I stand frozen because I can’t believe he kissed me. Butthen, I press my lips firmer against his, wanting this so badly. Wanting to chase the euphoria rushing through me.
I pull my gaze away from the image, knowing what’s about to happen, and wishing I could reach out to younger me and give him a warning. But I can’t, and the memory continues to play.
“What the fuck is going on here?”
