Britain and O'hogany
by Cheyenne

Britain's only wish in life was O'hogany.

Five months ago, they had both wandered, as high school freshman, out of the gym in search of their PE class meeting spot, wearing identical ugly gray sweats and matching irritated expressions, started a conversation about how much their altogether three hours of high school life sucked, and were friends ever since.

O'hogany wasn't the type of guy you'd expect to hang around Britain. O'hogany was athletic, a runner and a quarterback and a goalie and a center. He was a leader, joining organizations like Key Club and Amnesty, and taking them over, all the while promising he'd run for sophomore class president next year, which everyone knew he would not only do, but win. He was well-liked; there was always a crowd around him, conversations tended to center around him, and lights seemed to focus on him. He lived in a big white house on a hill with a thousand dollar security system and a mom, dad, little sister, and dog named Ringo, after his favorite member of his favorite group. His car talked. He got nothing but A's. He met the senator once because of his involvement with politics, particularly keeping the tobacco industry from gaining power among kids in their area. His eyes, hair, and skin were all gorgeous varying shades of brown, but everyone agreed his life was golden, complete with a best friend named Britain.

Britain was brilliant. He knew tons of random information about random things or people or historical events. He amazed people with that sense of off-the-wall originality in his thought process and life philosophies, and had gathered many a disapointed look from teachers because he managed to be the most thought-provoking creature they had ever taught, while getting atrocious grades. "What are you going to DO after high school?" people would ask. "I'm thinking of moving to India and becoming a goat farmer," he had once revealed, after much though, and knowing Britain, they believed him, even stopped and wondered if that was the secret of happiness, because if Britain wanted to be an Indian goat farmer, there must be something about it that they just didn't understand. "You'd be poor," someone pointed out, feeling smart for having realized something Britain must not have taken into account. Britain shrugged. "I'm already poor," which was true.

Britain had actually spent most of his life homeless, living in shelters or the homes of friends and somewhat-family with his unstable, always psyche-drugged mom, Rain. Rain was exactly thirty, sixteen years older than her son, and although she hadn't given him much of a life, she tried to. She settled in one spot so that Britain could complete school, although their constant moving had always made school hard for him, and by ninth grade, nothing could convince him to try. She tried to be in his life, talk to him, always warning him to "stay away from girls", that girls would bring him "nothing but trouble", and she especially didn't want him making her a grandmother cuz he was headed for better things. Britain would promise to stay away from girls, and his mother would be pleased. Her words were possibly the only advice she had ever given him, so Britain never let her know how truly irrelevant it was. It had a greater purpose anyway, which was bonding. They never were all that close though, and starting on the first day of ninth grade, they really grew apart when O'hogany stepped into Britain's world.

Britain loved sleeping over at O'hogany's house. It was like a castle, and he always felt like a character in a storybook, the pauper invited to live with the prince. O'hogany's parents, Christopher and Amal, would tease him that as much as he slept over they should start charging rent, but they adored the dreamy-eyed boy, as did O'hogany's baby sister, Cinnamon, who would leap into his arms at the sight of him and babble in her two-year-old linguistics that she loved him and he was her new special brother and did he want to watch Elmo's World with her.

At night Britain slept in O'hogany's bed with him, an arrangement which had surprised Britain at first, although he was not complaining. They would stay up and giggle and have intellectual discussions, and make fun of everything in existance, before falling asleep under the stars shining through the skylight overhead.

They would always wake up in the most insane positions, upside down and sideways and intertwined and all over each other, atop or beneath the covers and sometimes not even fully on the bed because they both 'slept wild'.

Once, Britain had woken up lying on his back with O'hogany's leg and arm and half his body slung over him, his head on Britain's shoulder and chest, chin tilted up so that his lips were not even an inch away from Britain's chin, and, most interesting of all, O'hogany's hand loosely clutching Britain's shoulder as if he had simply felt him in his unconciousness and held on. Britain just lied there, feeling O'hogany's chest rise and fall together with the rise and fall of his own, noticing that if he closed his eyes and focused, he could feel the other's heartbeat. He didn't mind that O'hogany was techincally dead weight and his head was cutting off the circulation in his slightly redder-than-normal and numbing arm, or that, having familiarized himself with his friend's sleeping habits, he knew the boy would not awaken for hours.

It didn't matter because having O'hogany in his arms was not an inconvenience or embarrassment or somehow wrong, like some might say. It just felt... precious.

He was so grateful for the love and friendship and closeness he shared with O'hogany, and thought he would be lost without him.

Britain lied in O'hogany's embrace for what could have been five minutes or an hour, he would never know, and thought about his friendship with this boy. He thought if his mother ever decided to jump up and move again, he would tell her no, he would not leave O'hogany, and knew for a fact that O'hogany's parents would let him stay in a heartbeat. He wondered what that would be like.

O'hogany shifted, rubbing against Britain so innocently, and somehow ending up even more on top of him. Then, still in his heavy sleep, he made the most contented sound, a soft sigh of happiness. Britain's heart melted. And he was falling...