Adam Phillips

The afternoon following my birthday party at the Country Club, I was in the driveway shooting hoops after church when I saw Cole's van pull up. I walked over as he rolled down his window. "Hey, stud," he said, greeting me with a smile and a high-five. "I guess you think you're the shit now, huh?" "It was awesome, Cole. Thanks for everything." "No problem, freshman." He opened his door, got out, and went to the back of his van. "Here. This is how you can thank me." He reached in and grabbed

Stephanie kissed me on the cheek and pulled me closer to her as we danced. In the background, Boyz 2 Men's "I'll Make Love to You" was playing. The dance floor was crowded with hormonal teenagers, and it appeared that the evening's prospects were looking good: The Country Club was packed with high school kids celebrating my birthday with me; everybody appeared to be having a great time; and Stephanie was sending out signals that told me the night was only going to get better. In the few weeks

"If you don't get a first-string assignment, get over it quick, because from here on out, it's about the team." It was the beginning of August; we'd been practicing together, informally and off-campus, for almost two weeks. Our head coach had shut down freshman football practice fifteen minutes early that day, called us off the field, and gathered us together. Thirty tired and sweaty fourteen-year-olds sat there in the grass, listening nervously. School would start in a week, and football seas

So I crashed and burned with Staci. But with practice for fall sports gearing up, I didn't have much time to mope about it. And in any case, there were two side benefits: First, losing my virginity gave me loads of confidence with girls. And beyond that, losing it to an "older woman" did some good things for my reputation among my peers, both male and female. All in all, between sports and sex, my entrance into high school was like catching the perfect wave, one that I'd surf all the way through

Matt and I were on the beach by the campfire. It started out the same: He sang his song, walked after me when I got up from the fire, and pulled me into a hug; and as before, I kissed him twice... And he pushed me away from him, so hard that I tripped and fell. He kicked sand at me and yelled, at the top of his lungs, "Why the fuck did you do that? You've ruined everything, you disgusting pervert! Now I have to hang out with a queer-boy for nine goddam months; why don't you just fall off the

I was hanging out with Angie on a Monday evening the first time the feeling really gripped me. We were poolside at Angie's, relaxing, enjoying the summer evening. A rain had come through earlier in the day and cooled things down. The gathering dusk, the sunset pastels painting the sky, the beautifully landscaped back yard that Angie's mom tended with such care, all combined to put us in a romantic mood. Her dad had been swimming laps earlier and had the radio tuned to an oldies station; we had

Andy and Matt, best friends and teammates from childhood, grow together, learn together, and struggle to remain friends when their evolving relationship outpaces their ability to understand it.

For the next few weeks, Staci and I were inseparable. She broke up with Dylan shortly after we’d had our first "date." Dylan, for his part, left town the first week of June to live with a sister and brother-in-law in Wichita Falls, where he took a job at his brother-in-law's auto shop. Nobody knew if he was coming back to school or not, least of all Staci. I took advantage of his absence and spent my time doing what I could to get her over him. We went to movies and ball games, had picnics in th

During the late spring and summer before my freshman year, I was spending a lot of time in the company of a beautiful sixteen-year-old named Staci. She had dark brown hair and piercing brown eyes. Hers was the proverbial face that could launch a thousand ships, and she had a figure to match. Her family and mine went to the same church. My parents and I have always been church-going people, although I guess you'd have to call us "left-wing" Christians. We're very much out of sync with the fun

I met Matt outside the gym right after school. As we started walking toward home, he grabbed me by my shoulder, then put his arm across the back of my neck and around the other shoulder. Pulling me into him until we were side by side, he said, "Hey, loser, I've had a hard day at school, and I think you oughta carry my backpack for me, since we trashed your ass all over the court today." "Yeah, that's gonna happen," I responded, pulling his arm off my shoulder and stepping away from him. I got

As Matt and I got older, our individual sports interests went in slightly different directions. We'd been playing in city recreational leagues, but at the junior high level, the schools also fielded teams for all the sports. During the rec years, both of us had played most of the recreation-league sports that were available, but as time went by we discovered some separate favorites. While he and I both played football, baseball, and basketball for our school, Matt was also on the swim team, and

Third grade gave way to fourth, fourth to fifth, fifth to sixth. During these years Matt and I became more firmly who we each were, both individually and as the duo of "best friends" that we were. Our friends came to expect that when they saw one of us, more often than not they'd see the other. The occasional explosions of hatred we'd sometimes expressed for each other in our earlier childhood subsided; they were replaced by a steadily growing mutual regard and respect, a respect given to each o

We moved to Dallas, from farther south in the state, the July before I started third grade. My dad had just received a Ph.D. and was taking a position as a history professor at a college in Dallas. I had a 6-year-old brother and a 4-year-old sister. My mom was a clinical psychologist; she began setting up a practice within the first month that we'd moved. Up to this point I'd done well in school as a little kid, socially and intellectually. I was naturally gregarious; a born talker, I guess. I h

I spent the final spring break of my college years by myself. Instead of the standard beach trip this time, my crew--jocks, most of them, and their women--had gone to the mountains of Colorado. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't wanted to go when the plans first came up. And I'd have had a great time. Still, I'm not really a "mountains" kind of guy. No, for me it's the beach. The ocean. The sun and the surf. Specifically, the Texas Gulf Coast: Mustang Island, where I'd played as a child occasion

Ain't that the truth. :wacko:

I just posted it today. It's words John sent me yesterday.

I've been very gratified that so many people continue to discover Sam's story and are touched by it. I keep getting emails asking the same sorts of questions about the "story behind the story," though, and since it's not my story, I never feel I have the right to answer them. I generally forward the emails to John (Sam's "Brian"). Occasionally he's posted to Sam's efiction forum answering these questions but obviously that thread gets buried and people don't see it. He sent me this text last night and asked me to put it where I thought it would be most likely to be seen. I decided that it would make most sense to tag it to the end of his actual story. So here's the URL to what John had to say in response to the common questions he receives. Postscript from "Brian"

PrivateTim, on 06 December 2010 - 09:16 AM, said: We know that Andy winds up marrying Angie and they make babies together. We've known that from the first paragraph of the story. The happy ending will be that Matt & Andy are friends again and can interact with each other as they used to and know that they love each other unconditionally. It is Andy who needs to make that adjustment, not Matt. Y'all are making me laugh. You're probably making nightsky laugh too.

I understand the stuff that prompts readers to wish for certain endings. I can testify personally to how vital and life-sustaining close friends are. I hope everybody's holiday season is as warm and rich as mine is. I wouldn't miss this time of year for all the money in the world. Here at Casa Phillips we always use it to focus on the good things we have in our lives.

Wow. Some kindred spirits here.

Now, now. Patience. Anyway, somehow I think you'll be the first to know. ;-)

Hey--I have at least seven other stories planned. I can't get to them if I don't finish CC, right? CC will most likely be the slowest, because the author has a special relationship with it. But for that reason, it's for damn sure gonna get finished.

Thing about it, though, is this: Isn't a lot of life like that? At least sometimes? And if this were just a story of two best friends loving each other...well, what would provide the energy that drives the storyline? In a sense, isn't all storytelling about people encountering a difficulty and responding to it? And in the course of doing so, they learn things about themselves, and about life, and about others...and they grow. Or maybe they're unable to do any of that, and they fail. Either way, to me stories are a small slice of the whole global human drama that is played out in the billions of human lives on the planet. And somehow in those stories we lift up those things that are most valuable about living, and look into the face of the things that are most destructive in living...and we come away, hopefully, enriched by our reading.

Well, the story's locked, from a "plot" standpoint. Even if you haven't seen the remaining chapters yet. But I think you'll find it a very interesting ride, and as nightsky said, nobody's gonna want to slit their wrists when they reach the final sentence of the story. I may be "angsty," but I ain't cruel.

My work is done here. 35 or 36 now.