Between the Shadow and the Soul - 12. Making Progress Is Overrated

September 8, 2016

I sat against the sofa's armrest with Nate's head in my lap. In my hand I held a copy of 20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, although I couldn't have said what words were on the page. Hell, I couldn't have said what page I was on.

"A penny for your thoughts."

Nate's voice startled me, but at least I didn't drop the book.

"I'm reading."

Liar.

"Liar," he parroted. He rolled onto his back and looked up at me, nestling his head more comfortably on my lap and pushing my arm, and therefore the book, over the armrest and out of the way. "You haven't turned the page for a good fifteen minutes, G-Man."

"Really? Huh..."

After putting aside the novel, I settled back, laying one hand flat on my best friend's bare chest and the other on his head, where I absently began stroking his buzzed hair and scalp, my thumb making circuits across his forehead up to his hairline and back again, my fingers gently kneading and stroking.

And I was still staring off into space.

Reaching across his own torso, Nate lightly stroked my cheek to get my attention. Then he asked, "What's on your mind?"

A deep breath followed by a heavy sigh did little to provide clarity. So I figured I needed to talk to the one man to whom I could always turn.

"Last Sunday I had a really weird experience. I wasn't sure if I was reading the signs right, but all week I've watched and all week I've seen the same thing."

After a few moments of silence, he again stroked my cheek, his warm, gentle touch like a feather. "Talk to me, dude."

Looking down at his handsome face, his chocolate skin vibrant and smooth, his dark eyes soulful and attentive, I smiled, just a little smile, one meant only for Nate.

After another deep breath I began, "This might sound silly. I'm probably reading it all wrong. You know my impressions in this area haven't been trustworthy for a long time." I shook my head hoping to rattle loose the right words.

Nate stiffened for a brief moment, surprise painting his countenance. In utter disbelief he asked, "Wait. You've noticed?"

"Noticed what?" He had my undivided attention. If he was fishing in my head again, as he was wont to do, I was wholeheartedly interested in what he'd caught.

He gave a quiet huff, one that said he'd been pleasantly surprised. "Basketball Boy."

"What about him?" I sounded suspicious bordering on leery.

Nate took a deep breath. That's when I saw the look.

He's actually considering a diversion. He's not sure if he should say what he's thinking. It's times like these I wish I could read him as easily as he reads me.

Instead of hoping for a moment of telepathy, I told him, "Just say it."

"But—"

"Don't, Nate. It's time to stop treating me like I'll break. That time's come and gone. So spit it out." And I tickled his ribs briefly to emphasize my demand.

He giggled and rolled and writhed, bucking his hips as he tried to escape my wriggling fingers. I stopped after only a moment and he settled quickly, still snickering.

"That's entirely unfair," he wailed with counterfeit outrage.

"My momma taught me to fight, so expect unfair and dirty."

He smirked, but he was already back on track when he followed it with a sigh, his eyes on mine. "He's flirting with you."

"Wait. You knew?" I was shocked, maybe a touch irked.

With a tiny nod of his head Nate answered, "Yeah... Yeah, I noticed. What surprises me is that you noticed."

"Why should that surprise you?"

"Dude..." he said reproachfully, making me feel like a dunce.

"What?" I asked innocently. Or as innocently as I could come up with.

"Greg, really, come on. If you noticed it, you're making progress." His face held unadulterated joy.

A singular thrill for my best friend is realizing I might finally be moving on. Which I am, I think. I guess. I hope.

You are! You're getting your shit together at long last. You're improving.

"And you are, you know," he said, interrupting my thoughts.

"I'm what?"

"Improving. Seeing past your blind spot means you're getting better."

Maybe I am... Would I really have noticed even a year ago? Six months ago? Probably not.

"Listen," he began, again reaching up and touching my face to keep me in the here and now instead of inside my own head, "you've had that damn black hole in your head for so long that shit like this always slips right by you. That's why you've had such bad luck with relationships, missing the attentions and flirtations that counted and seeing only the boisterous gas bags that smothered you. I'm really happy to know you're seeing things like this."

I waved my hand dismissively. "Be that as it may, that's not the point. And you're probably right. I know I usually miss a lot of signals. But I'm not interested in that right now."

"Right. Back to Basketball Boy."

"Yeah. Right."

"So he's been flirting with you. I noticed it maybe two weeks ago. Maybe not even that long."

"Why didn't you mention it?"

"If you didn't notice, what would be the point of saying something? It'd only make you unnecessarily uncomfortable, messing with your head and all given... Well, given... I mean..."

"Given The Fie—Fuck! Given Richard, you mean, and all that. Don't pussyfoot around, dude. We don't play those games with each other."

"You're right. Sorry. And yeah, given what happened with my sperm donor and where that left you, it would've been stupid to mention my suspicions about Kyle flirting with you if you couldn't see it."

"Why wake someone who has a fear of heights just so you can tell them not to look out the window because you're driving over a high bridge?"

"Precisely! 'What you don't know can't hurt you' is as false and unhelpful as all clichés, but there's a grain of truth in the idea."

"If I didn't see it on my own, why torment me with my own fear? Yeah, I see where you're coming from. You were right, too. You'd've made me paranoid and sick and I'd've freaked my shit big time."

"Pretty much."

"Don't be so quick to agree when I'm insulting myself, you asshole."

"Oh. You're right. My bad."

I smacked him open-handed on his chest, a move that made a hell of a lot of noise for the little hurt it caused. In response he jerked and giggled.

"Why do I talk to you?" I asked with as much scorn in my voice as I could muster.

"Because you love me."

"Yeah. I guess do, don't I? Although I often wonder why..."

He snickered, as did I, then he asked, "Anyway, yes, I've noticed Kyle seems to be flirting with you. Is it freaking you out?"

"Definitely," I admitted.

When Nate grabbed my hand and pulled it back to the other side of his chest, I realized it'd been sliding across his skin on its way to the phoenix tattoo, to the scar it hid, to the memories and worries associated with it.

"Thanks," I said.

"I'm here for you, G-Man." His supportive smile reached his eyes and my heart.

"So what do I do about Kyle?"

My best friend took a deep breath and let it out slowly, his lips pursed with thought. Then: "You should definitely mention it to Uncle Farid, let him know how it's making you feel. You should also ask yourself if it's bothering you so much that you need to say something to Kyle or is it something you can ignore."

"How am I supposed to ignore that? Under the circumstances, do you have any idea—"

"Yes," he interrupted, "I do happen to have an idea of why it bothers you so much. But I also have an idea that you're still projecting, looking at Kyle like he's you, which means you'd be—"

"The Fiend."

Nate tsked as he shook his head. Well, not so much shook it as rolled it back and forth in my lap.

"Richard," I said. "I meant Richard."

"Right."

"The point being?"

"The point is, dude, is it bothering you because you think a minor crushing on or flirting with an adult is inherently evil, in which case we watch the world burn for all the boy bands and movie stars and television actors who elicit oohs and aahs and teen angst from swooning kids worldwide, or is it bothering you because you think of him as you and therefore you think of you as the evil doctor and therefore you think this is history repeating itself?"

Staring into his dark brown eyes, watching him watching me, I considered his words carefully and closely.

"Because," he continued, again reaching up and caressing my cheek, "you're not him, Greg. You could never be him. So having Basketball Boy flirting with you is a compliment, and it certainly means he needs your guidance and example, but it doesn't make either one of you bad and it doesn't portend violence and horror."

He's right. I know he's right. That doesn't make it any easier.

"It doesn't make it any easier for you," he said. "But you're stronger than you think."

"That doesn't stop it from making me sick to my stomach. It doesn't stop the shakes and sweating and crippling fear. It doesn't stop the worry that I've done something wrong, that I'm still doing something wrong."

"Which is why you need to talk to Uncle Farid about it. But you also need to step back from yourself and realize this is how the world works. People flirt, age be damned. It's just life."

"Just life," I snarled. "I hardly think it's that simple."

"Yes it is. People everywhere deal with flirtations day in and day out. If you're interested, great. If you're not interested, you let them down gently. Your circumstances are special, I know, but, come on, dude, it's a human condition thing, not the end of the world."

"What would you do?"

If there's anyone's opinion I trust, it's Nate's. If there's anyone who's guidance I rely on and cherish and seek out most, it's Nate.

"Oh boy. You've got to know I don't have the same frame of reference you have on this—"

"I know. Still, you're the person I trust most. I'd really like to know what you'd do were you in my position."

"Well, I can only imagine what you feel when he flirts, what memories it dredges up, what fears it brings to the surface. Knowing what I know about what happened and knowing you as well as I do, I'd talk to him."

I waited for more, waited for Nate's keen insight, waited for his sound guidance. He, for his part, stared at me.

"And?" I prompted.

"Talk to him."

"About?"

"Duh, dude! About what you think and feel, why it bothers you. No, let me finish. I don't mean you have to tell him the whole sordid tale, although at some point I think you'll have to give him the Cliff's Notes version. That's just my opinion. On the flirting, though, I think you should explain why it wouldn't work; why, at his age, it's too early to commit; why, at your age, he's too young; why experience is important; why being swayed by someone older can do more harm than good. Ah, now you see my point, don't you?"

"Yeah..."

"What you went through gives you the perfect experience to draw on in this situation, at least when it comes to letting him know you're not the right guy for him. I'd just go with your gut feeling and your intellect and why you're flattered but not interested. Without insulting him, of course."

"Of course." I rolled my eyes like that had been the most obvious consideration in my mind.

"So you really have a date tomorrow night?"

I snarled. Why I didn't want to call it a date I was quickly forgetting, but whatever.

"I'm kidding," he told me as he brushed my cheek again, lending me strength and love with a simple touch.

"It's not a date."

"You've already said as much. I was poking the bear."

"Well... Don't."

"You sound testy."

No I don't!

"Yes, G-Man, you do. Take a Valium, dude. It's me, remember?"

I couldn't hold back the affection I felt for him. "Yeah, I remember. And thanks for talking to me about this. It's been bothering me for a week, but I wasn't sure if I was imagining it or not."

"Wasn't sure or wasn't willing to accept."

Ouch! He knows exactly what the blind spot is.

"Admittedly I wasn't sure at first. As the days passed, I was pretty sure, as though the longer it happened the easier it was to see."

"Like you're finally breaking through the blind spot."

"I don't know. Maybe."

"I hope so."

"Me, too. And thanks again. Sounding it out with you helped."

"You're welcome. I'll always be here for you."

I wonder...

* * * * *

Three hours later I'd finished the novel. Again. I'd read it many times since discovering it in my youth. Like an old friend, I often visited the story when I needed something comfortable to occupy my mind.

As I set the book aside, I glanced down at Nate. He'd fallen asleep watching mindless television.

At some point he'd rolled onto his left side, his face nestled against my abs, one hand tucked under my leg and the other tucked behind my back. His skin was warm against mine, his exhales feathery touches. I wasn't the least bit uncomfortable.

I gently rubbed his side down to his waistband and back up to his arm as my other hand lightly massaged his head and neck. He murmured, moved his head just a bit before resting his face against me. His breathing was deep and regular.

"Some day you're going to find the woman you've been looking for," I whispered as I gazed at his serene features, "and I don't know how I'll live without you."

* * * * *

September 9, 2016

"How have you been, Greg?" Uncle Farid asked as I settled on the couch in his office. Well, maybe I should call it his lounge given how comfortable he'd made it. No longer the harsh, dark, foreboding place it'd once been, the new look and furniture made it feel welcoming and comfortable.

After the briefest hesitation I answered, "Good, all things being equal."

He leaned his head down and looked at me over the top of his reading glasses. "Interesting way to put that. Care to explain?"

I took a deep breath and blew it out, then I told him, "Well, clearly all things are not equal, so I'm good in one sense and not so good in others."

"Is there something specific that's on your mind?"

"Kyle."

"The young neighbor boy you've befriended?"

"Right."

"Are you bothered by the situation as we've already discussed it or are you bothered by something new?"

"He's flirting with me."

I'd been staring out the windows, now far more fascinating than they'd been oh so many years ago when, in my teen years, this had been an oppressive little room. But I tore my gaze away from the scene outside and looked at Uncle Farid. He was looking back with an impassive gaze.

When I didn't say anything else he prompted, "And this is causing you some discomfort?"

An indignant chuckle huffed out of me before I said, "There's an understatement!"

"How does his flirting make you feel?"

"Soiled." No hesitation.

"Soiled in what way?"

"Like I've done something wrong. Or I'm going to do something wrong. Like I'm a bad person."

"You can't control what others think or feel."

"I know. But he's just a kid! A fifteen-year-old kid..."

"You're not really bothered by Kyle's flirting, are you?"

"What? Of course I am!" I wasn't happy with the implication.

Of course I'm bothered by it. I'm twice his age, for fuck's sake! He's a minor and I'm an adult.

"Please use your outside voice, Greg."

"Huh? What?"

"You're internalizing this dialog. That doesn't really help us accomplish anything." Perhaps the dumbfounded look on my face told him something, because he immediately added, "I'm very good at what I do. More importantly, I've known you since the day you were born. I can tell when you're conversing in your head."

"Oh," I said sheepishly, feeling caught and duly chastised, though why I couldn't say.

"We're making good progress, yes, but it works best if you share your thoughts with me. I can't read your mind like Nate can." He chuckled at that last statement, as did I.

"Right..." I mumbled. "Well," I began in a more solid voice, "I was thinking I'm twice his age. He's a minor, I'm an adult. The flirting bothers the hell out of me because it's wrong."

"Why do you think it's wrong?"

"Because it is. We all know it's wrong."

"You're projecting again, in this case transposing the parties in this interaction."

"What do you mean?"

"If you were flirting with him, then it would definitely be wrong. His flirting with you is a far cry from the same thing. He's young, immature to whatever extent his individual circumstances allow, and he's not flirting with a teacher or school administrator or other authority figure with whom he has to maintain a semblance of detachment."

Uncle Farid shifted in his seat, lit a cigarette, then continued speaking through the plume of smoke drifting up to the exhaust vents in the ceiling. "From what you've told me previously, this young man is just coming into his own sexual identity, likely discovering he's not strictly heterosexual."

"Probably not heterosexual at all."

"Be that as it may, through your friendship and openness about your sexuality, you've become a mentor in a way, a model in another. Most importantly, you've become a confidant and a friend, and clearly you've become the object of interest for his sexual confusion and discovery."

"But it freaks me out!"

"Of course it does, but that has nothing to do with Kyle or his age."

"It sure as hell does!" I vehemently said.

"No. The boy and his age are peripheral concerns. The central issue is you're still projecting, still blinding yourself with your own experience. This is causing you to lash out emotionally because in him you see yourself, and therefore in yourself you see Richard."

Dropping my head, feeling defeated, I mumbled, "Nate said the same thing."

"You spoke with Nate about this situation?"

"Yeah."

"Good."

My head snapped up and I looked at Uncle Farid in surprise. "Good? Why?"

"Since you're fifteenth birthday you've internalized a great deal. By that I mean you've pushed internal and external stimuli and your emotional and psychological reactions into what you call your blind spot, which is really just a mental cloud of self-deception, a form of denial. When things make you uncomfortable or bring up memories you'd rather not deal with or in any way remind you of the events with Richard, you deny the experience, you deny your feelings, you deny what you see and hear and know. You call it your blind spot; I call it clinical denial.

"You've used that black hole you created to hide from the world and to hide the world from you. In the process you shut out the people around you, grappling internally with small and large matters, some of which could easily have been resolved had you reached out to others and sought guidance, opinion, assistance.

"By reaching out to Nate in this situation, you've demonstrated that you're dealing with circumstances and situations instead of utilizing your blind spot as a catch-all for what you'd rather avoid." With a heartfelt smile he concluded, "That is to say, Greg, you're getting better."

"I wish I felt like I was."

"There's no overnight solution in this case. You know that as well as I do. This will take time. Nevertheless, you're showing improvement."

"Sometimes I wonder..."

"Because of Kyle?"

"Well, yeah. Mostly. I guess."

"What do you intend to do about it?"

"I don't know if I should do anything about it," I complained, "because he's not my son. Shouldn't his parents do something about it? Why can't I just pretend it's not happening?"

"What have we discussed about appropriate responses to sexual situations?"

"Silence equals consent."

"It's a societal failing, I know, but that's it in a nutshell."

"So if I let it go, I'm endorsing it?"

"Essentially that's correct."

"John Tunis..."

With an appreciative grin and nod of his head, Uncle Farid said, "In a manner of speaking, that's it precisely. Though we're not talking about a crime here, the idea is the same. To paraphrase Tunis for current circumstances, if you see someone doing something wrong and you say nothing, you're as much to blame as they are."

"Then I should talk to him about it?"

"I believe that would be the prudent course of action, yes."

"But he'll want to know why it bothers me so much." I sounded like a spoiled brat complaining about spinach with dinner. Ugh!

"We've already concluded that at some point you'll need to discuss your past with Kyle. Let me finish, Greg. We've discussed it, and you'll agree that a high-level overview would be best, though he may or may not need some measure of details. You've projected on Kyle and you've made it clear he knows that's what's happening. If he is indeed your friend, you owe him an explanation.

"That being said, these aren't the right circumstances for that discussion. To answer the question that just splashed all over your face, this young man looks up to you, sees you as a mentor in a sense, as an example of why what he's feeling isn't wrong or abnormal. That is to say he likely feels that you represent the successful, normal, upstanding person he can be should his sexuality not conform to heteronormative expectations.

"Thus, addressing his flirtatious behavior should be handled as a one-off situation rather than yet another symptom of your past versus your present and the projection of that tragedy onto this newfound friend."

"In other words," I interrupted, "I should talk to him about it based on his age and maturity, my age, the appropriateness of who he chooses to pursue, and all that jazz. Basically, I should treat it as a teaching moment."

"Precisely. And doing so would be best for both of you, I think, but most especially for him."

"Nate said the same thing."

"I'm not surprised. Nate's always been a perceptive and thoughtful young man. It sounds like his guidance was sound."

"As usual..." I mumbled.

"Do you have any other concerns about Kyle's flirting and your response to it?"

"No..." I took a deep breath and sighed, then added, "No I don't. I was pretty sure before I got here today what I should do. Talking it through helps me know I was on the right track. But there is one thing..."

When I didn't continue, he again peered at me over his reading glasses as he prompted, "Yes? Something else about the flirting?"

"Yeah," I blurted out, as though he'd awakened me from deep sleep, "but it's kind of weird."

"With you, Greg, everything's weird, but that doesn't mean we shouldn't talk about it."

"Aren't you supposed to be helping me?" I said while biting back a chuckle.

"Of course. And I am. But I'm also your uncle and sometimes I can't help but poke a little fun." He cleared his throat and sat up, donning some professional propriety, then asked, "What else is bothering you about the flirting?"

"It's odd, but when I first noticed it I barely made it to the bathroom before losing my coffee. I had cold sweats and shakes and was wobbly on my feet. But as the week's progressed, it's been easier to take."

"All of which makes perfect sense."

"How?"

"Here's what you need to understand." He leaned forward a bit with a studied gaze. "Your blind spot, as I said, is nothing more than denial. You've used it for many years to hide the things you didn't want to deal with or acknowledge. As you've started dismantling it, dealing with the facts rather than deceiving yourself, there's apt to be some measure of shock as you face things that you haven't faced before or haven't faced in a very long time, most of which is because you were frightened of that stimuli, which is why you hid it from yourself. Add to that a certain measure of psychological withdrawal stemming from the growing lack of protection from reality.

"All of that means, at the fore, I would have been surprised had there not been physiological symptoms. But as you further dismantle the blind spot and as you acclimate to accepting reality as it exists, even the parts with which you're uncomfortable, both the withdrawal and the perceived trauma will diminish until you're left facing the world as it is and dealing with it as it happens."

"So the more I deal with what I've avoided, the more the blind spot comes apart?"

"Not necessarily. Although partially true, you have to take an active role in dismantling the mechanism you created. Allowing yourself to deal with the things you used to deny punches holes in the blind spot, but it's also important to dig at it, to seek what you've hidden from yourself, to actively participate in its destruction."

Nodding, thinking about his explanation, I suddenly realized it all made sense. And so did my lessening horror with Kyle's flirting as well as the rapidity with which my blind spot seemed to be coming apart.

"Okay," I said with growing enthusiasm. "Okay. I got it now. That fits what I've been experiencing, so that's okay."

"Very good," he said in a pleased tone, then more seriously asked, "At the beginning of our session today you implied this wasn't the only matter troubling you."

"I did?"

You know you did!

Glancing at his notes, Uncle Farid explained, "When I asked about your 'all things being equal' comment, you said you were good in one sense and not so good in others. I'm assuming the flirting was one of the others, correct?"

"Oh yeah."

"Is there something else on your mind today?"

Do I or don't I? Is it really that important? It was a big step for me, a first, so maybe that's all it is, nothing but nerves—

"You're doing it again, Greg."

I startled at his voice. He was watching me closely, trying to hide a smirk and almost succeeding.

"Doing what?" I asked, though I knew.

"Using your inside voice."

"Oh. Right. That."

"Yes, that. Care to tell me what it is that had your synapses so fired up a moment ago?"

I wiped a hand down my face as I sighed, a sound that hovered somewhere between defeat and frustration. Then: "I asked a guy to go to a movie with me tomorrow night."

"Is this a romantic or platonic liaison?"

"Platonic," I answered far too quickly.

He waited, silently watching me, the cigarette dangling from his thin lips, his eyes squinting through the smoke that whorled and eddied and rose in front of his face.

"Shit," I moaned in a flustered tone. "I don't know. I asked as a friend, but I'm pretty sure I was thinking with romantic intentions."

"Are we speaking of Keigan, the restaurant owner with whom you've been visiting over coffee?"

"Yes."

"Setting aside your concerns, let me say I'm thrilled you did this, Greg. Once again you're showing signs of improvement."

"It's not a date!" I shouted. Then immediately: "Fuck. I'm sorry, Uncle Farid. I didn't mean to yell."

"Of course you did. And it's perfectly normal, expected even. After all, if you can't yell at your therapist, who can you yell at?"

We both chuckled, though mine came out subdued and preoccupied.

He tamped out his cigarette in the ashtray beside his chair before inquiring, "Care to tell me why you're bothered by having asked Keigan to go out with you?"

It took a few moments for me to find a place to start. Many things bothered me about it, not all of which I was ready to admit, even to Uncle Farid in the context of patient to psychiatrist.

"I've never asked anyone out before. I'm scared. I fear I'm making a mistake by rushing into something when I'm not ready, though I don't know how I'm supposed to know if I'm ready or not. I fear I've latched onto Keigan as the first—maybe only—answer to the expectations others have of me. I fear I'm hurrying because I know I can't always count on Nate being there, being the other half of me. I fear I'm going to be alone if I don't act now while at the same time I fear the idea of pursuing a mate. Not to put too clinical a spin on the whole shebang, of course. I fear I'm doing this for the wrong reasons. I fear I'm going to screw things up and alienate Keigan, hurt him, disappoint him. Most of all I fear he won't live up to my expectations."

Having scribbled on his notepad throughout my fright-filled monologue, Uncle Farid quickly perused the notes he'd taken. Then: "Let's work through these one at a time, because you'll discover there's nothing unusual about most of what scares you about this. But before we do that, let me jump to the end. You said you fear Keigan won't live up to your expectations. What expectations do you think he'll be unable to meet?"

I played the guppy again for a moment before gaining control and closing my mouth. Slowly my gaze slid from Uncle Farid to the windows, taking in the cool September day outside, the cloudy sky bringing out the richness of colors and textures and forms, the breeze causing trees to undulate and dance, the cars parading along the street, people marching to and fro, birds singing and flitting about, and all of it hushed by the glass, all of it held back by the glass, all of it visible yet separate, all of it understood yet unreachable.

"I'm going to lose him, you know," I muttered. "And it scares the shit out of me. For more than twenty years he's been there, been by my side, been the one unflinching constant I needed more than my own parents. He's the standard by which I judge everyone who wanders into my life. He's been my friend and brother and even my lover when we didn't know any better than to try it. It's hard to imagine life without him, but I know it's coming.

"He thinks I don't know why he leaps from date to date, never seeing the same woman twice. But I know. Yes, I do know. That's part and parcel of the depth of our friendship, this understanding we have of each other. So I know what he's doing.

"On one hand he's searching for the right one; on the other hand he's unwilling to pursue his own needs and desires because he thinks he owes me something. Yet here I am in therapy, 'improving' and 'making progress' according to him and you and Aunt Jan and Mom and Dad. That means the clock's ticking, doesn't it? That means there are fewer days ahead than there are behind.

"Were I to act selfishly, I'd stop coming here and I'd revert to my damaged self, crippled emotions and all. He'd stay if that happened, you know? He would. He'd stay and he'd never resent me for it and he'd spend the rest of his days being the better half of me.

"But I'm not that selfish. I couldn't do that to him. It's not part of who we are with and for each other. Instead I have to prepare for him to go, prepare for him to find the woman he's looking for so he can have the marriage and the house with the picket fence and the two cars and the dog and the cat and the teenagers he'll love and hate and the fulfillment of all the desires he's had for his life that he's put on hold for me. For me!

"Don't get me wrong. He'll never stop being my best friend. But when she comes along and when he finally realizes what he's found, things'll change.

"Change... What a cruel word, what an unpleasant taste it often leaves in the mouth, on the lips. Anyway...

"Yeah, things'll change between us. He won't be around as much, we won't see each other as much, he'll have a family and other obligations that'll take his time and attention, he'll be stretched too thin for me to rely on him, to lean on him. And over time, whether quickly or slowly, she'll take him away, our relationship will change, and eventually we'll look back and wonder why we'd been so silly clinging to each other for so long."

Turning away from the windows, turning away from the unremarkable hubbub outside, turning away from my broody, foolish jeremiad, turning back to meet Uncle Farid's unwavering gaze and locking my eyes on his, I answered, "You want to know what expectations I fear Keigan won't be able to meet? It's simple really. I'm afraid I'm looking for someone who can replace Nate when he finally moves on and I'm afraid I'm a moron for ever thinking I could find someone to replace him. So, yeah, I fear I might be using Keigan as a preemptive defense against the hurt I see in the future and I fear I'll always be looking for a second Nate and I fear I'll never be satisfied because there's only one and he's not mine to keep."