But Owen really has been a good friend. That first week freshman year, he seemed completely lost in that statistics class. I pretended to be just as lost as he was as a reason to introduce myself. I suggested that we could meet up and figure it out together. He took me up on my offer and we’ve been friends ever since. I’d already had it all figured out, but I acted like it was a collaboration. It really wasn’t that he was gorgeous (which he was). I never dared to hope that he might be gay – I stopped hoping such hopes years ago – he just seemed like a nice person and I wanted to make a school friend. It worked out. And as a bonus, Owen didn’t fail statistics.
Being his friend made me more social too. I started going to the basketball games and even a few on-campus parties. When Owen and I had no classes together second semester, we still made a point of having lunch together most every day and spend time studying after. He took the lead in maintaining our friendship beyond that first semester. I wasn’t sure why. He had his team and lots of other friends. I was nothing special. But Owen kind of looks out for me and that makes me feel cared for and important.
Owen:
All of the guys took quickly to Enzo. I knew they would. He’s just a sweet guy. And being so different from the jocks we usually hang with, it’s cool. He is the one and only friend any of us has who shows up at all of our games. He’s always there, rooting us on. And it’s not just for show. He understands the game. We all get a kick out of hearing his post-game analysis in the kitchen afterwards. He gets into it and is passionate about heaping praise on each of us. He should be part of the coaching staff. The truth is that we are a mediocre team with a 500 record, but to hear Enzo talk about us, we’re headed for the championship. He’s just that guy.
On nights that we have practices, Enzo always cooks for us. He shouldn’t go to the trouble. I told him so. He does it anyway. He makes these authentic Mexican dishes that are part of his heritage and while they are sometimes initially intimidating to the guys, once we try them, we just fall in love. He should consider dropping out and going to culinary school, but that would make me sad. The first time he cooked for us, he made pozole. It was so simple and so delicious. Every one of us guys has loved and devoured every one of his creations. I’ve tried telling him that he doesn’t have to cook for us. That he owes us nothing. He assured me that he genuinely enjoys doing it, and I believe him. He’s just that guy.
It was Enzo who introduced himself to me way back that first week. I saw through his little act of subterfuge. He was not lost in that statistics class. He had it all figured out from the beginning. But for me, the struggle was real. I was clueless and afraid I would fail the class. Enzo unofficially tutored me. He got me through it. But he did it in this subtle way so that I never felt ashamed. Even though I knew what he was doing, he still managed to be humble and to help me maintain my pride. And I really did learn. I learned way more from him than from the professor. Yeah. Enzo is that guy.
He told me that very first day we met that he is gay. I was so impressed with how confident and self-aware he was. He slipped it into our conversation in a way that was so seamless and natural that neither of us was uncomfortable. He was obviously an experienced professional at “coming out” and he put me as much at ease as he was. It was that blunt honesty that got him through high school. While he was the only “out” person in his entire class, he won over enough people that the few assholes in the school chose not to bother him. We are in college now so I expect that there are way fewer assholes than there are in high school, but you never know. I’ve taken to kind of looking out for Enzo whether he needs it or not. He doesn’t know that I do that.
Enzo:
I have no choice but to live my life as a gay man because that’s who I am. I will not change. Given that, I need to be able to take care of myself and I think I’ve done an okay job of that so far. I am not a physical threat to anyone. At 5′ 8″ and less pounds than I care to admit, my presence is not intimidating to most middle schoolers. But I am open, direct and confident and that seems to go a long way. Owen thinks I don’t know that he’s looking out for me, but I totally do. I should tell him not to, but I don’t. He’s just that guy. He’s sweet and he’s doing something nice for his friend. I don’t want to hurt his feelings.
All of my housemates are actually good guys, but being a bunch of twenty year old boys, they sometimes do stupid things. Owen told me that a couple houses down from ours, there is a house of six stars of the baseball team. Our baseball team happens to be the regional champions, while our basketball team is middle of the road at best. For months now, there has been a lot of trash talking back and forth. Their guys flaunt their success (and their trophy) and make fun of our guys for “sucking”. Our guys point out that college baseball is nothing but a playground for losers. The best baseball players are drafted out of high school and go straight to the minor leagues. The NFL and the NBA pull their talent from the college scene. Baseball does not. The best college baseball players are nothing more than the best losers.
This has been going on back and forth for a long time. It’s all been pretty harmless. Until now. Two days ago, led by Cooper, he, Ivan and Aiden all snuck into the baseball team’s house at night and stole their trophy. Owen and Wyatt were smart enough to not only discourage it, but to stay out of it. When they found out, they both walked the trophy over to the baseball house and returned it, apologizing for their idiot teammates’ behavior.
It was idiotic, but who am I to judge? I am not in that world. Hopefully the baseball guys just accepted Owen and Wyatt’s apology and this whole little rivalry thing between the two houses can be over.
It’s Friday night and there is a basketball practice ahead of tomorrow afternoon’s game. The guys all just left and I’m alone in our house. I really do genuinely like all five of my housemates, but I do enjoy these rare moments of alone time too. I’m making enchiladas for when they get home, but the prep work is already done. All I have to do is shove two baking dishes in the oven in an hour and we’ll have a nice late night dinner when practice is over.
In the meantime I slip on my headphones, grab by chemistry book and stretch out on my stomach across the couch that is usually overloaded with too many muscly jock bruhs. I am dressed comfortably for a lazy night in. I am wearing my softest hoodie with loose sweats and my house high-tops. I have mild plantar fasciitis so I always wear shoes in the house, otherwise the hard floors would kill my heels. I own two pairs of shoes. One pair for just in the house and another for everywhere else. So, my house high-tops are on as I luxuriate on the couch. I’m more enjoying my music than reading my chemistry, but that’s fine.