the bff

We had attended school together our whole lives. We knew each other intimately. We didn’t always get along, but each of us had our role and we played it out. Some of us had been together since kindergarten, the rest arriving in second grade. The six of us knew that we were chosen. Chosen to be smarter, harder working, more musical, more creative, just chosen. Divine choosing—not predestined or anything, just chosen. God had huge plans for us. He was going to use us dramatically to increase His kingdom. All we had to do was prepare and wait to see what would happen. Seventh grade had a surprise for us. Seventh grade was when Ashton thought he could simply join in on our chosen status. We played the role of the stereotypical private school exclusivity to perfection. I played it best, truth be told. I am and always have been fiercely loyal to the people and places I love and know. I thought that meant protecting from new, outside influences. At the beginning of seventh grade, in walks Ashton, from a town nearly thirty minutes away, acting like we were all going to be fast friends. What a chump!
Ashton: I hated him. I hated everything about him. The way he talked, the way he looed, the way he moved. Hate. Hate. Hate. I could move into a monolog directly from the Grinch’s own mouth, but I will resist the temptation. Let me tell you this fact though. We had this picture of a monkey in one of our school books. While I have always loved animals, there has always been something revolting about monkeys to me, on a primal level. Well, Ashton had a talent. He would hold up this monkey picture to his face, then press his lips together and fill his mouth with air. His lips would balloon up to where his upper lip would nearly cover his flaring nostrils. In addition, he would pull out both his ears so that they were at right angles to his face. Put a little fur on, and he would have been the missing link. Wouldn’t you hate this disgusting, stupid primate of a boy?
To top it off, Ashton chose me to be the one he would emulate. The boy would follow me everywhere, like a monkey that thought he was a little cute puppy dog. That monkey was damn wrong. He would always be cheerful and friendly. He would go out of his way to be nice to everyone, especially me. He would tell jokes and people would laugh. I would scowl. Oh, oh, oh, he played chess. Not only that, he played in chess tournaments. And WON!!!! Disgraceful. It is bad when a short red head, recently fat, with thick glasses, braces, and the world’s most intensive case of acne thinks you are an embarrassment. That is when you know you should accidentally throw yourself in front of a stampeding herd of elephants. How I wished he would do that. It would be an appropriate end to such an obnoxious little monkey, don’t you think?
Of course, Ashton sat right behind me in our class, all day long. I could feel his infested germs slithering, lumbering, and pole vaulting from him over to my desk and into my soul. I would not stand for it! I took my perfectly sharpened pencil and turned it backwards in my left hand. I brought it forward and then slashed it back behind me in blind furry. I felt it sink into his fleshy calf. I jerked my pencil down so that the lead remained embedded in his leg. For ten years, you could still see the penetration point. I never do anything half-heartedly.
Not all of my defenses were predetermined. One day while we were on the merry-go-round (What? Merry-go-round in seventh grade seem strange to you? Get off your high horse. You need a lesson in humility, obviously) we were all straddling the bars, tempting fate and gravity. I took my bread stick and swung it at Ashton’s face, trying to hit him. He blanched backwards. A little too hard. He flipped over the side and his head collided with the edge of the merry-go-round. Isn’t that a lovely picture? Monkey boy’s feet above the merry-go-round, his head nowhere to be seen? We all jumped off and gathered around him on the ground. Blood was everywhere—all over his hands and face. I shot off like a rocket. I found a teacher and she came over to inspect the drama. He had to go to the emergency room. He sent a message back to me that he was not upset, that he knew it was an accident, and he didn’t want me to worry. Well, fuck him. I was not worried. Well, I was, but only that I might get in trouble. Where was that herd of elephants, anyway? To this day, when he gets his hair cut short, you can see this three-fourths inch scar across the back of his head where hair refuses to grow. It still makes me smile.
Something happened in the middle of seventh grade. Something I still am not sure how it transpired. Monkey faced Ashton became my very best friend I would ever have. We pledged our eternal friendship to each other. We promised that when we went to high school that we would help each other stay strong in the Lord and win souls for Him. Indeed, through all the hell that I faced my first two years in high school, Ashton was one of four that stayed by my side—not matter what grief that could have caused them.
Ashton left Missouri and moved into my apartment in Denver, just a few months after we graduated with our perspective Bachelor degrees—his in business or some such nonsense and mine in youth ministry—so much more useful.. After my therapist and my family, Ashton was the first person I told that I was gay. Well, kinda. I spent over an hour sitting by him on the couch simply saying “I have something to tell you. I’m not. . . . I’m not. . . I’m not. . .” for over an hour. By the time I finally got out the word “gay,” it was a relief to him, since he had figured out what I was going to say about ten minutes into the conversation. I think the final installment of that sentence was. “I’m not gay, but I struggle with same-sex attraction.” I thought I would loose my best friend. We were raised with the same views and beliefs so I knew what this information would mean to him. He promised that he would help me with it and reassured me that he loved me. I should have let him stab me with a pencil and breadstick to show my gratitude.
In the sixteen years that we have been friends, Ashton is single handedly the friend who affected my life the most. He challenged me to think, to have faith, to be more open to people, to remain true to God. He is the definition of what a true friend is. The two years we lived together were two of the most magical years I had ever experienced. We would discuss the true meaning of life and plan all the great things we were going to do change the world. We would go on trips and adventures ranging from camping to Hawaiian vacations to five-star dining. It was the first time in my life where I felt I could be completely honest, mess-up, and still be loved.
I knew he was going to leave me about six months before he told me that he was going to move back to Missouri to be with his family. I did not know how to stop it, I was in a constant state of desperation and near panic. It was just a feeling. A feeling I combated with much prayer and fasting. It was just a feeling, but almost all of my ‘feelings’ prove themselves correct. Ashton was all I had. I could not survive without him. The day came when he moved back home to the Bible-Belt. Feelings are not always just feelings. Ashton left me. He chose something else over my love and companionship. My world crumbled. I would never let myself be in the position to have someone leave me again—promise. If I was, I would leave first. Try and stop me!
At some point in the weeks that followed, I realized that I had been and was still in love with Ashton. While I always knew I would have devoted my life to him if he had asked, this was a new thought. It was disgusting. Not only because it was sinful and wrong, but also because he was my brother. I never had any sexual attraction to him, but I was in love with him as surely as anyone. In fact, for a Christian boy, it was not really that bad of deal. I could be in love with my straight best friend. He would never need to know and I would never have to go to Hell because my feelings could never be acted upon. What does it matter anyway? He moved away. He left. He left me—his best friend. He left me, the man who loved him. He left me. Everyone leaves. Everyone.
I am no longer in love with Ashton. I love him as much as I ever have. He is now married to a wonderful woman and they just had their first child, a son. That’s right. Monkey Face has a child. Actually, Monkey Face grew into an attractive man. Go figure. While we only get to talk every other month or so now, it is a friendship that means as much to both of us now as it did when we were twelve. It is good he moved. He found the woman he is meant to love. Now, I have the chance to find the man I am meant to love. It for sure will not be some straight guy. Been there, done that!