In the Closet (boy x boy)

15. Like Those Infants in Diapers

Saturday, April 8th

My sore knuckles rap against the door to Barb's house. There's loud, incessant chatting inside as well as country music. I doubt anybody heard me. I bite my lip, considering Barb's open window more and more. It wouldn't be the first time. I sigh, shaking my head to dissuade myself. I really need to talk to Barb though. I doubt the subject will entertain her as much as the first hundred times we had such a conversation. Still, this is urgent and it matters a lot to me. She knows that enough to forgive a bit of rambling. Right? The door finally tugs open to reveal a very lightly dress Barb. Her blonde hair puffs out in tight curls, a gorgeous sunflower rests behind her ear, a red bikini top hugs her skin topped with only a loose transparent white button-up. She wears a short black skirt and some sandals. She's summer and summer is her. I wave. She sizes me up in silence and her lips curls with disdain. Far from accustomed to this kind of treatment, especially from her, I freeze there, on her doorstep.

Barb's mother materializes behind her. "Honey, hurry up. Don't let the bugs in— Oh, Billy! Welcome," she says, urging me in.

I greet her and Barb uses up the opportunity to flee. I'm quick enough to scramble away from her mother and follow her. She reaches the living room, where she flops on the couch next to a guy. A group of people already populate the space, lazing around. Mr. Cuddles, far from a shy animal, rolls onto his back on a low coffee table. A couple people scratch his belly idly, discussing together. I clear my throat. Barb stirs and for a second I think she might finally say something. To my disappointment, she stretches forward to reach a glass on the table and sips on it. Her eyes sear into mine with taunting acknowledgement. Something's wrong but I seriously cannot put my finger on what it is. I clear my throat. The people glance at me momentarily, a pair of eyes at a time until the most conversational of them decides to address my presence.

"So is he just gonna stand there or?" the guy next to Barb slurs, evidently having overstepped a tad with the weed.

"He'll thaw up in a minute and open his trap, won't you Billy?"

I retreat, shocked. "What is wrong with you?"

"Nothing. Don't you like my friends?" Her expression dares me. To do what, I have no idea.

"I have nothing against—"

A girl enters the living room. Her appearance is enough to shut me up. From her dark purple hair, to the numerous piecings on her ears, nose, eyebrow and lips, to her fully black attire, to her jet black lipstick, to her smeared dark eyeshadow, to her thick eyeliner wings, she makes me want to run away and hide under my bed. No kidding. Some people greet her, calling her Hunter.

"Who's he?" Hunter asks.

"My neighbor. He's kinda clingy. We were friends as kids because he kept following me around," Barb lies through her teeth and my jaw unhinges.

"What?" I offend myself. "No. It's the opposite. You were following me and I hated it and I begged the teacher to do something."

Barb takes another slow gulp of her drink. I perceive even more challenge in her standing but still can't comprehend what she's challenging me about.

"I begged the teacher," she clarifies with a lie. "She said he was allowed to try to make friends because he had none."

"I had tons of friends! We made sandcastles together but you stomped them to the ground because you were jealous."

"He was so insistent that I eventually pitied him and let him be my friend. Since then, he's been following me around like some lost puppy."

My head is growing dizzy from shaking it so vigorously at ever word she utters.

"That's bullshit, Barb, and you know it is." Someone turns up the music and the end of my sentence loses itself in the noise.

Barb laughs, whipping her head from side to side to look around at her friends. "Who could blame him, right? I'd probably do the same if I was him."

I scrunch my nose at her. "Nobody's laughing. What's up with you?" I ask, genuinely.

"So, neighbor boy, why are you here?" Hunter asks me out of the blue. By now, she's leaning against a pillar, full attention on me. My skin crawls. There are too many eyes gaping at me.

"I meant to speak to my best friend. That's all," I reply, tone terribly muted.

"Our best friend," a guy lying half on the ground, half on the couch corrects me.

"I don't even know who the fuck you people are," I scoff at all of them and at Barb.

Hunter shrugs. "That's fair, we don't know who you are either." She makes a point. Too bad it's a fuckall point.

"I've known her since we were infants," I argue and see my efforts rendered useless because nobody in here truly cares. "I've seen her in diapers, come on now. We are not the same. I don't even know why I'm arguing with you."

Hunter stares at me with an eyebrow quirked in interest. "I don't either," she tells me.

Satisfied with the whatever answers she obtained, Hunter squishes herself next to Barb despite there being no real space at all. With somewhat of a silent common agreement, they latch their lips to one another's and kiss slowly. I look away swiftly, startled. I enter a state of absolute confusion, questioning everything I thought to be set in stone because I just saw Barbara Willow kiss a girl.

"Barb. Are you, perhaps, lesbian?" I ask gingerly.

All the people lazing here and there suddenly rustle to complain at me and communicate a certain common distaste.

"Not cool, man," a dude tells me and I can't understand anything that's happening.

Barb shakes her head at me. "It's a way to greet people," is how she explains it.

My eyebrows knit, I can't believe a single word exiting her mouth.

"Is it really? Because I've never really seen anything like that before—" She cuts me off.

"I'm sure there's at least a person you'd like to greet like that." The smirk she wears is dangerous. Out all all things, this is not a subject to get into publicly.

I roll my eyes pointedly. "Okay, no, that's has nothing to do with anything."

"Oh, it doesn't? I feel like it does though." She snickers. I bring my hands in the air to ease her into safer tracks.

"Just— I don't know what game you're trying to play with me, toying me like that. I just want to know why you're avoiding me."

She bottoms up. "I just told you," she slurs wittily.

"What? You didn't tell me anything."

"I said you wanted to sleep with—" I step forward to slap a palm against her mouth. "Hmph!" she protests as if it wouldn't come out muffled.

I hoist her up from the couch. Nobody tries to stop me.

"Nope, you're done. Talking privileges have been revoked." I face her friends. "Mind if I borrow her for a second?" Hunter raises her hands in capitulation. No one says anything. "I thought so," I mutter.

"You do what you want, man. Live, laugh, love," says the stoned guy who was next to Barb. I almost burst out laughing but it wouldn't be much appropriate.

"Right," I say tamely, holding back a chortle.

I let go of Barb's mouth and drag her by the wrist. She keeps her complaints to herself this time. I enjoy that very much as I try to navigate through teenagers with liquor, middle-aged people with wines and old people with beers. There's very little barbecue and very much alcohol for now. I suppose the party hasn't truly started. I tug her upstairs to her room, until I reach the door and hear moaning inside. She cringes but makes no effort to stop whoever is having sex inside. The same result comes from her parents' room and I reflect on the lack of shame and respect for others in some people's behaviour. We get back down and try every single room, even her father's forbidden study, to find it occupied. As a last resort, I guide Barb out of the house and into the empty pool area.