What The House Forgot

I Guess Goodbye

John POV: John heard it again and again, the repetition of harsh words and good riddance. The word delinquent was used most often by the staff, a tone of relief followed by a breath of thankfulness. The delinquent is gone, they would say upon staring at Victor's empty chair. Gone for good. John didn't see it with such a positive light, in fact he happened to be sitting next to that chair when it was last occupied, and he planned to stay in his chair long after it had been abandoned. What choice did he have but to relish in the memory of his best friend, now when faced with the opportunity of complete loneliness? Victor was his other half, a wound that would be gashed through his social life for the remainder of his junior year and beyond. How could he so easily forget, chalk the boy down as toxic and move on to make other acquaintances? Certainly he could sit with his friends from the soccer team, those who only allowed a passing wave on his way through the hallway. Would that be an insult to Victor's memory, his lingering ghost which still lingered in the hard plastic chair? John slumped forward in the desk, figuring he would stay put for a while longer. Perhaps until the end of the year, when he could use the summer to decide.
It would be easier to say that Victor was dead, though the truth was much more convoluted. With the look John was wearing as he descended upon a chair, empty on either side, one might have mistaken Victor's departure from the country as a departure from the world itself. As if his father had gotten a job in Heaven, rather than England. Perhaps then John wouldn't be worried about tarnishing his friend's reputation, as there was a slim chance he may still return to take his seat.
Their childhood stretched back as far as John could remember; in fact they shared the same delivery room, one curtain apart from each other. The first thing John heard was probably Victor screaming, his first neighbor might have been his lifelong friend on the other side of a glass divider, swaddled in identical blankets and beet red from their newborn anguish. They always joked about this coincidence, as if their friendship had been planned by the Gods, arranged in such a way to ensure their cooperation. It seemed too fanciful, though now, sitting alone, John wondered if their futures were only intertwined as far as high school. Perhaps now was the great divide, the moment in which he had to wave goodbye to his best friend for good.
The airport was the most challenging moment of John's young life, though such a loss was unrivaled by any other strong negative emotion. Save the loss of a family goldfish, or perhaps the defeat at a championship soccer game, John had never had to face something so terrible as grief. He was never forced to uproot one part of his life and replace it with nothingness, forced to acknowledge that a significant part of himself had been lost, never to be recovered in the same meaningful way. John hadn't been able to get past the ticket desk, though he followed the Trevor family all the way through the double sliding doors. Victor had been feigning excitement the entire way, forcing a smile for the crowd while his private, unseen glances reflected a deep worry. His smile had always been reassuring, and even when in the back of the rental car, squished between the family's luggage, John might have convinced himself that nothing substantial was happening. Not while Victor was smiling, when his blue eyes were alight with falsified humor, telling stories of melting a plastic bowl in the microwave that morning in a hurried and disastrous breakfast.
No matter how much the boy laughed, John could tell that Victor was afraid. His hands were fidgeting across his carry on, his fingers wrapping and unwrapping across the handle of his travel mug. They moved the way they might before a math test, in which he had studied his notes three times over but still seemed to assume he would get a failing grade. Victor's eyes darted this way and that, looking out the window, glancing at his friend, staring at his feet. He squirmed like a child, constantly readjusting himself in the sticking leather seats. He smiled again, but his eyes grew cold. The Trevor parents were silent, appreciating that their son could get at least a couple of words of storytelling in before they ripped him from the world he knew. In some ways John imagined he was suffering the worst case scenario. In other ways he appreciated Victor's own struggle. It was one thing to have something taken from your world, another for the world to be taken from you.
They were never very fond of hugs, in fact both John and Victor avoided touching each other entirely. It wasn't a rule, per say, nor even a stigma. They had never made the conscious decision to stay apart, whether that be ensuring their shoulders never brushed when sitting close together, or their feet never kicked together underneath the kitchen table. It seemed as though society had set upon certain standards for friendships between boys, and the two were following along as they saw fit. They didn't dare fall under a certain reputation, already teetering dangerously close to a rumored relationship. Best not to add fuel to the fire, best to stay the necessary distance apart. Though today was different, today it seemed that they had to make up for all of the missed touches, as well as prepare for the lack of contact for the rest of their young lives. In some ways the two needed to at least make sure the other was real; they needed to confirm the solid body of their friend before parting.
John kicked his heels into the ground, Victor leaned upon his luggage. Mr. Trevor was struggling with the ticket booth, printing out three one way tickets that did not specify or include a return date. These would be stuck onto their luggage and promptly lost, stored in a hall closet, unnoticed and neglected until they fell off in the mildew and darkness. No need to replace the stickers with a fresh return ticket. There would be no travel for a long while. John managed a small smile, trying to force his lips to curl upwards instead of lean into gravity and the growing pressures of his grief. His lips wanted to downturn, they wanted to collapse into his cheeks, give into the pull of the grieving muscles, betray himself and his emotions for the world to see. He forced a smile, seeing no other way to maintain himself. If he allowed a frown he might let a tear slide, and with a tear would come rushing the rest of the emotions he so desperately wanted to hide. At his age, boys were not allowed to cry.
"I don't think you can come with me through security," Victor muttered, fumbling with the strap of his backpack to bide his time. John pursed his lips, shaking his head and turning his gaze towards the floor. He didn't like studying his friend so closely; he didn't like the idea of those features traveling across the ocean. Some part of John had prepared for Victor to leave, he knew that Victor as a whole would vanish from this country and leave him behind. Though he wasn't prepared to say goodbye to that shirt, Victor's favorite shirt, the one he must have chosen to ensure a fashionable arrival to his new home. John wasn't prepared to say goodbye to that water bottle, the one which had accompanied them in the cup holder of John's rusted out car, the one which sat upon the aluminum bleachers as Victor joined the fans of a weekend soccer game. It wouldn't be enough to bid the boy goodbye. John felt that he needed an entire day to bid farewell to each of Victor's possessions, the small things he would never see again. The things he would miss with almost as much intensity.
"You be careful over there, okay? Don't burn your tongue with tea, or get speared by some royal guard," John insisted, jabbing an accusing finger towards Victor, attempting to mask whatever hesitation he felt behind a layer of humor. Was he expected, in this moment, to spill his heart onto the floor? Was he expected to start gushing about their time together, or lamenting about its abrupt end?
"Ah, you know me. I'll get into my fair share of trouble. Though this time I won't have a cherub by my side to take all the blame," Victor chuckled.
"You do look suspicious alone. Always up to no good."
"I guess I'll have to cause mayhem by myself."
"I guess so." John sighed heavily, swinging his empty arms and feeling quite useless. Victor was laden with bags, his laptop dangling from one shoulder and his backpack weighing his down from behind. His neck was wrapped in a purple neck pillow, a present from his mother to ease the pains of the long flight.
"Well, I guess goodbye," Victor offered at last, that word stinging across the air as it traveled from his tongue. John sneered at it, the sound waves that neatly stopped short of such an unreceptive ear. Goodbye. What a foul thing to say. John nodded, looking up towards Victor's reluctant blue eyes, the boy hiding behind the swoop of his brown hair, trying to use it as a barrier to hide what sort of pains really flourished.
"Should we hug?" John wondered, figuring it best to be transparent about his intentions.
"I suppose," Victor agreed, his voice quite small as he eased his laptop case to the ground. John nodded, scuffling forward and seeing that his efforts were matched by Victor's single step in his direction, the converse sneakers sliding across the tiles and stopping short. It would seem as though John was being forced to do all the work. Victor raised his arms rather awkwardly, standing like a scarecrow in careful anticipation. John trembled as he raised his own hands, hovering them around Victor's neck and hesitating as he shuffled closer, unsure if he would be allowed to settle them upon the boy's shoulders or not. John jolted to feel Victor's arms tighten across his chest, a movement so natural that John instinctively settled his own weight across his taller friend. As if with a magnetic pull their bodies collided, and as the proximity closed their grips only tightened, suddenly desperate to pull themselves together, desperate to make their bodies as inseparable as their souls.
John had never been able to confirm that his best friend was solid. He had never been able to say with certainty, considering he never had firsthand experience with touching him. Though today he could feel not only Victor's physical form, but what lay underneath as well. He could feel the bones as they shifted, the skin as it tugged and pulled with the constricting muscles. He could feel the fabric of Victor's clothes, smell the faint scent of his floral shampoo, and was suddenly hit with the reality of his best friend. The reality of a physical being, a human entity, now so closely wrapped within his own. Now so close to being pulled apart and gone again, escaped from John's grasp just as soon as it became its most tight.
Despite his anxieties, it was John who pulled away first. The hug had gone on for long enough, too long for his comfort levels. Carefully he unraveled himself from his friend, allowing Victor to step back and clear his throat, fighting off tears in the only way he thought possible. Another smile, strained this time. Visibly forced.
"I'll see you later, then," Victor offered. Neither knew what later meant, but John nodded is head in agreement. He could still feel the entity of Victor Trevor against his chest, though now, standing a couple feet away, it was a quickly fading memory. As if it had never happened at all.
"See you later," John agreed, sniffling aggressively and turning his head away. He didn't want Victor to see him crying. That would be a terrible last memory to harbor. It was the only goodbye he could manage, and it was the only formality he felt he was obligated to provide. John hadn't given Victor the opportunity to say anything more, he didn't allow any sort of formalities. John ducked away, he nodded his head, gritted his teeth, and somehow ended back where he started. In this desk chair. Slumped into his own form. Staring at the plastic desk, carved with gratified initials, and holding back the tears that had yet to come. He wouldn't allow them, not yet. Not here. Delinquent, they often said. No, something worse than that. Absent.