- Author
- 04/16/2017
- 1,830 Words
- 2,529 Views
- 24 Comments
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Only Prompts - 12. Notebook
Prompt #571
Notebook
The phone was ringing. I knew it was just a dream. The phone kept on ringing.
An annoying dream it seemed.
I reached for the phone, and in my dream, put it to my ear. “Hello?”
“Den?”
I knew the voice.
“Den?”
Why is Arlo in my dream?
“Den!”
“Arlo, why are you in my dream?”
“Den…damnit, wake the fuck up!”
“Huh? Wha… Oh… shit. Arlo? What’s wrong?”
He chuckled. “I left my backpack. I need to come get it.”
Awake finally, I replied, “Oh, in other words, you left your notebook! Sure come on by whenever.”
“K, I’ll see you in an hour or so. Let you get your fat ass outta bed.”
“My ass is not fat, thank you!”
“You haven’t walked behind yourself lately, hmm?”
“See you later, Arlo!” I put my phone down. ‘Fat ass…my…my ass!’
I picked up my tiny travel clock, which sat on my bedside table, and peered at it. Its little white hands read 9:25am. Oh, okay. There was a smallish mess out in the front room.
Me, Arlo, Becks and Matt had had a nice boys’ night the previous night. We’d drunk too much beer, ate pizza and wings, watched the Blue Jays lose and then regaled each other with stories of manly prowess of the sexual variety.
‘Up, lump!’ I sat up and stretched my legs out in front of me. After sliding off the bed I found yesterday’s underwear and pulled them and a pair of cut-offs on. I stood in front of the mirror and tried to see if my ass was spreading. It still looked okay, as far as I could see.
I attended to my morning needs and then padded out to the living room.
Ignoring the mess, pizza crusts, chicken bones, and stale beer, I found Arlo’s backpack behind the sofa.
It was wrong.
I know. I was raised to respect people’s privacy and property.
But I was curious. Arlo had never let me look at his notebook. I’d known him since seventh grade, nearly twenty years, and I’d never seen inside that book. I supposed he had twenty or more of them by now, but never a glimpse into any of them. Arlo, I should explain, is a published author, so all these notebooks did get used and were necessary to him, or that’s what he told anyone who asked.
So now, I had the opportunity and I opened the main compartment of his aged green backpack. When I looked inside—there it sat—his black ring-bound notebook. I pulled it out and just held it.
‘You shouldn’t do this, Den.’
I told myself to shut up.
I opened the notebook to the first page and flipped through to the latest entry. Arlo had written thoughts about what was happening in the headlines. There were notes about some characters he was developing for a story, and there was a poem.
‘Poetry?’ Who knew he wrote poetry? Why had he never said he wrote poetry?
Definitely I shouldn’t read it, but I couldn’t stop myself.
What boundaries love?
Can what I feel be wrong?
He is untouchable.
Beauty untellable, only seen.
Hmm, I wondered if this was about that new woman. Sarah, I think was her name. The ‘he’ must be a mistake.
Finally, the guilt started to hit me. I closed the notebook and picked it up to slide it back into the backpack when a piece of paper slid out. I watched it float a couple of feet and land under the coffee table. I put the notebook down and went to retrieve the paper from the floor.
I grabbed it and returned to the sofa. I glanced at it, ready to return it to the notebook, but I saw my name on it. The paper was sort of yellowed. It was a letter, addressed to me, dated May 2007—ten years ago. I had to read it …
Dear Denny,
This letter is hard to write.
Since you told me 3 weeks ago that you were into guys, I haven’t thought of much else. I mean all through school, you never seemed to like girls like the rest of us. But I never thought that you were, well you know.
So you probably want to know why I’m writing this. The truth is, since you told me, I haven’t known what to do.
Shit, the truth is, I’ve been thinking….
My reading was interrupted by a knock on the door. Panicking like I’d been caught with my hand in the cookie jar, I jumped to my feet and ran to the door to open it.
Arlo stood there smiling broadly. I took a step back to allow him entrance. He walked in but his blue eyes were on mine.
“You okay, Denny? You look a little hot. Not watching porn at this time of day are ya?” He shrugged out of his military jacket and dropped it onto the bench that stood by the door. “Glad you dressed.” He gave me a back-hand to the abs.
I swallowed, and gave him a smile. I’d just realized I was still clutching the letter in my left hand. Arlo had moved out of the small entranceway so I wondered if I could hide the letter. Where though?
“Damn you, Den. You piece of shit!”
“What?”
I followed him into the living room. He stood there in front of the sofa where the backpack sat, and beside it, the notebook. Idiot—I could have taken a minute to shove it back in before answering the door.
“I can’t believe you did this.”
I felt hot and guilty. “I’m sorry, ‘Lo. I’d only just found it and opened it. I didn’t see anything. I know that doesn’t make it right. I was gonna put it back when you knocked….”
Arlo had the notebook and was flipping through it. He dropped it and was pawing through his backpack with some urgency. “Where is it?”
“What? I never took anything else out, ‘Lo.”
“It was in the notebook—a piece of paper.”
He turned, and examined me up and down. “What’s in your hand? You have it, you bastard. Did you read it?”
He headed toward me, he seemed angry, so I took a step back. Arlo grabbed my right bicep, fingers digging deep. I know I winced and gasped.
“Give me the paper.”
I held it out. “I didn’t read it all. Arlo, I never knew you were upset that I’m Gay.”
“I’m not.” He didn’t take the letter from me.
He released my arm.
“No, but the letter ….”
Arlo sat on the sofa. I perched on the edge next to him. My usually confident friend seemed conflicted.
“Arlo, you’ve been carrying this letter around for ten years. Why didn’t you give it to me?”
He sighed deeply. “I wanted to. So many times, Den. I was afraid of what you’d think.”
What I’d think? “What are you talking about? We’re friends; we’ve been through lots of shit together….” I put the letter on the coffee table and tried to smooth it. “What does this say then?”
Arlo snatched the letter from the table. “It doesn’t matter.”
He put the letter down in front of him and carried on trying to flatten it like I’d been doing.
I sat back. “Obviously it does, Arlo. What the fuck does it say?”
“It says….” He rubbed his hands down his thighs. He was sweating and his voice hitched as he said, “It says…that…that I love you.”
I felt his eyes on me. Every emotion went through me in seconds—what did he mean? “We’re friends forever, I love you too.”
“No!” He stood up and stalked to the window. “No, Den. That’s not what I mean.”
“It’s not? Then ….” He couldn’t mean…he’s always got a girlfriend.
He’d returned to the sofa but sat closer to me. “Den…Den you are always on my mind. I think about you all the time.”
I stared at him. “For ten years, ‘Lo? You’re straight. You always have a beautiful girlfriend.”
“Straight, Gay, Bi, so many words. Labels. Why can’t I love you? Do I have to be anything?”
I was confused. “But you like girls!”
“I do. But when I’m in bed with them, I need to think of you—think of being with you then I can…finish.” He took and held my hand. Arlo met my eyes. “You feel anything for me, Den?”
My mouth gaped as I fought to find words and sort out feelings.
He’d gotten up and pulled me to my feet. Suddenly I was in Arlo’s arms and this was no guy hug.
I’d never noticed before, Arlo smelled like lime and basil and I breathed him into my lungs, and held on to him. Too soon he was holding me at arm’s length, and then bending a little to look into my eyes. It was Arlo but yet, not.
His rough hands were holding my cheeks and he spoke but I couldn’t hear such was the rushing in my ears. I noticed tears in Arlo’s blue eyes. His hands trembled as he held onto me. He was perspiring and breathing hard.
Then his lips were on mine. Softly at first and then with urgency—we kissed, deep hot kisses and they got me hard in seconds. Him too, because he slid his hands down my body and held my ass in his big hands and ground against me.
This was too much. “Arlo, please stop.”
He did and sat with his head in his hands. “I’m sorry.”
I sat beside him. “Arlo…you’re not Gay.”
“I don’t know what I am. Why do I have to have a name for it? I love you Denny. I have for years. I have girlfriends for sex. That’s why they don’t stay around, cuz they figure it out. I fuck them, I take them out and spend time with them to get sex, but really all I want is you.”
“You’re serious.”
His head swiveled toward me. “Yes, I’m fucking serious. Do you feel anything for me?”
I sat back. I needed to think and I needed to answer my best friend. “Arlo, I think I could—do. You need to be patient; this is the first I’m hearing that you feel this way.”
He nodded but looked miserable. His broad shoulders sagged.
I needed to sort out how I felt and help Arlo. “So, you doing anything today, ‘Lo?”
“Nah.”
“Then stay here with me. We can clean up, make some food, watch the ball game and talk.”
Arlo looked happier. “Can we kiss?”
I grinned at him. “Sure we can. Right after we clean up.”
“You’re teasing me, Den.”
After grinning at him, I leaned in and kissed his cheek, then ran a finger slowly down his chest. “No, baby, I think I’ve been teasing you long enough…."
-
23
-
1
-
2
Note: While authors are asked to place warnings on their stories for some moderated content, everyone has different thresholds, and it is your responsibility as a reader to avoid stories or stop reading if something bothers you.
Story Discussion Topic
Open Club · 61 members · Last active
Recommended Comments
Chapter Comments
-
Newsletter
Sign UpSign Up and get an occasional Newsletter. Fill out your profile with favorite genres and say yes to genre news to get the monthly update for your favorite genres.