Chapter Two
We are silent on the ride home. Xio-Xio is blasting the radio, the classic rock station, and making a point of banging his head lightly along with AC/DC. I have my window rolled down and my arm out, being blasted with music on one side and cold night air on the other. My face feels refreshingly frozen when Xio-Xio pulls up outside my house. Mom changed the porch light color again, this time to blue. I shake my head and pull Xio-Xio's hair a second time before I slip out of the car and into the freshly mowed grass that starts right off the curb. I can smell that fresh grass smell, the one that used to make me sneeze when I was a little kid. I can still remember Mom hauling me in while Mother mowed the lawn, giving me some antihistamines and sending me to watch Sesame Street. I remember hating grass. Now I love that smell. It reminds me that the world is a very alive, wild place, if you let it stay that way for you. "Don't let the man get you down," I quip.

"It won't be that bad," Xio-Xio reassures me. "I'll see you again soon, 'kay?"

"Yeah. Bye, Xio-Xio!"

"See you, Sky!" He stopped saying "Bye, Sky" after I ragged on him about it; I swore he did it on purpose, and he swore that he did it out of reflex. The poetic effect remains with the alliteration, but at least it isn't a rhyming poem. Xio-Xio pulls away from the curb and into the darkness, leaving me on the shortened grass. I go inside and directly up to my room. I'm not sure I want to tell any stories about tonight's adventures. I won't have to explain my lateness, as Mom and Mother are lax about curfew and have set it at one o'clock for Saturdays, and I doubt they would push me about what exactly Xio-Xio and I were doing. Maybe if I tell them that Xio-Xio and I went to see a movie, they'll feel better and hope that I'm normal and gay like everyone else.

My room is quiet and dark, even darker with my door closed. I turn on the lava lamp beside my bed and lay down. I never flop, even when I want to drop dead with fatigue. I undress horizontally, worming around to take everything off with at least one part of my body still touching the bed. As a kid, it was a game of mine. It turned into a habit that I can't seem to break. I get a kick out of it, though, so it's not like a bad habit or anything. I change into my pajamas vertically. While not as entertaining, it works better to get dressed when you're able to move freely. I dive into bed as I hear my parents coming up the stairs. The stairs creak under their feet, as does the floor outside my room as they stop and listen for a moment. I picture Mother's ear pressed to the door, her hands with their short, peony bright pink nails on the frame, and Mom crossing her arms, hands on her hips, fuzzy slippers bright against the plain cream-colored carpet. They move on soon, Mom scuffing the floor and proving my hypothesis about her slippers.

Sleep is welcome, hanging on my eyelids so heavily that when I close them, they are weighted down peacefully for the rest of the night.

Life proceeds in silence for three days. Literal silence, because without Xio-Xio, I have no one but my parents to talk to. A few of the boys at school are willing to talk to me, if I'm sitting in a desk and writing - too busy to hit on them, they think, although I wouldn't anyway - but it is trivial conversation. Nothing interesting like the conversations I share with Xio-Xio. I wonder if he's all right in a car with his parents. They must be busy scolding him about his imperfections. "Why aren't you more like Shihao?" his father will say. I hear his voice, the shrillness he affects when he is yelling at Xio-Xio, and I see his angry eyes narrowed, staring at him in the rearview mirror. "Not perfect grades, not perfect sports, not perfect socially. You disgrace us." Xio-Xio's father is not known for his kindness. He is blunt and unforgiving, and always looking for an argument. It extends from his personal life into everything else, including grocery shopping.

I only went shopping with Mr. Chang once. I will never do it again if I can help it. He scared me away with his complaints about price and his following argument with the salesclerk. "Cabbage is eighty-nine cents?" he cried in shock. "Eighty-nine? How terrible! I should call the manager here." Five minutes later, in amongst the refrigerated meat, he picked up a package of boneless chicken and dropped it in irritation. "One ninety-nine for only one pound is a horrible price. This store is trying to rob us. Mingxiong, go find a customer courtesy phone and call the manager..." I began tuning him out after that. I was too afraid to tell him that I doubted the store manager would be the one to ask about unfair prices. At the cashier, he began waving the plastic bag containing the cabbage at the clerk, shaking the unfortunate vegetable to its wilting death. "How can you charge me eighty-nine cents, plus five cents sales tax, for a plain cabbage?" he demanded furiously. "This is outrageous!" The clerk, nonplussed, said nothing as she scanned each item. "I shop here every week, and I still have to pay such bad prices," grumbled Mr. Chang, but he paid when it was time. All the way back to the house, he continued to murmur, "One hundred twenty-three dollars for groceries. So expensive! So unreasonable!"

I feel bad for Xio-Xio. His father means well, but he is too forceful and judgmental for his own good. I wonder how he's managed not to go insane. For my sake, I hope he lives through the trip back home, so that I have a living friend and not one in desperate need of a lobotomy or dead. I walk home from school on Tuesday and sit in front of the TV for hours, trying to enjoy the cut version of The Breakfast Club that's showing on VH1. Mother comes in first, at five o'clock, and retires to the bedroom, excusing herself due to a headache. Mom comes home second, at seven, and announces, "I have a surprise for you, Sky!"

I look up and see her ushering Xio-Xio into the room. "Hi, Xio-Xio," I greet simply.

"Hi," he returns. "Thanks for letting me tag along, Mrs. Burchard."

Mom nods and leaves us to ourselves. The Breakfast Club is over and some show about the notorious Hilton sisters is on. Apparently, Paris has yet another sex tape out, this time with her latest girlfriend. I don't care for the Hiltons, so I am ignoring it. "You're alive," I comment.

"No thanks to Mama." He refers to his father - the same father whose opinions of Albertsons have seriously lessened after the time I went shopping with them - as "Mama," as he was taught from childhood. Mr. Chang is short and yes, a little effeminate, but not enough that it merits being Xio-Xio's "Mama." After all, my parents are both my mothers, and I refer to them as such. "He hates me, I think. And I mean really hates me."

"Care to volunteer gory details?"

Xio-Xio sits down beside me on the couch and, comandeering my remote control for the time being, mutes the TV, now blaring about miracle tooth whitening goop from Colgate. "Wanna go to coffee again?"

Xio-Xio hangs his head and shakes his hair furiously into his face only to shove it back behind his ears with equal fury. His eyes are not the joyous crescent moons they should be; they are slits of dramatic angry, sad ebony with ink brush eyelashes shadowing them. Every inch of Xio-Xio reads depression and anger, mixed into a potent stew. It was a bad trip.

I indulge him. "Let's go."

"Moooooom," I singsong as we enter the kitchen. Mom is digging through the refrigerator in her work clothes, high heels included. "Xio-Xio and I are going to Starbucks."

Mom "hmms" at me a little, finally nodding her head yes. "Be back by nine tonight, Sky, or else." She grins and puts a package of steak on the counter, emphasizing her point. If I'm home late, I will be using extra steak on my bruises. "I'll see you hoodlums later."

"Waitasec," I rush, "we don't have Xio-Xio's car."

"Yeah, we do. I followed your mom home, remember?" Xio-Xio takes me by the wrist and leads me out. "Thank you, Mrs. Burchard!"

"No prob!" Mom calls after us.

Xio-Xio is like a madman on our way to Starbucks. He careens around corners with a liberty he never took before, and even honks the horn when the granny driver ahead of us refuses to go the speed limit. With a roll of his eyes, Xio-Xio puts the pedal to the metal and swerves around the other driver, into the other lane, and back into the correct lane. My heart thuds somewhere in my throat and I clutch at my neck to calm myself. "Xio-Xio!" I shout. "Calm down!"

Needless to say, we arrive at Starbucks ten minutes sooner than normal.

Xio-Xio orders our iced lattes in a hurry, tapping his foot in a manner very reminiscent of his father when it takes more than two point five seconds to get the finished product. The girl behind the counter smiles when he hands her the money, but Xio-Xio, so cordial under normal circumstances, doesn't return the friendly gesture. He takes his change and our lattes and sits us down by the front window so he can see the street easily. Ten minutes pass while I watch Xio-Xio watching the sidewalk. "May I ask what's going on that's so deathly important?" I inquire quietly.

"You'll see," Xio-Xio speaks for the first time since we sat down.

Another five minutes later, I am not seeing anything but the drizzle beginning to dot the gray world outside. I decide to hum to fill the unusual silence. Halfway through the intro to "Enjoy the Silence," the glass door opens and a tall, dampened boy - a man, on second glance, because he seems like a college student or so - rushes in. He shoves his longish, blondish hair out of his face and looks around. His glasses have rain on them and are riding low on his nose, so he has to look over the thin gold wire frames to see. "Xio-Xio!" he exclaims upon seeing my best friend.

Xio-Xio rises and waves him over. "Hi, Nick!"

As soon as Nick reaches our table, before he can sit down and peel off his wet sweater, Xio-Xio launches himself on him. Xio-Xio throws his arms around this newcomer's waist, squeezing them together, and presses his lips enthusiastically against Nick's slightly stubbly cheek. Looks like someone disagreed with his razor this morning, or is trying to cultivate that George Michael permanent five o'clock shadow look, though his isn't that dark. I gape as Nick lifts Xio-Xio's chin and kisses him smack on the lips. It's a real kiss, too, a movie kiss. Tongues and face-eating and all. They smile as they pull their lips away from one another. Xio-Xio moves his latte down and sits diagonally across from me, and I realize that he planned this. He chose a four person table for the exact purpose of introducing me to his lover boy.

I'm not sure what to think.

"Sorry, Sky. Let me introduce you properly," Xio-Xio tears me from my revelation. "This is Nick Devall, my boyfriend. Nick, this is Sky Burchard, my best friend in the world." He beams at both of us as we shake hands. His eyes are happy crescent moons. The good kind. I suppose I can be comfortable with Nick if he's capable of making Xio-Xio smile like that.

"I've heard a lot about you," Nick says. He pulls out a long, thin cigarette and lights up. He's lucky I like Xio-Xio and trust his judgment, or I might get up and leave right now. I don't want to put up with smoke being blown in my face. "Xio-Xio told me as much as he thought you'd let him tell."

"I haven't heard anything about you," I reply bluntly. "Xio-Xio never mentioned having a boyfriend."

Xio-Xio bows his head. The crescent moons of his eyes have changed again, now to plaintive, begging waxing gibbous moons. He is begging me for forgiveness without saying a word. I glance at Nick, who also seems to have noticed this. He's observant, I'll give him that. "Sorry, Sky," he repeats. That's all I need. I've known Xio-Xio forever. We threw sand at each other in kindergarten. We traded bubblegum in first grade, and figured out puberty and sexual orientation together. We stuck together when I found out I was straight in fourth grade. We danced at the first school dance in seventh grade, letting people say what they would about our friendship being more. We have been through everything together. Just because Xio-Xio has a boyfriend doesn't mean that I'll run out on him. He wouldn't run out on me if I were to get a girlfriend.

"'S fine," I assure him.

Nick blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth, thoughtfully directing it away from me. I decide that I'd better play daddy and make sure he's right for my baby. "What is it you do, Nick?" I ask cordially, sipping at my latte uncharacteristically slowly. I have the mature adult part down pat. Let's hope it's effective and gets him talking about school or his job. Something that will reveal what kind of person he is.

"I'm a junior in college," he replies. Another drag on the cigarette. "I'm a manager at the Hastings down on Birch Street." Another exhalation of raincloud gray-blue smoke. "Don't worry, I'm safe, and except for the nicotine habit, I'm clean." He leans over and pulls Xio-Xio closer to him again, kissing his forehead. "And I love Xio-Xio."

"I love you, too, Nick." They kiss. Lots of tongue showing there, and teeth bitings lips. Crazed.

"Do either of you have a watch?" I wait till they are done to ask.

Nick holds up his wrist with a friendly smile. He has a Rolex ripoff, the kind you can buy at Target for about sixty bucks, max. Not bad, I have to admit. He takes care of himself. His clothes are clean and probably come from the pricier stores at the mall, from the wool sweater - he has yet to remove it - to his comfortable-looking, broken-in brown brogues. The only unkempt parts of him are his hair, which could use a trim, and his stubble. I can see the former as endearing, considering Xio-Xio's shaggy hairstyle, but the latter bugs me a little. I can ignore it, like I ignore the cigarette.

It's almost eight, I note, ceasing my observation of his clothes to get the information I indirectly asked for. "I have to interrogate you, you know," I joke with Nick. "As Xio-Xio's best friend, I have to make sure that you're going to be The One."

"Go for it." Nick taps off some ash on the edge of the table.

"How did you two meet?" I start the Inquisition.

Xio-Xio finds this highly amusing, for whatever reason. Nick smiles, too, but is coherent when he replies, "Xio-Xio came into Hastings and he was looking for a...certain book, shall we say, an educational book."

"It was Men Loving Men." Xio-Xio stops laughing long enough to speak understandably. I find myself smirking lightly. Who knew Xio-Xio was such a kinky little bastard?

"Yeah," Nick says fondly. He kisses Xio-Xio's cheek. Xio-Xio leans his head against Nick's chest, his head moving when Nick takes a deep breath. "And the employees didn't want to let him have it, so he demanded that he see the manager. I came out and saw how hot he was and I couldn't resist. I had to let him buy it. I mean, it's not every day you see this gorgeous -"

"Stop," Xio-Xio murmurs, flicking his wrist at Nick before wrapping his arms around his boyfriend again. He's burning pink-red like a valentine.

"As I was saying, this gorgeous guy with the cutest little cranky kitten look in the world." Nick kisses Xio-Xio again. "He was making angry moon eyes at them." I stare, so he starts to explain, "You know how when he's really happy or really angry and he makes his eyes like crescent moons -"

"That's what I call it!" I exclaim in shock. Nick Devall is a psychic.

"Seriously?" Nick laughs, and I laugh, too.

I laugh like I've never laughed before, all the way from my chest and from my lungs and from my heart. I laugh powerfully, sincerely, secure in the knowledge that when Xio-Xio and Nick get married, I'll never have to worry about either of them. They will always, always take care of each other. My body aches and my heart is pounding when I'm done laughing, a shooting pain in my guts that I ignore, because my gut feeling about Nick is so positive. "You two are weird," Xio-Xio announces.

"Hm-mmm," disagrees Nick. He takes a long, long drag on his cigarette and holds the smoke in his mouth for a minute before letting it trail out. It drifts through the air in wisps, leaving our table and disappearing into this familiar place where so much else has appeared and disappeared. Like the smoke, Xio-Xio and I have memories that linger here, smelling strongly and reminding us of their presence, but at the same time that have gone away. It is the first time I have ever considered cigarette smoke as a positive thing at all. Then again, most things would probably be positive if they were associated with such a cool guy as Nick. "We just so happen to both notice that you've got those crescent moon eyes."

"Mrrh," Xio-Xio mrrhs. He nestles his head closer to Nick's chest and tightens his grip.

"'Mrrh' yourself," Nick laughs softly. "It's the truth."

Forget any shortcomings I've noticed about Nick. Because if there's anything wrong with happiness like theirs, I don't believe it. I want something like that. When I find my girl, my version of Nick, I'll know, and I'm keeping her. I won't let her be smoke in my life. She has to be like Nick, a permanent fixture, necessary like oxygen.

Xio-Xio takes a deep breath. He makes his happiest crescent moon eyes at us, and I decide then and there that life is good.