He's Leaving Home
by alterego-lab
like two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl
start of May 2011
The phone has been ringing non-stop. Sometimes he lets it ring until it stops by itself. He's tired of answering and hearing hostile voices or yet another pat on the back, another support message. He wants to be left alone. That's all.
He doesn't know how to act about it anymore. It's hard to face the storm he's caused by himself, little less to face anyone else. His teammates. His coach. His fans. The rivals. So he's been indoors for a while. He looks around: there are lots of takeout boxes, but the room doesn't look messy. It just shows signs of his own imbalance.
He knows this will never end. Yes, sure, it will die down, eventually. But end as in disappear as if it never happened? No. That will never occur. He will always have to live with it, with what has happened.
So this is that moment in his life when he most wants to be able to crawl into the tight space behind his eyelids and hide there forever. He never thought he would ever feel this way; he always imagined himself strong and, in a way, invincible. But this, this is scarring him in ways he could never have pictured before.
He sits on the sofa gazing at the black TV screen. He feels empty. Emptied. He cannot decide if he should pick up the phone and order another Pad Thai or make himself some pasta. He knows any sort of activity will take his mind off of it and perhaps ease the suffocation he feels, but perhaps he deserves this, the torment. He's about to reach for the phone when there's a knock at the door.
Now, who could be that bold as to actually pay him a visit when he's been in reclusion for three, or is it four days now? He gets up, moving like an old man, a hand propping his back. His last few hours of motionlessness have taken their toll. Slowly he goes to the door to open it, not bothering to respond verbally to the knocking.
When he opens the door, it's Bojan on the other side. And for the first time in what seems like ages, Sergio manages to crack a smile.
*
When he thinks about how it used to be, it's hard to understand how it got to this. Back in their Masia days, Sergio was ever so quiet, unobserved even when he tried his best to draw people's attention. How he now finds himself in the middle of a gigantic scandal is beyond Bojan's comprehension. But he doesn't say a word about it. He isn't there to ask questions or to encourage his friend.
He's there because he needs the peace and quiet Sergio can offer. The tall boy, a boy still, with awkward social skills and a weird way of saying things, is Bojan's sole refuge now, when the tempest is about to hit.
A port in the middle of a storm is still a port, and Bojan knows he's safe in Sergio's lair, sitting on his couch and eating takeout Italian food. He's safe from all the decisions he has made and the others he is yet to make.
And that's the only thing he needs.
*
Sergio welcomes Bojan, not without relief. Bojan doesn't ask questions, Bojan's eyes do not grill him like the detective in LA Confidential does the suspects. Bojan is another convict, just like he is, another victim of the system.
And even his self-imposed solitude is better shared with someone that somehow shares the same sins. He looks at Bojan, sitting slumped, almost draped on the couch, looking so absentminded and down, and it tugs at his heart. How could this happen, he thinks. Bojan was such a promise, such a riot. When he first met him, Bojan was a star. Shining brightly, enriching all their lives with his laughter and beauty and his talent. Bojan would go far, anyone could see that with the naked eye and he would go far because he had the moves, he had the energy, the enthusiasm and he was working hard, just like everyone else.
Now he's a broken man, a boy with nowhere to go, forced to leave home - surely - just to find a future that is as uncertain as anything.
Life isn't fair.
Sergio wishes he could do something for Bojan, say anything to make the younger man feel at least a little bit better. But he doesn't know how to do this, how to engage another person into a conversation, into an embrace, into a kiss. He's just as broken.
So they remain sitting on the couch, looking at each other from time to time, just sharing the scarring badge their future now represents and reminiscing about happier, simpler times.
*
Even in their Masia days they didn't exactly have something easily definable. Sergio was infatuated with Bojan from the very first time they met, but his timidity never allowed him to actually try to explain to the other boy how he felt. Bojan saw in Sergio the only person that would not try to lure him and use him up, the one person he could trust.
So they'd spend many hours just sitting together, barely talking, just allowing their thoughts to wander freely. There were some crude attempts of tenderness on Bojan's part, but Sergio always reacted awkwardly to anything that implied prolonged physical contact, so Bojan retreated each time, understanding he shouldn't mess with their friendship.
Sometimes Sergio wanted to touch, be touched in return and sometimes he reached out. But Bojan wasn't his and he didn't want to mess up the glorious boy he loved so intimately. And sometimes Bojan too thought of just going all the way; he could tell Sergio would give in eventually. But somehow he knew sex would mess things up, so he never acted on it.
When Bojan started playing for the senior team, about a year before Sergio would, their moments together became rarer and rarer, finally coming to a stop as Bojan had less and less time for himself. Once Sergio was called up as well, Bojan seemed to have moved on, and their friendship was a thing of the past.
But now as they share the couch again, gazing at the ceiling, it feels like they have gone back in time. Like they're two teenagers again and that their problems don't even exist.
Bojan makes the first move, because he's the one that left first, he's the one that returned and it's always been his move to make. He reaches over to Sergio and there's no mistaking his intention, as Sergio knows his friend is not pretending to be reaching for the remote or some other thing. Bojan's hand is on Sergio's thigh and his face is close to his, and their eyes are locked together.
Sergio's breath hitches and the place where Bojan's palm is touching him burns. He knows that in a matter of seconds, they could be rolling off the couch in the midst of a hungry, long repressed kiss and finally see if this was meant to be a relationship or nothing more than pursuing their lust.
They both sense they're at a crossroads and that starting something now, when their paths may separate very soon, isn't right. But they both need to focus on something else, even if for a little while, to be able to forget their troubles and just have one shared moment of bliss.
Bojan leans in and kisses Sergio on the lips, slowly, sweetly, without pushing too much, allowing the other to accept and deepen the kiss, to trace the boundaries of their relationship once again.
Sergio kisses Bojan back, but restrains himself from anything too daring. The kiss is just lips caressing lips. He places his hand on top of Bojan's and they break apart.
They look at each other for the longest time, green eyes locked with dark ones communicating what their lips and what their words could not. Sex isn't the solution; it would only become one more problem.
"I'm going to leave at the end of the season."
"I know."
So they cuddle, and just being wrapped around one another under the warmth of the blanket is more than enough. The night is uncomfortable and yet amazing, the boys drawing strength from one another and being able to think straight for the first time in days.
In the morning Bojan prepares to leave. Something in his heart has changed during the previous night and even if the issue remains and it is still him who has to deal with it, the experience has proven more helpful than he thought. Sergio will always be there for him, no matter where he goes.
Sergio watches Bojan put his shoes on. If after everything his younger friend has gone through these past three years he still manages to smile, he too can find the inner strength to surmount his most recent scandal.
They shake hands and hug in the doorway. Bojan walks away, without turning back as he gets into his car. Sergio watches him leave for a few seconds before shutting the door.
Bojan drives away with a secret smile on his face. It will be all right.
Inside the house, Sergio looks at the mess he's made and starts cleaning up. It'll all work out eventually.
Notes
like two lost souls swimming in a fishbowl
start of May 2011
The phone has been ringing non-stop. Sometimes he lets it ring until it stops by itself. He's tired of answering and hearing hostile voices or yet another pat on the back, another support message. He wants to be left alone. That's all.
He doesn't know how to act about it anymore. It's hard to face the storm he's caused by himself, little less to face anyone else. His teammates. His coach. His fans. The rivals. So he's been indoors for a while. He looks around: there are lots of takeout boxes, but the room doesn't look messy. It just shows signs of his own imbalance.
He knows this will never end. Yes, sure, it will die down, eventually. But end as in disappear as if it never happened? No. That will never occur. He will always have to live with it, with what has happened.
So this is that moment in his life when he most wants to be able to crawl into the tight space behind his eyelids and hide there forever. He never thought he would ever feel this way; he always imagined himself strong and, in a way, invincible. But this, this is scarring him in ways he could never have pictured before.
He sits on the sofa gazing at the black TV screen. He feels empty. Emptied. He cannot decide if he should pick up the phone and order another Pad Thai or make himself some pasta. He knows any sort of activity will take his mind off of it and perhaps ease the suffocation he feels, but perhaps he deserves this, the torment. He's about to reach for the phone when there's a knock at the door.
Now, who could be that bold as to actually pay him a visit when he's been in reclusion for three, or is it four days now? He gets up, moving like an old man, a hand propping his back. His last few hours of motionlessness have taken their toll. Slowly he goes to the door to open it, not bothering to respond verbally to the knocking.
When he opens the door, it's Bojan on the other side. And for the first time in what seems like ages, Sergio manages to crack a smile.
*
When he thinks about how it used to be, it's hard to understand how it got to this. Back in their Masia days, Sergio was ever so quiet, unobserved even when he tried his best to draw people's attention. How he now finds himself in the middle of a gigantic scandal is beyond Bojan's comprehension. But he doesn't say a word about it. He isn't there to ask questions or to encourage his friend.
He's there because he needs the peace and quiet Sergio can offer. The tall boy, a boy still, with awkward social skills and a weird way of saying things, is Bojan's sole refuge now, when the tempest is about to hit.
A port in the middle of a storm is still a port, and Bojan knows he's safe in Sergio's lair, sitting on his couch and eating takeout Italian food. He's safe from all the decisions he has made and the others he is yet to make.
And that's the only thing he needs.
*
Sergio welcomes Bojan, not without relief. Bojan doesn't ask questions, Bojan's eyes do not grill him like the detective in LA Confidential does the suspects. Bojan is another convict, just like he is, another victim of the system.
And even his self-imposed solitude is better shared with someone that somehow shares the same sins. He looks at Bojan, sitting slumped, almost draped on the couch, looking so absentminded and down, and it tugs at his heart. How could this happen, he thinks. Bojan was such a promise, such a riot. When he first met him, Bojan was a star. Shining brightly, enriching all their lives with his laughter and beauty and his talent. Bojan would go far, anyone could see that with the naked eye and he would go far because he had the moves, he had the energy, the enthusiasm and he was working hard, just like everyone else.
Now he's a broken man, a boy with nowhere to go, forced to leave home - surely - just to find a future that is as uncertain as anything.
Life isn't fair.
Sergio wishes he could do something for Bojan, say anything to make the younger man feel at least a little bit better. But he doesn't know how to do this, how to engage another person into a conversation, into an embrace, into a kiss. He's just as broken.
So they remain sitting on the couch, looking at each other from time to time, just sharing the scarring badge their future now represents and reminiscing about happier, simpler times.
*
Even in their Masia days they didn't exactly have something easily definable. Sergio was infatuated with Bojan from the very first time they met, but his timidity never allowed him to actually try to explain to the other boy how he felt. Bojan saw in Sergio the only person that would not try to lure him and use him up, the one person he could trust.
So they'd spend many hours just sitting together, barely talking, just allowing their thoughts to wander freely. There were some crude attempts of tenderness on Bojan's part, but Sergio always reacted awkwardly to anything that implied prolonged physical contact, so Bojan retreated each time, understanding he shouldn't mess with their friendship.
Sometimes Sergio wanted to touch, be touched in return and sometimes he reached out. But Bojan wasn't his and he didn't want to mess up the glorious boy he loved so intimately. And sometimes Bojan too thought of just going all the way; he could tell Sergio would give in eventually. But somehow he knew sex would mess things up, so he never acted on it.
When Bojan started playing for the senior team, about a year before Sergio would, their moments together became rarer and rarer, finally coming to a stop as Bojan had less and less time for himself. Once Sergio was called up as well, Bojan seemed to have moved on, and their friendship was a thing of the past.
But now as they share the couch again, gazing at the ceiling, it feels like they have gone back in time. Like they're two teenagers again and that their problems don't even exist.
Bojan makes the first move, because he's the one that left first, he's the one that returned and it's always been his move to make. He reaches over to Sergio and there's no mistaking his intention, as Sergio knows his friend is not pretending to be reaching for the remote or some other thing. Bojan's hand is on Sergio's thigh and his face is close to his, and their eyes are locked together.
Sergio's breath hitches and the place where Bojan's palm is touching him burns. He knows that in a matter of seconds, they could be rolling off the couch in the midst of a hungry, long repressed kiss and finally see if this was meant to be a relationship or nothing more than pursuing their lust.
They both sense they're at a crossroads and that starting something now, when their paths may separate very soon, isn't right. But they both need to focus on something else, even if for a little while, to be able to forget their troubles and just have one shared moment of bliss.
Bojan leans in and kisses Sergio on the lips, slowly, sweetly, without pushing too much, allowing the other to accept and deepen the kiss, to trace the boundaries of their relationship once again.
Sergio kisses Bojan back, but restrains himself from anything too daring. The kiss is just lips caressing lips. He places his hand on top of Bojan's and they break apart.
They look at each other for the longest time, green eyes locked with dark ones communicating what their lips and what their words could not. Sex isn't the solution; it would only become one more problem.
"I'm going to leave at the end of the season."
"I know."
So they cuddle, and just being wrapped around one another under the warmth of the blanket is more than enough. The night is uncomfortable and yet amazing, the boys drawing strength from one another and being able to think straight for the first time in days.
In the morning Bojan prepares to leave. Something in his heart has changed during the previous night and even if the issue remains and it is still him who has to deal with it, the experience has proven more helpful than he thought. Sergio will always be there for him, no matter where he goes.
Sergio watches Bojan put his shoes on. If after everything his younger friend has gone through these past three years he still manages to smile, he too can find the inner strength to surmount his most recent scandal.
They shake hands and hug in the doorway. Bojan walks away, without turning back as he gets into his car. Sergio watches him leave for a few seconds before shutting the door.
Bojan drives away with a secret smile on his face. It will be all right.
Inside the house, Sergio looks at the mess he's made and starts cleaning up. It'll all work out eventually.
Notes
- Sergio and Bojan were part of the same Juvenil A team when the former was 17 and the latter 15;
- since the whole Busquets racism gate was far from being solved as most people would've deemed satisfactory, I chose to gloss over his possible guilt and his torment could be perceived both a guilty conscience or as a scapegoat's lament; for that reason alone, I also decided to focus more on Bojan's side of the drama;
- motto taken from Pink Floyd's song Wish You Were Here;
- Title paraphrases the title of the Beatles song She's Leaving Home;
- mostly inspired by my trip to Amsterdam in October 2011 where I met a guy with a troubled past and spent 4 days of emotional recovery and drainage alike. His character's Busquets, and I am Bojan's unwavering spirit. The guy loved Pink Floyd and that song in particular;
- Bojan's comments after the final game, where he was captain and scored his final goal for Barça, left no room for interpretation: he knew he was going to leave already;
- beta'ed by the ever wonderful and eternally helpful calypso_63, thank you ever so much hun.