My All

It's raining outside.

I always think of him when it rains ... Then again, doesn't everybody always think of lost loves and old regrets when it rains? There's something about the sound of the droplets hitting your window that releases a certain emotion in you. A sort of bittersweet sadness, I suppose. That certain shade of gray that takes over the sky when it rains has something to do with it too.

Perhaps having a poetic soul really isn't good for your health.

Sometimes I sit here and I wonder as I watch the raindrops race each other to the bottom of the glass if he's watching the same thing in his window. If he too traces the little drop with his finger as it rolls down, growing larger as it picks up other tiny raindrops on its way down, leaving a little streak on the glass.

Throw in a bit of melancholy R&B or adult contemporary music, pour a glass of bitter, dry wine, and you have yourself a perfect movie scene. Which may explain why I'm listening to Mariah Carey and actually enjoying it.

And the rain, it opens up a certain part of your mind that lets you relive memories so vividly that, if you reach out, you can almost touch him again, and you can see his eyes looking up at yours. It's such a beautiful, sad part of the human process ...

It was raining that one night.

I was eighteen years old. It was the Saturday after graduation, the night I had my big party to celebrate four years of memories with my high school friends - guys from the sports teams and girls from class. Everybody had left, the streamers falling from the ceiling, leftover pizzas on forgotten plates decorating the living room floor, and the stereo still on full volume. Matt and Shane were around too, best friends, telling me congratulations for the twentieth time for making it through four years of high school hell.

They stuck around to help me clean up, before leaving for the local "hangout" by the movie theatre, leaving Shannon, Dad, and I alone. The three of us sat around on the porch for a little while, drinking what was left of the soda and talking about what a nice night it had been, Dad discussing the good and bad about every girl that had attended the party.

Shannon and I just drank and listened to him drone on before he finally decided to leave us alone, going up to bed. The two of us sat around for a bit longer, trying to find words for the feelings swimming in our bodies before Shannon excused himself to use the bathroom. It was a musty, damp night, the air real heavy and hot, the smell of lightning just off in the distance.

I sat outside by myself, looking out at the stars, wondering about life for a while when I was swept by overwhelming sadness. I suppose every teenager goes experiences this - a feeling of uncertainty and fear combined with hope and anticipation for the future. I wasn't sure what I was going to do with my life, if anything. Everybody else was going off to college, spending this final summer with friends on road trips and going to beach week.

On the other hand, I was wrestling with my brother, trying to get a contract with the WWF. For that one moment on that damp night, I doubted myself, doubted everything I'd ever done in my life. Eighteen years old and an adult, and I had no clue who I was.

Shannon came out of the house only a few minutes later, interrupting my thoughts. I'd known him since I was maybe eight years old and we'd been best friends ever since then. Dad to tell me stories about how the first time we'd ever met, we fought over a G.I. Joe toy all day long, only to end up breaking it and amusing ourselves with fighting each other.

Destined to be friends, I suppose.

We sat silently, contemplating our futures before he finally spoke up, his voice soft and distinctly North Carolinian.

"You're going to make it." Those were the first words he uttered after we sat around for what seemed like a short eternity, trying to find something to say to each other.

The feeling of relief that washed over me when I heard those words can't even be put into coherent thoughts, much less sentences. He knew exactly what I was feeling - my fears and anxieties - and knew exactly what to say. He had that way about him.

There was a rumble of thunder after he said that, caught us off-guard, since neither of us had seen the lightning. "It's going to rain." He just looked at me when I said that and smiled.

"I know." We fell silent again, speaking without words the way real friends do. "Let's go somewhere," he suggested.

"Where?" I had no idea where to go, or what to do. Somehow, that night, I was completely vulnerable, like some God had looked down and lifted that facade all humans put on to protect themselves off of me. "The theatre with Matt and Shane?"

Shannon just shook his head. "Somewhere quiet and alone. This could be the last summer night we spend together, Jeff." He looked out into the night, a type of wisdom glittering in his eyes before turning and looking at me, smiling.

"Okay," I agreed, looking away from his glance, staring off into the night as well. "But it won't be, Shannon ... It won't be the last summer night we spend together."

He just smiled and got up, heading towards the car. "Come on." We were driving down a back dirt road only minutes later, listening to the staticy radio filling up the void of sound in the car.

"Where should we go?" I glanced over at him, he had his face resting against the window, his eyes fixed on the road ahead of us. "Or do you just wanna stop somewhere and ... just ... stop?"

He laughed a little at me, blinking his eyes as though he had tears in them. "Let's go to the Point," he suggested, catching me off guard. The point was the 'local teenage make-out place,' where couples went on the weekends behind parents' backs to explore the sexual desires that rule over their hormone-driven lives.

"The Point?" I wasn't sure if I'd heard right. Shannon and I were best friends, but we certainly weren't a couple, and as far as I knew, I was straight.

He just nodded, before grinning. "I'm not going to pounce on you, Jeff, I just want to go somewhere quiet and nice. The Point's private, and it's got a nice view."

I just shrugged and went along with it, driving in silence again until we got to the infamous field, the grass flattened by the amount of vehicle traffic. The Point was on a rather large hill in the middle of the woods. If you sat in car and looked straight out in front of you, you could see the lights of the town shopping center through the trees, and if you looked up, you could see all the stars in the sky. Truly a spot worthy of teen love novels.

I pulled into a space close to the edge of the woods, and surprisingly, no other cars were there that night, everybody probably partying their hearts out. Shannon didn't say anything once we got there, only turning off the radio and staring out the windshield, a different kind of glimmer in his eyes than I'd ever seen.

I sat for a while, looking out in front of us at the twinkling lights for a while, before finally working up the nerve to say something. "You okay?"

He just tore his eyes away from whatever he was staring at, turning his head to look at me, his beautiful hazel eyes glazed over with tears. Instead of answering, he just took my hand and held it. In the moment it took for my hand to fully grasp his, my heart rate must have tripled. We just sat together, staring out the window, not saying a word, holding each other's hands.

The rain began to fall then, the soft pattering as the droplets hitting the car creating a soft musical background to the emotions we were both experiencing. It was a soft summer's night's rain, the kind that lifts the heat for a brief while, washing you free of the burden that hot weather puts on.

"I'm going to miss you, Jeff," Shannon finally whispered, not looking at me, his voice soft and tiny. "I'm going to miss you a lot."

Not knowing quite what to say, I just smiled and gripped his hand tighter. "Why say that, Shan? We'll still see each other. It's not like I'm going off to college or anything."

"I know ..." He trailed off, thinking his own thoughts. "But it won't be the same. Everything's changing, Jeff, and I ... I'll miss you."

"Things will be better." I looked over at him, seeing the tears almost spilling over. "We're not going to separate, Shannon." There was suddenly a very large lump in my throat, one that wouldn't go away despite how much swallowing I did. A feeling that had always lingered, but never surfaced, was suddenly overwhelming me. A feeling of something very special for Shannon. Something beyond words.

"Jeff ..." he trailed off again, his thumb absently stroking my hand. "What if ..." He stopped speaking again, turning to look at me, a tear slipping out of his eye.

"What, Shan?" My heart was thudding, waiting for him to say something to explain what I was feeling inside. "What?"

"I ..." He reached up with his free hand and touched my cheek softly. "Can I ..." Instead of trying to finish yet another unspoken sentence, he leaned in and kissed me softly on the lips, one hand on my face, the other holding my hand.

His lips were soft and barely there, as though he were afraid something horrible would happen. He lingered for only a moment before drawing back, but left his hand on my face, and he looked deep into my eyes. Without another word, he slid the palm of his hand down my cheek warmly, filling a void in me I didn't even know I had, before tracing over my lips with his thumb, a small smile on his face.

"It's okay if you hate me now," he whispered, taking both his hands away from me. "But I had to do that. I understand if you want me to leave." His eyes were sincere and honest as he spoke, folding his hands in his lap.

"Shannon ..." I couldn't find the words for what I was experiencing, and to this day I can't find them. "I don't hate you. I ..." I could have sworn my heart was simply going to leap out of my chest at the rate it was beating. "I needed you to do that."

The expression of wonder and relief on his face sticks in my mind to this day, his boyish features lighting up with joy. "You feel it too?" His words were always so well thought and so soft.

Not even knowing what I felt, I nodded. "Yes." Smiling, I took his face in my hands, bringing us closer together. "I feel it too."

With that, I leaned in and kissed him again, long and sweet, not ruining the perfect purity of it by doing anything other than dwell in the soft perfection of his lips. Whether it was fate or just years of pent-up love, I knew I had to do something special with him.

I made love to him that night in the backseat of an old Volvo at the local high school make-out point while the rain continued to fall outside and we confessed our deepest emotions for each other. It was a night that released something in me that I don't understand and never will.

Maybe on that summer night, Shannon saw something I didn't, but he was right. We never spent another summer night like that again, our lives growing chaotic with our rapidly advancing careers. I seldom see him anymore, and haven't had a chance to just sit on a porch and drink soda with him since then.

We never had sex again, either. In fact, he remains the only man I've ever been with; I've never felt any sort of inclination for another man since him. Perhaps I am bisexual, or perhaps what I shared with Shannon was only meant for the two of us.

I think of him a lot now, when it rains, when the hectic schedule of my life leaves me no time to think or appreciate what life is really for. And on nights like this, I wish for him again, wish he were here with me, wish I could just talk to him.

Sometimes ... All the time, I wish I could just hold him one last time. Kiss him one last time. Make love to him one last time. Make my loneliness go away one last time. On nights like this, I'd give the world, my career, my life to have just a few hours with him.

No, having a poetic soul really isn't healthy, I guess.

But I miss him, I miss him more than words will ever tell. So I'll just sit here, sipping at a bitter wine and feeling empty, wishing for him, watching the rain outside my window.

Wondering if he feels the same.