PJM - 1

PJM - 1

A Story by Querida

He used to be a figure skater.  Funny, huh?  That shaggy-haired boy, that brown haired boy, that cute boy.  He used to be a figure skater.  That's when I met him.  When he was obsessed with improving his ability to perform triple axels and things I couldn't explain.  Seventh grade, that boy was.  Seems a long time ago, really.  Years ago...no, more than that.  Millenium.


Friendships start so simply.  I can not remember when i met this lad, this boy whose friendship has helped me through the last part of the decade.  He's a cute kid, a laughing kid.  He's a singer, an actor.  For all that others might call him gay, I hear the extent of the dirty jokes that label him clearly where others don't realize.  Friendships start so simply, yet their complexity is what creates their beauty.


This boy and I are close, I admit.  We have lingered over coffee together, worked on math homework together, we have even taken time to play his Wii together.  He was one of the last to know about my 'little problem'.  My bisexuality.  At least, he was the last to be told in our group.  Indeed, I found out that another friend had let it slip to him.  My Roman Catholic friend, raised more strictly than even me, turned out to be the least judgemental of my companions.  We talk about girls together, sometimes.  It has produced many an interesting car ride.


Describing him is like describing the ocean.  For all that it is ever changing, its inherent beauty is such that a simple look is nearly as breathtaking as diving into the depths.  He is not an amazingly attractive boy, but I should guess it is friendship that gives him a special spark to me.  Not in any way but as friends, of course.  We have long since agreed that the road to anything deeper is blocked off by too many memories of pubescent years.


He's got shaggy brown hair.  A too large nose gives him that hint of character.  It is framed by brown eyes as deep and knowing as my own.  If I could get away with it, I would claim him my brother.  We are not truly alike.  My skin is paler, my hair darker, my eyes blacker.  But he is what I would want in a sibling.  A strong set of shoulders.  His hands a shaped well enough, i should suppose.  He can hold a viola finely enough, although he will never claim the first chair, where the best hold the spotlight.


He is my friend, beyond all else.  Must I say more?

© 2008 Querida

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Added on February 7, 2008




Let's start anew, without the prejudices and pains of the past to haunt the beginning of an era. Querida is not my real name, but it has become me, in my years online. more..