Life in Movies, or Some Other Cliche

Gwen is ready to tell long-time crush Parker how she truly feels about him, and with the push of her best friend, Tyson, she fulfills her wish. But the fallout is not even close to what she expects.

A large white tent shrouded with twinkling lights illuminated the cool summer night.

Dark trees with loose leaves towered over guests as the bride and groom took to the floor for

their first dance. Bridesmaids watched, all smiles, cameras fixed to manicured nails. The

newlyweds glided about the floor to City and Colour’s “We Found Each Other in the Dark”.

Flashbulbs dotted their swaying figures. Guests mingled between tables, nibbling on fruit plates

and wedding cake, and sneaking silly faces into photos.

            At the edge of the dance floor, Gwen played with the straw in her Sprite. Her purple

knee-length dress sculpted her slim figure. Her dark brown hair, layers of waves, accented

strong, bright brown eyes, rouged cheeks, and smooth pink lips. While the world revolved

around the newlyweds, Gwen only had eyes for Parker. He sat at a table across the dance floor

with some of the groom’s friends. Both fear and excitement gripped her when she heard he’d be

at the wedding - but mostly fear. She watched him laugh, unable to take her eyes off of his black

suit and careless sandy-brown hair. He noticed her and flashed a goofy smile. She shook her

head, smiling back. Then she turned away, so he couldn’t see it disappear.

            Armed with champagne, Tyson scaled the outskirt of the dance floor towards her. His

simple black and white suit looked sharp on his slim, tall frame and straight shoulders; his thick

brown hair, combed back, shiny and sleek. His near black eyes pierced the light, lamp-lit air. He

noticed Gwen working the straw in her drink as he approached. “Easy now, you’ve already taken

its virginity.”

            She rolled a sly look his way. “Like you’d know.”

            “I don’t break hymens �" I break hearts.”

            “Thanks for the cliché.”

            Tyson winked at her. She smiled, but her eyes retreated. He gave her arm a nudge. “Why

so brooding and pensive?”

            “I’m not.”

            “Nope: as you’re gay friend, I am obligated to press the issue.”

            “If that were true, Ty, you are also obligated to gush or gag about the guests’ attire, and-

or binge at the dessert table and do some guilt-induced cardio tomorrow morning.”

            “Thanks for the stereotypes. Still, a pouty friend? Priority.”

            Gwen sighed and gestured to Parker. “I might do it tonight, Tyson.”

            He gasped. “Oh, my god. Do you need condoms?”

            “What?”

            “Oh, come on, Gwen �" you know I’m a one-stop-shop for love protection.”

            “No, Ty.” She dropped her voice. “I’m thinking of finally telling him how I feel. Let’s

cross that bridge first.”

            Tyson inclined his head. “Oh. Right. Wow, this is huge then. You’ve loved him since you

were, like, seventeen.” He looked to the dance floor. Guests joined the newlywed’s for another

slow song, one he didn’t recognize. Through the collection of swaying bodies, he spotted Parker.

Gwen’s target appeared to be engaged in a very elaborate story with one of the groom’s friends.

            Gwen squinted at Parker. “I’ve got one life to live, right? Why the hell not.”

            “Couldn’t have picked a better setting, that’s for sure,” Tyson said. “Rustic outdoor

wedding, stars above, everyone’s dressed all pretty �" all we need is a ‘Time of my Life’ re-

enactment ala Dirty Dancing, and it’s practically heaven.”

            She swooned. “I love that movie.”

            “Me, too.”

            “Oh, now I’m sad.”

            “Why?”

            “‘Cause Swayze’s dead.”

            “I know, it sucks.” Tyson breathed a curt sigh. “Well! Go on then, tell him!”

            Gwen scoffed. “Right, ‘cause a dead actor really sets the mood.”

            “Go now, or I’ll start quoting the movie.”

            She handed him her Sprite. “Going!” With her head held high, Gwen crossed the floor,

her silver high heels tapping light upon it. She prayed she feigned some sort of confidence:

beneath the surface, she trembled. She dodged an elderly couple �" she swore they were a distant

aunt and uncle, but she knew if she asked, they’d say something like, “I remember you when you

were this tall”, and she really didn’t have the time for that now �" and strolled straight up to

Parker’s table.

            He grinned as she approached. “Well, hello, perty lady.”

            “Hello, hello. Can I talk to you for a sec.?”

            Parker cast a glance at his tablemates. “We’re talking now?”

            “No, like...” She tried to ignore curious eyes. “Not here. Like, away. From here.”

            He frowned, though a smile lilted on his lips. “Okay, sure.” He pushed his chair back and

stood up. “But if you’re leading me to my death, I’ll haunt your a*s.”

            Gwen walked beside him. “Please, you think I’d choose this setting to kill you? And you

say you know me.” They crossed the floor, and straight out of the tent.

            From his spot at the corner of the dance floor, Tyson watched. In his hands, he held a cup

of Sprite, and a glass of champagne. He wondered which he’d end up drinking.

 

            Just before the lights of the tent became a mirage, Gwen stopped Parker in the forest.

Though the summer night still had a hint of lingering heat, a crisp coolness sparked the air within

the dense trees. Light from the tent bounced off the light tree leaves, skating around their green

edges. She believed the setting romantic if she wasn’t so nervous.

            Parker looked around and shrugged. “Okay, what’s the big secret?”

            Gwen stole a glance at the tent. “Moves like Jagger” from Maroon 5 echoed out into the

night. Wiggling bodies filled the dance floor. She bit her lip. Not the best song for the moment,

but it would have to do. She looked at Parker and tried to ignore the jitters that scored

her skin. “Well, while this is not the setting for a murder, it is the setting to do this, I think.”

            Parker slipped his hands into his pockets, eyebrows raised.

            Gwen stared at him, at the man before her who never ceased to make her feel like a giddy

school girl. She exhaled. “Right, I can say it. I’m an adult.”

            “And I’ll be elderly if we keep on this way.”

            “Shut up, this is really important.”

            “What is?”

            And then, like a sputtering muffler, it came out. “I love you.”

            Parker blinked.

            Gwen covered her mouth. “Oh, god. I said it.”

            He nodded. “Yeah, you said it alright.”

            “I’m sure it’s no surprise. I try and act all grown up and tall and smart, but the second

you come into the picture, I may as well devolve into a giggling little baby. I just... I love

everything about you, even the bad things. In that case, I hate that I love you, but, hey, love

works that way, doesn’t it? Like a... double-edged sword.”

            He winced. “That bad?”        

            She nodded. “At its best and worst moments. Yes. So.” She rolled back on her heels and

cracked her knuckles. “That’s it, that’s... my romantic comedy moment.”

            Parker slipped his hands out of his pockets and rubbed them together. Gwen watched him

for any sign of words to come. He only nodded, his eyes averted, and continued to rub his hands

like it was freezing outside. Gears turned in his head: a word factory in a serious shortage. “What

is Love?” by Haddaway sounded from the tent. She closed her eyes.

            Finally, Parker nodded once more and tried a smile. One of the things she loved so much

about him barely made it. “Well. That must have been a big deal for you to say. Um... thanks.”

            Gwen thought for a second she lost her hearing. “Thanks?”

            “Well, I can’t say it back, so...”

            Gwen knew her mouth was open, that she looked like an idiot, but she couldn’t move for

the life of her.

            Parker sighed. “Oh, Gwen. Why... why did you tell me?”

            Her gaping mouth moved a little, a guppy fish. “I...”

            “Look, I... I care about you. I really do. You’re one of my best friends, but you’re young,

you’re in university, and there’s still so much you can do �"”

            “And you’re a thirty year old electrician! Numbers and labels don’t mean anything to

me!”

            “But they do to me.”

            Gwen tried to find something to say to that, but the statement was too strong, too definite.

She suddenly felt nauseas.

            Parker frowned. “I’m sorry, Gwen, I... I’m sorry.”

            She nodded, unable to do anything more. Parker remained for a second, and then he

turned and started back to the tent. Gwen heard twigs and leaves crunch under his polished

shoes.

            She looked up. “Was it ever there for me?”

            He turned back. A smile made a cameo appearance. “I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t.”

With that, he resumed his voyage to the tent, the slightest sag in his shoulders, and disappeared

into the trees.

            Gwen stared at where he just was, as if to pry his image into existence again. She felt like

a robot, and someone just dumped their drink down her throat. Her insides churned and sparked,

the hectic eye of the storm she tried so hard now to hide - but she couldn’t. She clamped a hand

over her mouth and darted deep into the forest.

           

            Having seen Parker, but not Gwen, return to the party, Tyson discarded both the Sprite

and champagne, and set out into the forest. He wanted to make some Indiana Jones reference to

himself, if anyone, regarding his deep forest expedition, but in his heart he knew something was

off. A quip would have to wait. He navigated fallen logs, tossed leaves, and debris that begged to

cling to his shiny shoes, until he discovered a figure dressed in purple seated on a tree stump.

Thick, dark hair hid her face. Her hands cradled each other in her lap.

            Tyson stopped in front of her. “Please don’t tell me you needed those condoms after all.”

            Gwen met his eyes. “I threw up.”

            “That’s gross.”

            “I know.” She looked away, and then back again. “Why would I need condoms, plural?

He only has one penis.”

            “Now, we can’t know that for sure. Besides, condoms break.”

            “And that’s how you got here.”

            Tyson grinned. “My mom’s favourite mistake.”

            Gwen smiled, but she might as well be fatigued. Tyson sighed and knelt down before her.

He tried to catch her eyes, those eyes that begged to look away from it all. When she refused

to give him the luxury, he took her chin with his finger and offered a smile. “Hey.”

            She returned it. “Hey.”

            “How are you?”

            “Less Dirty Dancing, more The Dark Knight.”

            “The Dark Knight, or The Dark Knight Rises?”

            Gwen considered. “The Dark Knight. The other one ended happily. That’s not my sitch

right now.”

            “Well, at least now you know.”

            She nodded, blank. “Yeah. Feels great.”

            Tyson looked at her. She never really hid her emotions, but a situation like this when they

were shoved so obviously to the surface was rare. He let the moment sink in �" and then, he

slapped his knees and stood up. “Come on, let’s go get a dance in.”

            “I don’t feel like dancing.”

            “Say the Scissor Sisters.”

            She smiled. “Yum, Jake Shears. Why’s he gay?”

            “‘Cause he’s awesome. Come on, let’s go. You’re all dressed up �" time to show ‘em why.

I’ll even request that song for you.”

            Gwen felt like she hadn’t moved in years. “Can’t we just eat cake in the forest?”

            Tyson paused. The hurt in her brown eyes contrasted the sheen of tears that brightened

them. He sighed. “I would make a dirty remark, but I know ‘pie’ is more appropriate a term.

And, since the situation is worse than I thought...” He kissed her forehead and flashed a winning

smile. “Cake in the forest it is.”

            She smiled at Tyson as he navigated the shrubbery back to the tent. When he

disappeared, she leaned back against the tree behind her. It’s cool, chipped surface startled her,

and she realized that nature probably left its mark on it more than once - but she’d be damned if

she had to move.

 

            “Man, why did I wait ‘till now to start drinking? Why didn’t I start at fourteen, like a

normal person? I’m such a prude!”

            Gwen’s giggles echoed in the quiet hallway as Tyson guided her up the stairs in her

apartment building. She hung onto him, limp from the alcohol, and he rued the image of his once

shiny shoes. Now, next to dirt from the forest, they were peppered with reminiscence of her

vomit.

            He rearranged her arm around his neck. “You know, I’m really disappointed in you,

Gwen. You’ve always been above clichés, and I thought that would especially include the sad-

girl-gets-hammered cliché.”

            “You’re the one who brought me the goods, your royal gayness. Or, or, did you plan this

all along?”

            He propped her up against her apartment room door. “Say what now?”

            She giggled. “Maybe you’re not gay. Maybe, we’re gonna have sex tonight.”

            Tyson busied himself searching her clutch for her keys. “Right. Yeah, no, that’s not it.”

            “Why not? You have a penis, I have a vagina �" one plus one equals fun.” She lingered

forward and tried to wrap her arms around his neck.

            He backed away. “Gwen, trust me when I say your vagina and my penis will never

touch.”

            “Why, does it curl in on itself like a snail when it comes near lady parts?”

            He sighed. Why couldn’t he find her keys in a clutch that wasn’t full? “You know neither

of us would be here if that were the case, if you really want to get technical.”

            Gwen tried to reach for him, though her eyes and her arms were not on good terms. “Just

pretend I’m Ryan Gosling or something.”

            Tyson finally retrieved her keys. He noticed her wiggling fingers approach and took her

wrists. “Here endeth this segment.”

            Her face darkened and she shrunk away against the wall. Gravity ceased in the world.

Intoxication spun her vision.

            Tyson turned her key in the door. He aided her wobbly body inside with a guiding hand,

and closed the door as gently as he could behind them. He flipped a light on and started toward

the bedroom.

            Gwen struck out a pointing finger. “Hey, hey, no. I’m not tired.”

            He gave her his best stern look. “No, you’re drunk.”

            “No, no, no, come on.” She tugged on his arm like she just saw Santa Claus in the mall.

“Watch The Notebook with me.”

            “Haven’t you cried enough tonight?”

            Gwen stared at him. The words hit her harder than she thought. Was that the alcohol?

The moment with Parker in the woods resurfaced. She turned away and closed her eyes as if to

block it out.

            Tyson watched her try to keep straight as she reached for the loose blanket draped over

the couch. He sighed and trudged after her. “You’re so lucky your parents are out of town. Sit.”

            She obeyed without a word and sank into the cushion. It felt soft and warm, but now that

she’d sat down, the alcohol did its worst to make the world a revolving door. She clapped a hand

on her forehead, just as Tyson crossed the floor and slid the movie out from her bookshelf. He

cracked open the cover, popped the DVD out, and placed it inside the player. The TV buzzed

when he turned it on. Gwen winced as the sound stung her ears, and pulled the blanket up to her

chin.

            Tyson grabbed the remote from the coffee table and sat down beside her. She curled up

against him and placed her head on his shoulder. Tyson looked down at her fingers curled around

the edge of the blanket. He took her hand in his and kissed the top of her head. The smell of the

crisp late summer night wafted up from her hair.

            The movie began.

            Gwen blinked, and a tear broke free.

---

            Gwen wondered why she was awake so early.

            Of course, 10 AM wasn’t milk-the-cows early, but it was early enough. She prayed the

second dose of Advil kicked in soon as she walked the shelves in HMV, a clipboard in hand. Her

hangover magnified her every move, but things could be worse. She could still be listening to

Rihanna or Miley Cyrus. Just before she opened the store, she snuck Pink Floyd’s The Wall into

the sound system. Despite the more trippy and experimental moments, the majority of it soothed

her throbbing head.

            She paused at a section of CD’s and regarded her clipboard. A couple of young girls,

about fourteen, scampered up to her. “Hey,” said one, “where’s your One Direction stuff?”

            Gwen glared at her. “Under ‘O’.”

            The other girl smiled, said “Thanks!”, and ran off with her friend.

            A little stunned, Gwen returned to her work. “No, actually, it’s in Purgatory where God is

still undecided on its fate, but he’s leaning to the left.” She rifled through a few CD’s and sighed

when she spotted Tupac shelved beside Aerosmith. Mental note: team meeting with slacking part

timers.

            “You know, maybe you should focus more on customer service.”

            Gwen looked up.

            Parker smiled at her. “Music stores are rare enough to begin with.”

            She stared at him, astonishment mixed with agitation �" and then she started away. “Sorry,

I’ve not prepared a witty retort for that.”

            Parker followed. “I have to talk to you.”

            “And I have to cover all the ‘A’s’ in this section �" guess which I’m more interested in?”

            “Look, I know you hate me right now �"”

            “Wow, Einstein just walked in �"”

            Parker took her arm. “You need to hear this.”

            Gwen ripped her arm free and tossed a glance around the store. One other person roamed

the shelves, next to the One Direction fans. Neither were at the till where one of her part timer’s,

Harrison, organized new stock behind the counter. She looked at Parker. “Fine. Speak.”

            He hesitated. “Can we go somewhere else?”

            “Last time we talked somewhere else, it didn’t work out well for me.”

            He stepped closer to her. She remembered how excited she got when he did that. She

hated herself for still feeling that way.

            His brow took on a serious furrow. “It’s about Tyson.”

            Gwen shrugged.

            “He’s not gay.”

            She laughed. “Yeah, no, he really is.”

            “No, he really isn’t.’

            “Right. Okay. Maybe we should go talk somewhere else. That way, no one here can hear

me yell at you for saying something so stupid.” She waved at the front desk. “Harrison! Watch

the store for a sec., okay?” He saluted her. She stomped into the back room, Parker right behind.

           

            Though she knew she’d regret making a loud noise, Gwen slapped her clipboard down on

the wall counter. She turned to Parker just as he closed the door behind him. She watched him

take a quick view of the back room.  There were shelves of DVD’s and CD’s, a few opened

cardboard boxes of transfers and new merchandise, a table stacked with whatever had been so far

emptied of the boxes �" and, in the corner, a cardboard cut-out of Johnny Depp as Captain Jack

Sparrow.

            Gwen resisted the urge to stamp her foot. “Okay. Say again?”

            Parker gauged the hard look in her eyes. “What happened last night, with what you told

me... I figured I should tell you about Tyson.”

            “And that is that Tyson is not gay.”

            “Yes.”

            Gwen smiled. “Yes, he is. He has been since we met.”

            “Since you met, or since before you met?”

            “I can’t know that. I didn’t know him before we met.”

            “Right, okay. Have you ever met any of his boyfriends?”

            “Of course.”

            “Who?”

            “There was Tommy White, two years ago. And... Robin - or Robert, before that. That

didn’t last long.”

            “And do you remember any particular time you saw them be intimate?”

            “Um, no.”

            “Anything? A kiss, holding hands, flirting �" anything that suggested they were for real in

love?”

            Gwen shook her head and caught sight of one of her co-workers’ old lunch bags slouched

in the same place she saw it three weeks ago. She grimaced. “I don’t know, Parker �" look, I’m

tired and hung over and -”

            “He’s never been gay, Gwen.”          

            “And how would you know?” She gasped. “Wait, are you... and him...?”

            Parker blanched. “What? No, god, no, no.”

            “Okay, it’s not a disease....” She turned to the dreaded lunch bag on the counter and

decided whether or not to throw it out. That meant she’d have to touch it. Maybe she could use it

for her Earth Science project: natural decomposition, or what happens when you don’t clean up

the planet.

            Parker strode toward her. “Gwen, I felt I had to tell you. To be honest... Tyson’s the

reason I don’t feel the same way about you as you do for me.”

            Gwen looked at him so fast she almost triggered vertigo. “What?”

            “But that doesn’t mean I’m gay! But... I know what it’s like to be in love, and the way he

talks to you, the way he cares... if someone held a mirror up to me when I was in love, I’d look

exactly like he does when he looks at you.”

            Gwen looked at Parker, at his face, and those eyes and those lips that just last night, with

painful sincerity, told her he was not in love with her. She rubbed her forehead. “Why should I

believe anything you say? And why does it matter? Gay, straight, whatever �" it’s just a label, and

it won’t change the fact that he’s my best friend.”

            “It matters because I also know what it’s like to love someone and try and hide it.”

            Hope fluttered in and kick-started her heart. “But... that’s not about me, right?”

            Parker frowned. “No. That hasn’t changed. And for the record, if Tyson wasn’t in your

life, though I wouldn’t not be interested... I probably still wouldn’t.”

            Gwen looked away as if getting him out of her eye line would make the situation less

stressful. What would it take? Would she have to lay down with her legs open? Stop wearing a

bra? First he says he doesn’t love her the way she loves him, and now he tells her that her gay

best friend is not gay, and that even if said best friend wasn’t around, he probably still wouldn’t

love her the way she loves him. Gwen got a headache. She wondered if this was a bad dream, or

a hallucination brought on by her hangover. Can hangovers do that? She stole a glance at the

Captain Jack Sparrow cut-out. If it started to talk, she’d have her answer.

            Tyson’s face popped in her mind then. She saw his wide smile and slick hair, heard his

voice, his laugh, the silly things he says. She sighed. “Why would he even do that? And all this

time. My god. I share my period details with him.”

            “That’s gross.”

            “Not when you’re telling a gay guy.”

            Parker shrugged. “I don’t know, Gwen. You gotta ask him that.” He turned and started

out.

            Gwen looked at him. “Hey.”

            He turned back.

            Contrary to what she thought possible, Gwen smiled. “Thanks for telling me. Even if it’s

completely ridiculous and I hate that you’re even here... but, thanks.”

            Parker smiled back. “I’m still your friend.” He pulled the door open and stepped out.

Once he was gone, Gwen exhaled and leaned over the wall counter. She dropped her dizzy head

into her hands. Her hangover swam back with a vengeance. Maybe she’d call it an early day.

            “Um, Gwen?”

            She looked up. The new part-time employee smiled at her through the open office door.

Gwen swallowed. She forgot the girl started her shift earlier than scheduled and that she’d been

in the office, counting her cash box before she walked out onto the floor.

            The girl held up the count sheet. “I’m short five bucks.”

 

            Tyson texted a friend back, set his cell phone on the kitchen counter, and returned to his

stir fry. Carrots, red and green peppers, small potatoes, beans, and onions simmered in olive oil.

He said a mental thanks to the Food Network. Tonight, though, Celebrity Style Story: Leonardo

DiCaprio took to his screen. He glanced at the TV through the wall cut-out between the kitchen

and the living room. Leo walked a red carpet in a sharp suit. Tyson smiled with intrigue.

            A knock sounded at the door. Tyson turned the stove down and wiped his hands on a tea

towel. He strode to the door, took a peak through the peephole, and pulled it open.

            Gwen was the picture of indignation. “Are you straight?”

            Tyson almost laughed. “What?”

            She barged passed him into the short hallway and slammed the door behind her. “Parker

stopped by work today and told me that you are, in fact, into vaginas.”

            “Well, he’s wrong.” Tyson walked back into the kitchen. “And the guy just broke your

heart �" why would you believe him?”

            Gwen’s fists curled at her sides. “Because it’s not like he’s Hitler! I do trust him.”

            “I wouldn’t.” He turned to the fridge.

            Gwen intercepted him. “Parker told me the reason he never really seriously considered

being with me was because of you. Because he said you love me.”

            Tyson looked at her like she just produced a banana gun. “You know I love you.”

            “Shut up, that’s not what I mean.” Gwen searched his deep, dark eyes, those eyes so

nearly black. “Come on, Ty. This is me here. Have... have you been straight this whole time? Are

you straight?”

            Tyson became silent. And then, with movements so fluid, he turned the stove off, and

faced her. His eyes met hers and he smiled, though he looked like he was in pain.

            Gwen stared at him. “Oh, god.”

            “Gwen-”

            She held her hand up. This was Parker in the forest all over again. She tried to speak, her

mouth a guppy fish. At last, she turned away. Autopilot kicked in as she lingered into the living

room and paused in front of the TV. Leonardo DiCaprio spoke about Catch Me if You Can in an

interview clip. Her head drifted to one side. “Huh. Interesting.”

            Tyson approached her. “Yeah, that’s a good movie. But Gwen -”

            Gwen slapped him.

            Tyson’s hand flew to his cheek. “Ow!”

            She gasped. “Oh, god! I slapped you!”

            “Yeah, you did �"”

            “Shut up!”

            “Gwen-”

            “Were you ever going to tell me? Or were you just going to be my gay friend forever?”

            “I was going to tell you.”

            “When?”

            “When Parker was out of the picture!”

            Gwen reacted as if this was the first time she heard words. “Oh, god. Oh, god... he lied to

me! He’s totally gay with you!”

            “No, no, no one’s gay.” Tyson rubbed his cheek a little more and winced. “Gwen. As

long as I’ve known you, you’ve known Parker, and I’ve always been... aware of him, and him

with you. He... he would never be good enough for you.”

            “Oh. Okay, right, ‘cause that’s your decision.”

            “That’s not what I’m trying to say, Gwen. Has Parker ever had a relationship that lasted

longer than six months, or a year, tops? Think about it. That’s why I encouraged you to tell him

how you feel. Better that than getting together and having it end after a year and putting in all

that effort for nothing.”

            Gwen’s mouth literally fell open. “What are you, psychic? You can’t know that. And

that’s my choice, not his, and not yours! God, this whole time, I wanted to step up and do what I

wanted for myself, and yeah, it blew up in my face, and my heart is broken, but at least I made

the choice. I own it. You don’t know whatever is best for me and my heart.”

            Tyson stared at her without the slightest hint of relief. He couldn’t believe this was his

best friend, the girl he’d made fun of, the girl who shared her period details with him, the girl

who cried on his shoulder, the girl he shopped with �" the girl who was his everything. He

shrugged like it was all he could do. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for the gay facade, and... I just felt

it was the only way I could be close enough to you without being a threat to Parker.”

            Gwen tried to understand any of this. Maybe it was a day at work that not only started

badly with Parker’s news, but ended worse when the new girl counted her till wrong and screwed

up at least two transactions, so Gwen had to stay late to help her; or maybe it was the cloud

that’d become her head with the remnants of the once dominant storm of a hangover. Either way,

something prevented her from absorbing this �" or maybe it was the opposite. Maybe she did

absorb all of this, and this was simply how it felt. And how was that exactly? She couldn’t find

the word. An entire lexicon that is the English language at her disposal �" and she had not a single

word to define this moment.

            She looked at Tyson as the same nausea that knotted her stomach with Parker resurfaced.

“You lied to me this whole time.”

            Tyson started toward her. “No-”

            She backed away. “Yes, you did. You’re not who you said you are �" lie!”

            Tyson shrugged. “It’s only a label, Gwen. Gay, straight, bi, lesbian, purple, blue, pink �"

they’re all just labels. And if I know you well enough, I know that’s what you think, too.”

            Gwen remembered telling Parker that she didn’t believe in labels, that their separate roles

in life - university student, electrician; twenty-two, thirty �" meant nothing to what she wanted

with him. She shook her head at Tyson. “It is what I think. Look, for example. I love Parker. I

think I always will. And I even love him for his faults, and trust me, he can be pretty faulty, so I

expect bad days with him. But you? You’re my best friend, and this is what you do?”

            “Gwen-”

            “Our entire friendship, all these years... was just a mission for you.”

            “That’s not fair.”

            “No, but it’s true. You’re... you’re a spy, and a liar �" and you were never my friend.”

            Tyson lost the ability to speak.

            Before he could see her cry, Gwen rushed out.

           

            Endless reality shows, news networks, cooking hours, and late night hosts skipped across

the screen as Gwen tapped the remote from the couch. Light wisps of steam wafted up from her

untouched Campbell’s soup on the coffee table, floating and dissolving in front of the images.

She wanted grilled cheese, too, but laziness took hold, so now all she had was soup. Beside the

bowl sat her untouched textbooks. Homework would have to wait until... well, until never. She

flipped through more channels and paused when she came across a 2002 film adaptation of The

Importance of Being Earnest.

            She first saw the film in one of her university English classes. She loved it. As she

watched Jack and Algernon squabble over muffins now, she remembered Algernon’s “Bunbury”

idea: escape to visit the non-existent Bunbury in the countryside, be free to be whoever you want

to be, and then come back to the city and be the person everyone remembers you as �" perfect.

She thought of Tyson. He lied to her about being gay, but what about everyone else in his life, in

hers, whom he’d met? What about them? Did they believe him? Did they know? Was anyone

else in on this aside from Parker? How many people did Tyson interact with and make feel like

she did around Parker? How many men did he flirt with, lead on, to act out his facade? Doesn’t

that make him just as bad?

            Who was Tyson?

            Gwen returned her attention to the TV as Jack and Algernon tried to sing their way back

into the hearts of their beloveds, Gwendolyn and Cecily. Would Parker ever do something like

that? Gwen tried to picture it, but for a man she loved since her teens, she couldn’t place him in

such a romantic light. Even as her friend, did he ever do anything to really make her feel special,

make her feel like she meant something to him? When had he truly taken her seriously? She

remembered getting sick with the flu last Christmas, and Tyson ignored his family plans and

spent two painful �" and messy �" weeks right by her bedside. Parker only texted her once to ask

how she was, and that was after she texted him first. Was that it? Had he ever stopped her tears,

ever really listened to her? Granted, he told her about Tyson �" but moments like that, real,

grounded, honest moments like that, were few and far between.

            As Lady Bracknell entered the scene on the TV, Gwen felt a sense of mission emerge.

She sat up and took a hard look around the living room. Amidst her DVD collection, The

Notebook practically sang with the choirs of heaven.

            She smiled.

---

            Tyson reclined on his couch, flipping through a copy of Real Simple magazine. He ogled

images of kitchens decorated in different themes: old and rustic, bold and young, golden vintage,

sharp steel and shades. He looked over the couch at the kitchen, mapping ideas onto it, but then

he decided he liked it the way it was. As he turned another page, the theme to The Late Late

Show with Craig Ferguson sounded from the TV.

            A thick bang and slam shattered the score. Tyson scrambled to his feet.

            Gwen stormed in.

            Tyson put a hand to his chest. “Holy crap, I thought you were a terrorist.”

            She stomped toward him and presented The Notebook. “We’re going to perform an

experiment.”

            He glanced at the lovers on the cover. “Right, ‘cause that’s totally what I thought you

were gonna say.”

            She looked at him with practiced composure. “We are going to watch this from start to

finish, and if your eyes so much as glaze over with the suggestion of tears, you are still gay.”        

            “Gwen, my straight body-building-steroid-addicted-second-degree-murdering cousin,

who’s currently serving a life sentence - cried watching this movie. This is not at all a fair test.”

            “You don’t cry, you’re straight.”

            Tyson stifled a sigh and opted for an eye roll instead. “Okay, well, why does it have to be

this movie? We’ve both seen it a gazillion times, and it’s really not that good, anyway.”

            She hesitated. “Well, of course it’s not that good. I only bought it ‘cause it was five bucks

when I spent over fifteen at HMV.”

            “And you still bought it?”

            “I wasn’t working then. I had to take a discount when I could �" just, shut up. This is

happening.” Annoyed that he sidetracked her, Gwen barged passed him towards the TV. She

approached the DVD player, the sword in the stone, and saw Craig Ferguson step out to start his

monologue. She pouted a little at yet another diversion. “Oh, Craig’s on. Who are his guests?”

            “Um, Jane Lynch, and some comedian-guy.”

            She titled her head to the side. “I like Jane Lynch.” She turned and searched the coffee

table for the remote. She spotted it on the couch and walked round the table to grab it. Tyson just

watched her, speechless. Gwen clicked the PVR application, set the recording for the Late Late

Show, and chucked the remote onto the couch. “There, it’s recording.”

            “Thanks.”

            “You’re welcome. Now...” She cracked open the DVD case, grabbed the disc, and

slipped it into the player. “To reveal the truth.”

            “Gwen, I really think this is �"”

            She spun round on her heel. “Save questions and comments for the end.” Gwen stepped

around the coffee table and sat on the couch. Tyson slumped down beside her like a child forced

to church. She perched her elbow atop the back of the couch and set her eyes on him.

            He frowned. “What are you doing?”

            “Paying attention.”

            “Gwen -”

            She pointed to the TV. “Eyes front.”

            Tyson sighed again and obeyed. Gwen stared at him, focussed on his eyes for the

slightest hint of moisture beyond regularity. The movie began. Familiar scenes and dialogue

sounded, but she never once moved her eyes from Tyson. She shifted a few times, rearranging

her legs or stretching her neck, but she never stopped watching him. Meanwhile, he kept his eyes

on the screen. She watched emotion pass over his face a few times, according to the scenes in the

movie: he cracked a smile at one point, frowned a little at another, tried to keep his eyes open at

the scenes that bored him. The one thing he didn’t look, however, was annoyed, or

uncomfortable as his best friend bore holes into the side of his head with her glare.

            Finally, the movie came to an end. The credits took to the screen as Tyson turned and

looked at Gwen: tearless. She looked back at him, trying to ignore the hot streak of tears on both

of her cheeks. He sighed and stood up. She watched him trudge towards the TV and turn

everything off. Gwen took the opportunity of his absence to wipe her face with the back of her

hand. When he sat back down beside her, she looked away.

            Tyson looked at the sheen of dark brown hair that hid her away from him, just like it did

when he found her in the forest. “Verdict?”

            Gwen shook her head. “I’m sorry.”

            “For what?”

            She smiled like a kid who knew she was in trouble. “For putting you through that again.”

He laughed. It sounded so lush, so genuine, like a first laugh, or one of those bouts of laughter

that only occurs when one’s truly in the moment. Or maybe, that force of laughter was a release

from those long two hours of the movie. At any rate, Gwen smiled as he laughed: a sound, that

distinct sound, she’d shared with him more times than she could count.

            His head lolled to the side as his laughter died down and he set his eyes on hers. Gwen

looked back into those dark, dark brown eyes, so nearly black. “So...” she said, “you’ve never

been gay.” He shook his head. She nodded. “And... you love me.” He offered a helpful smile.

Gwen swallowed. “I don’t know what that means.”

            Tyson shrugged. “Do you have to?”

            Gwen felt a tug at the corners of her mouth, but she fought it. She straightened her back,

relieved as the tension flushed from her neck. She reached out, with tentative fingers, and ran

them through his hair: his thick, dark hair, near black. He became still, his eyes fixed on her.

            Gwen’s smile almost mortified her. At last, she turned and flipped the TV back on. She

selected the recorded Late Late Show with Craig Ferguson from the PVR list. The Scottish

comedian began his monologue. She placed the remote on the coffee table and sat back on the

furthest cushion away from Tyson. His hand lay lax on the couch beside her, but she kept hers on

her ankle, just within reach, as they watched a foreigner, a not-real horse, and a gay robot

skeleton entertain audiences for an hour of late night.