Page 70 of Saving Sparrow
I took several deep breaths to quiet the chaotic thoughts in my head, to get rid of that feeling I sometimes had—the feeling of slipping away. “When did it start?”
“We started having sex freshman year,” Miguel said, his voice a little shaky. Quentin tugged him closer, then let go of his hand to wrap his arm around his shoulder.
“We’d loved each other for a long time—like brothers, though. We’ve always been affectionate with each other. Too affectionate for most people,” Miguel said dryly. “I just never grew out of that phase of always wanting to be with him, the phase where hugging him all the time was seen as cute and not weird. When sleeping together wasn’t about being scared of the boogeyman anymore, but about not being able to sleep without my human security blanket. I never stopped wanting to tell him how much I loved him. But as we got older, that love started to change.”
Quentin scoffed. “Kind of hard not to after waking up every day in middle school to his morning wood stabbing me in the back.”
“First of all,” Miguel tossed back, “you’ve always been the big spoon, so it wasyourdinosaur-sized wood pokingmein the back.”
“It is pretty big, isn’t it?” Quentin grinned. Miguel had fallen right into his trap.
“Can you be serious for five minutes?” he asked Quentin.
Quentin cleared his throat. “Sorry.”
“Anyway,” Miguel said. “The way we held each other started to change. The way we looked at each other, too. By the time we got to eighth grade, things didn’t feel as innocent anymore.”
“And then Floozy-Suzie asked him to prom,” Quentin interjected. “I lost my shit. Threatened to beat up her brother if she didn’t stay away from Miguel.”
I listened quietly, their hands still on me, keeping me from floating away.
“We started watching porn together,” Miguel whispered. “Then we started jerking off together, then we started jerking each other off… Still no big deal.” He shrugged. “At least we pretended it wasn’t. Then my mother died.”
“And all bets were off,” Quentin rasped, staring into Miguel’s eyes while the hand he held against my neck pulsed. Miguel squeezed my hand at the same time. It made me feel a part of their silent communication with each other, and I wondered if that was intentional. I didn’t think it was. The way they made me feel included always felt natural, not something that required practice or effort.
“We needed each other in a completely different way then,” Miguel said. “So, we took what we needed.”
“And we don’t feel bad about it,” Quentin added. “Or care what anyone thinks.”
“Then why didn’t you tell me?” Maybe I was the only one who hadn’t seen it, who didn’t quite have the words for what they were to each other. I glanced over their shoulders to the bed they shared, the bed I shared with them most nights. Then to the bathroom door, where they shared showers too. Could it be that I hadn’t wanted to see it? That being with them felt so good, so right, that I’d allowed myself to believe this was what true friendship looked like?
No, thiswaswhat friendship looked like. This was what our friendship looked like, and I loved it. Quentin and Miguel just had something extra on top of it.
“Because you’re not just anyone,” Quentin said, as if that should’ve been obvious.
“Yeah,” Miguel agreed. “We care about what you think.”
No one had ever cared about what I thought, yet they did. They were good to me. I didn’t have a whole lot to be afraid of when I was with them, and I got to be myself. I looked toward the closet again as that last fact cleared my mind.
What we had felt good, better than good. It was all the good things I’d never experienced before. How could good be wrong, and how could all the things I’d been taught—which felt wrong—be right?
“We’ve got to starve him out of you, Elliott. God is testing us.”
I looked between Quentin and Miguel, who both watched me carefully. Did they think I’d run from them and never come back? Did they hope I wouldn’t judge them and never leave? Maybe this was the true test. Maybe if God did exist, this was where he’d been all along.
Could I do to Quentin and Miguel what had been done to me? Could I hurt them by rejecting who they were? By rejecting who I thoughtImight have been?
“So, you didn’t tell me because you thought I’d react the way… the way I did tonight?” I felt ashamed saying it. I could’ve blamed my reaction solely on what I thought Quentin was doing to Miguel against his will, but it would’ve been a lie.
“We wanted you as a friend,” Miguel answered. “We didn’t want to scare you off. Guess we didn’t think it all the way through. I mean, we couldn’t really hide it forever.” That they’d felt the need to hide it from me at all made me feel terrible. But then I remembered there was plenty I hadn’t told them, either. Plenty I still wouldn’t, couldn’t even if I wanted to.
“Does everyone else know? Everyone at school? Your dad?” I asked Quentin.
“They think they know, but we’re pretty good at keeping our hands off each other—to an extent—when we’re around other people,” Miguelsaid.
“Getting handsy is okay,” Quentin said. “Hugs, walking around with my arm slung over his shoulder, a ‘see you after class’ peck on the cheek… eye-fucking too. You know, clothes-on type of shit. But dicks and tongues don’t come out unless we’re alone.” Quentin was too busy smiling at me to notice Miguel’s glare.
“It’s okay,” I said softly, squeezing Miguel’s hand. I knew how Quentin could be. Miguel gave me a sheepish look, letting Quentin drop a kiss to his head.
