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    Kyle Lee is a computer science sophomore, who enjoys writing. He plans to graduate in 2009.

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Untitled
By Kyle Lee

      Paul had always loved Friday afternoons, but this one was particularly splendid. The day had been crisp with the first hints of autumn, and all afternoon the sparrows had darted from oak to oak singing the song of the season's change.

      He now walked with a skip in his step, unknowingly infected by the energy of everything around him: the sparrows sang, and Paul skipped to their beat. He was riding high, and nothing, nothing could bring him down on a day like this one.

      He couldn't wait to tell Jonathan the news.

      Looking down at his watch, Paul could see that he was running a few minutes late, so he quickened his pace. He ended up being late almost every Friday. It was a trend that he was trying unsuccessfully to break. He broke into a jog.

      Five minutes later, he bounded into the coffee shop disheveled and out of breath, startling and nearly capsizing an elderly woman trying to make her way through the door. He muttered an incoherent apology and made his way to the back of the shop, where he knew Jonathan would be.

      As expected, Paul found Jonathan sitting in the quiet corner where they usually met for these Friday get-togethers. The little nook wasn't quite as cheery as the rest of the coffee house, but it was much quieter, so Jonathan was partial to it. His voice was deep and didn't carry well.

      As usual, Jonathan had his nose buried in some book or other. Paul sat down and said nothing, knowing that Jonathan would acknowledge him as soon as he was finished with the paragraph he was reading. After a few moments, Jonathan lifted his eyes to look up at Paul, but he didn't lift his head away from the book. He did that a lot.

      "What's the story, mon ami?" He asked. "You look like you're having a string of orgasms right now."

Paul grinned widely. "I have something to tell you," he said.

Jonathan lifted his eyebrows in a way that only he could pull off, both quizzical and amused at the same time. He put the book face-down onto the table, and reclined in his seat.

      "Is that so?" He asked. "Coincidences are the currency of the day, it seems. I would like to tell you something, too—but I can tell that if I make you wait, you'll actually explode, and I really don't relish the idea of cleaning your entrails off the walls. So, stop grinning like an idiot and tell me already."

      Paul didn't stop grinning like an idiot, but he did tell Jonathan the news.

      "He came back to me!" In his excitement, he had almost shouted the words. Several patrons looked over in the pair's direction, but Paul was completely oblivious to the commotion he had caused.

      "Sam! He came back to me," he continued tumultuously. "It's been months and months and months since we last talked, but he called me out of the blue last night and said he wanted to talk. He said that he had changed, and that he really wanted me and no one else."

      Jonathan's answer was slow in coming.

      "I thought we agreed," he said, "that Sam was just using you. I seem to recall your calling me to come pick you up when you went over to his house to find him in bed with that . . . whatever his name was." His voice was very quiet, barely above a whisper.

      "But it was a mistake, Jon! We talked and—hey, are you okay?"

      "Allergies," said Jonathan.

      "Ah. Well, we talked, and everything is worked out. I'm just so happy. But anyway, I know this sounds kind of mushy, but I want to thank you for being here for me all this time. You of all people know how heartbroken I've been. You're like a big brother to me, even though you're just as young as I am."

      Jonathan rubbed his eyes and noisily cleared his throat.

      "I'm happy for you, Paul. I haven't seen you this alive in many a week, and it's refreshing to see you so animated again. I want you to be careful, though. Sam has hurt you once, and he might do it again."

      Paul smiled. "Well, I know that if he does, you'll beat the shit out of him, right?"

      "Without a doubt."

      "I knew I could count on you," Paul laughed. "Anyway, I need to get going, there's a study group for my trig class tonight." Then, a thought occurred to him. "Wait, weren't you going to tell me something?"

      Jonathan sat up from his relaxed position, reached forward, and meticulously closed his book, but not before committing the page number to memory.

      "I seem to have forgotten. It'll come to me later. Get going. You'll be late."

      "Well, you know, I'm always late."

      "True enough, but maybe you can change that on this one occasion. Shoo."

      With one last smile, Paul turned away and made his way to the exit. Jonathan's eyes followed him as he walked. He sat there for about an hour after Paul had gone, sipping his latte and attempting to finish the chapter he had been reading when his friend had arrived.

      Jonathan looked at his watch. The coffee shop was about to close. As he walked through the exit and out onto the street, he took the rose that he had been hiding in his jacket and tossed it lightly, almost carelessly, into the trash.

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