7 Seconds of Shame

I put on my pajamas and pulled my sleeping bag into the lounge. I recognized his from the all school camping trip we had taken earlier in the year. Pulling mine over next to it, I unfastened the tie and laid it out flat. The rest of the guys were already sitting there when I arrived, but only he greeted me. I had talked to the rest of them a few times, none of them were what I would call friends.

The others had all laid gym mats down on the floor beneath their sleeping bags so that they would be more comfortable as they slept. Soon after I arrived we tried to decide on a movie to watch. I had wanted to watch a rom-com, something with Sandra Bullock or Jennifer Aniston, but it only took a couple seconds for them to shoot down this idea.

I hate action movies. My theory for why others like them is that the acting doesn’t have to be good as long as there’s a car chase. This is yet another thing that separates me from boys my age. I’d rather watch a tumultuous romance than a building blow up. I would much rather see a proposal than a shootout. I am perfectly fine if the only fighting in my movies revolves around a new lover fighting and old one for dominance. I don’t know what movie we ended up watching, but I can tell you that it did include a hostage situation that ended in several slit throats and a sniper rifle.

All the other guys wanted to talk about was how hot they thought the main female character was. She was a blonde, scantily clad in a bikini that didn’t even fit her character. The boys couldn’t decide whether to rate her a nine or a ten. I played along and when asked what I thought I told them I would go with a nine because I prefer brunettes. They nodded in approval of my reasoning and I felt like I had passed some sort of test. The consensus on this girl was a nine. We then continues this game, forgetting the movie completely. Emma Watson, Emma Stone, and Scarlett Johansson were all tens. Two of the boys had a heated argument over where Jennifer Lawrence fell in the ranking only to be forgotten when a sex scene in the movie distracted them.

The three others had drifted off at different points during the final half hour of the movie. He yawned, and shortly after, so did I. As everyone knows, yawns are contagious.

“What did you think of the movie?” I asked.

“It was ok,” he replied.

“Good plot line, huh?” I responded.

“I guess.” Obviously he didn’t get that I had been kidding.

He placed his head down upon his blue plaid patterned pillow and curled his body into a ball, ready to drift away into sleep. He looked over at me, red showing in the corners of his eyes. I caught his glance, knowing from his expression that he wanted me to turn off the computer. I reached over and closed the screen with a small thud, and most of the light in the room was extinguished. I glanced back at him, just in time to see him close his eyes and readjust his head on his pillow so now his face we turned away from me.

I settled back into my own sleeping bag, or beg, as he says in his Midwestern accent, something I was determined never to let him live down, but that I secretly loved. I thought about us, that is him and me. He was the first real friend I ever had. The only person who had ever asked to join me when I sat down for a meal, or to go off to do homework, the first person I ever cared this much about.

I thought I knew I loved him, but I don’t think either one of us knew how much. I don’t think he even had the slightest idea how much I cared. Earlier that night, I had taken a sleeping pill. I pretended to need to go to the bathroom so that the others wouldn’t judge me for taking medications. I could feel the Ambien start to take effect. Before it puts you to sleep, it makes you feel invincible, like you could do anything and get away with it. It sends a feeling of pure joy down your body and I started to think of how my life had changed since I had met him.

It had only been two months since we had started our freshmen year, and they had been the two best of my life. I had never thought of myself as a happy person. I was pessimistic and didn’t see a problem with it. I often faked a laugh or a polite smile when it was appropriate, just so people would think I was normal, but with him, I wasn’t faking it. This both intrigued and scared me. I wasn’t ready to label myself as “gay,” but I had never had this same experience with a woman. There was no reason for me to think that he shared my affections. It’s true that he wasn’t the most masculine guy I had ever met, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. This seemed like the new constant narrative of my mind, and if things kept up, it didn’t seem likely to change soon.

As the medication kicked in more, I found myself having an almost out ofbody experience. I shifted myself and my sleeping bag over, so I was closer to his. There was probably less than a foot separating us now. I reached my hand out of the bag and placed my trembling finger tips on the zipper of his sleeping bag. I retracted my hand almost immediately, realizing that this was crazy, but after thirtyseconds, I put it back.

I just held it there for two minutes, as the medication took more and more ofme away from my body and placed it outside of myself, like a ghostly observer. I started to pull the zipper down. Slowly, but surely I heard the “zeep” sound as the flared edges of the zippers railroad were being dislodged from each other. The noise was deafening to me, but apparently not to anyone else in the room.

He started to stir at the sound of the zipper, and I rolled my sleeping bag over, creating some distance between us. About five minutes went by, the room was spinning slightly, and the shadows on the walls seemed so real. I heard the snoringof the other people in the room that I had forgotten were there. For me, it was just the two of us. Then I found myself over next to him again, unzipping more of the sleeping bag. At that point he was lying on his side, but he turned over onto his back, most likely to keep the draft created by our open surrounding off of his tanned chest.

He wasn’t the most polite person in the world. He almost never apologized when he had done something wrong. He was not the type of person to say please or thank you. The most common of courtesies often escaped him, but I found a way to love this about him. Even though it drove me crazy, I found a way for myself to love it. It was like a secret code that only the two of us understood. Thinking back on it now, I guess he didn’t even get it. When he would run into me in the hallway, I would say

“Excuse me.”

He would respond with, “no problem,” which really meant, I’m sorry.”

Or when he would ask me “do you want to help me with my math homework?”

He really meant “will you help me with my math please?”

At that moment, there was nothing more I wanted to do then be with him. I wanted to protect him, to have him care about me. I wanted him to love and accept my every flaw as I did his. It seems crazy now, the level of devotion I had for someone who was clearly not interested, but at the time it was all I knew.

I crawled out of my sleeping bag and made my way towards his sleep glazed face. I was aware that what I was doing was wrong. I knew it was the medication that was giving me the false courage to do what I was about to do, but I didn’t care. I got closer and closer to where he lay, so sweet in slumber. I made it so that my face was just opposite his. Air was pouring out of his noise as he breathed in and out, and the scent was overpowering and exhilarating. It smelled like orange peels, that pleasant earthy citrus scent, but it wasn’t alone. The orange peel scent was combined with something that could only be described of as a hint of morning breath.

I looked down on him and in that moment of sheer weakness I pressed my lips down on top of his. I could feel the tactile texture of his lips, so unearthly warm against mine. I could feel the air blowing out of his nose onto my sleep-deprived face. It lasted seven seconds and then I snapped myself out of it. I removed my lips from his and slowly. I backed away in utter shock and repulsion at what I had just done.

I knew I had just ruined everything, but I didn’t know what to do next. Did I have to tell him that it happened? Would he believe that it was the medication that had turned my lustful wish into a reality? Would he embrace me, and tell me that there was no harm no foul? Or would he run for the hills, telling everybody about the sick boy that had fallen in love with him and taken it too far?

With all these questions racing through my head I crawled back into my sleeping bag and started to close my eyes, thinking that I would deal with all this uncertainty in the morning. Frozen in my head was that image of him, so helpless, so pure, and a second wave of regret fell over me, stronger than any sleeping pill. I quickly opened my eyes again when I heard a rustle from beside me. Scared to death, I turned my gaze back to him, still sleeping, but now on his side, his head facing me. I could have made it up, but I thought I saw the shadow of a smile pursed across his lips.