It was the Saturday before Christmas. I lay on my bed staring at the ceiling. This was not going to be a merry Christmas, at least for me. The trouble was I’d have to put up a ‘happy face’ so my folks wouldn’t catch on.

What I had to — was forced to — hide from them wasn’t that my best friend Terry had died in a traffic accident the week before Thanksgiving. They knew how sad that I’d been about his death. You know, best friend and all that. Thing is, even with him being my best friend I should be over being sad and depressed about his death by now. By now I should be looking forward to Christmas with my folks and brother and sister and my grandparents.

But I wasn’t. Maybe I would have been if Terry had just been my best friend. He wasn’t. He was the boy I’d been in love with since we met in the sixth grade, at the start of middle school. I dreamed about our being boyfriends instead of best friends. Of course, he never knew that I loved him that way. Should I have told him? Probably not. He was straight, and if my telling him I was gay freaked him he might have decided that we couldn’t be best friends anymore. Maybe I should have told him because now he was gone and it was too late.

I heard the doorbell. My folks were out finishing their Christmas shopping. I thought about ignoring it, but maybe it was UPS or FedEx trying to deliver a package. So I rushed downstairs and opened the door. It was about the last person I expected, Mrs. Lawrence, Terry’s mom.

“Uh… hi, Mrs. Lawrence.”

“Hello, Brad. Could I come in for a minute? I have something for you.”

“Oh, okay, come on in.”

I led her into the living room. “Please have a seat.”

“Thank you.” I sat across from her. She reached into her purse and pulled out an envelope. “We finally started to clean out Terry’s room. I found a sealed envelope in his desk. There wasn’t anything written on the outside, so I opened it. It contained something that he’d written. I want to give it to you, Brad. You should read it, but wait until I’ve left. You two were such great friends, best friends, and…. Well, just read what he wrote. It’s very important.”

She stood, then so did I. She handed me a birthday card size envelope, but when I took it she continued to hold it. “Remember, don’t open the envelope and read what’s there until after I’ve left. Alright?”

“Yeah… I guess. You’ve made it seem like… like it’s some sort of mystery.”

“That’s an interesting way to describe it, Brad. Keep that in mind later when you start to read.”

“Okay.”

Then she totally surprised me by walking up to me and hugging me. When she pulled back she said something that was as surprising, “If you feel like you’d like to talk to me about what Terry wrote, please give me a call. Any time, night or day.”

I stared at her for a few seconds. “Thanks. I will.”

“Brad, I’m going to leave now. I’ll let myself out. I hope you have a wonderful Christmas, and remember all of the happy Christmases past.” Mrs. Lawrence turned and walked out the front door, closing it behind her.

I looked at the envelope. I was eager to see what it contained, but for some reason I decided it would be better to open it when I was in my own room.

I sat down at my desk. The envelope had been opened, then partially reclosed with a small piece of tape. I peeled it off and opened the envelope. There were several pages of the kind of paper that’s in the booklets we use for writing essays at school. Mom called them ‘Blue Books’ even though they had black printing on the outside. The edges on the pages were printed in a light blue color. I guess that’s where they got the name.

Each sheet had Terry’s handwriting on one side. The writing went down one page and continued at the top of the next page. His handwriting was really printing, very neat printing, because he didn’t connect most of the letters together. I knew it as well as my own. I started to read.

 

 

 

 

 

 

I read and reread Terry’s notes at least a dozen times. It took that long because it’s hard to read through tears. So the accident happened when he was coming to tell me he was gay. Riding his bike down Commonwealth Avenue. He was killed when a car ran a stop sign and smashed into him. One of those new self-driving cars. They said he was killed instantly, didn’t feel a thing.

I’ve never been so sad. It’s much worse than before Thanksgiving when I found out Terry had been killed in the accident. I haven’t stopped crying. I don’t know where all my tears are coming from. The phone’s been ringing, then the doorbell. I think it’s Terry’s mom. I don’t want to talk to anyone.

Mom and Dad just got home. As usual, Mom called out, “Brad, I’m home,” when she walked in. I didn’t reply. I couldn’t. She called out again, “Brad, are you home? Brad, honey?” Then the phone rang and she answered it. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but I heard her drop the phone on the floor and open the door to the garage and shout for my dad to come in. He did, and they talked for a few seconds and then ran upstairs to my room.

Mom and Dad read Terry’s notes. Each of them read it several times, just like I had to. Mom’s been crying and holding me and Dad’s teared up too and is having a hard time holding it in and talking to me.

Kevin’s home now. He’s my older brother, 17 years old and a junior. Mom and Dad went downstairs when Kevin got here. He read Terry’s notes, a few times because he’s crying too. Then he climbed on my bed and has been holding me. He hasn’t said a word. There’s nothing to say. Nothing comforting. I’m glad he’s holding me like this. I’m less likely to do something stupid. He just said he’s going to stay with me all night, but he’s gotta take a leak first.

Kevin’s back, and he’s holding me again. My crying hasn’t stopped but the tears have. There’s nothing left to make tears. It’s all dry sobs now. Will I ever stop crying? I suppose I will. Someday.

This is not going to be a good Christmas for me. Or my folks, either. I’ve been thinking. Did they know that I’m gay? I’ll have to ask them sometime. I know Kevin knows. He started talking to me, telling me that it’s okay that I’m gay. Telling me that he’s there to support me through this. That I have to remember that I’m his favorite brother. I poke him and remind him that I’m his only brother. That’s the first time I’ve said anything since Mrs. Lawrence came over with Terry’s notes. Kevin says he’ll always be here for me.

It’s been a week. Christmas wasn’t happy or jolly or merry for me. I’m afraid that it hasn’t been happy or jolly or merry for my folks either, or for Kevin and my sister Denise. But I’m better now.

Kevin told me something just before we sat down for Christmas dinner. He can be pretty profound sometimes.

“Terry may be gone, but your memories of him will never fade. You two loved each other too much for you to ever forget. Every Christmas you’ll remember him, and those will be good memories.”

As usual, he’s right.