Claire's Window

He didn't know he was gay when he asked her out. Obviously. Or maybe he had his suspicions, but thought that having a girlfriend would solve all his problems. She was probably his last ditch attempt at being normal, and if she'd been smart, she might have wondered why Wes had never had girlfriends in the past, unlike all of his friends... But Claire hadn't ever claimed to be smart. She was just happy to finally be kissing the beautiful boy next door.

She'd been in love with him for two whole years, ever since his family moved onto their street. Even back then, their parents had kidded about the two of them being sweethearts. She'd been mortified, fearful that her crush was so evident. He just laughed, winking at her like they were already the best of friends, sharing an old joke.

They'd been fourteen then. Twenty-five months later, he knocked on her door and asked if he could take her to the movies. She said yes, of course, cringing on the inside because her answer had been too quick, too eager. He grinned lopsidedly, the same smile that had made her fall for him the first time they met, and said he would pick her up the next night.

She could have hugged herself with joy. At first her parents were nonplussed by her sudden elation, but they soon found out.

“Well it's about time,” her mother had said, grinning. “You two have been dancing around each other forever!” Claire took this as a woman's wise way of saying she and Wes were soulmates.

Their first date went well, great even, in her opinion. So did their second, and third. Soon enough they were a couple. They lived in each other's houses; his was like a mirror version of hers, with the stairs on the opposite side and all the rooms flipped over, so that her bedroom looked over the side-lawn straight into his. They'd wave and mouth “goodnight” through their windows.

For one whole year, she couldn't imagine being happier. She didn't even stop to imagine that Wes might not be filled with the same indescribable love and joy. It was only towards the end, when he became increasingly distant and unresponsive, that she began to worry. But even then, the truth never occurred to her. It wasn't even a possibility. So what if they hadn't slept together? That just set them apart from the other couples their age who were ruled by their hormones. And who cared if some of the guys at school made jokes behind her back?

In retrospect, the only other person apart from her who didn't know that Wes was gay, was Wes himself. Denial was far more than just a river in Egypt, it was an ocean that they'd both been swimming in for far too long. When he finally came out to her, turning her whole world upside down, she'd wanted nothing more than to just be able to dive straight back in. But that wasn't possible, so she found another way of getting through the day.

She doesn't think of it as spying. In all honesty, the first time was a complete accident; she had unintentionally glimpsed Wes and the other boy, on account of their bedroom windows facing each other. This had been three weeks, or maybe a month, after she and Wes broke up. For some reason she had thought she would keep track of the exact number of days, but she didn't. Time doesn't seem to matter much when your heart has been broken.

But at any rate, that first day, when she saw the two young men through the window, it hadn't been on purpose. Actually, she would much rather have never caught sight of them. When she saw Wes lean forward and nervously kiss the other boy, visibly trembling as if doing it for the first time (and it truthfully may have been), it was as if someone had punched Claire in the chest. All the breath was suddenly knocked out of her, and she felt a little queasy. But she couldn't bring herself to look away.

Wes stepped back from the other boy, perhaps embarrassed or ashamed, but then the boy pulled him closer again, and they kissed for a second time. This kiss was longer; in Claire's eyes it went on forever. Wes cupped the boy's face in his hands, and the boy ran his fingers through hair that Claire knew to be almost impossibly soft to the touch. They kissed and embraced for a long time after this, and Claire didn't move from her spot, except to lean more comfortably against her bedroom wall.

This has become something of a ritual; she watches Wes, bearing witness to his new life. Neither him nor the other boy ever see her; they only have eyes for each other. Claire often wonders how she feels about this boy; surely jealousy is expected, or even hatred? But she doesn't feel anything, except cheated. And, of course, the aching hasn't come to an end yet. Every now and then, when she's at school or walking home, she will see Wes, and he'll see her. And he'll smile, anxiously, because he knows he hurt her and he never wanted to. Claire loves him for this reason and a million others.

Yesterday, he was mowing the lawn as she got home. He quickly turned off the mower and called out her name. She was tempted for a second to pretend that she hadn't heard him, but after going for so long without hearing his voice, she couldn't. She paused at her front door, then turned to face him as he walked over. He looked odd, and Claire realized he probably hadn't expected her to pay any attention, and now had no clue what to say. Claire was similarly lost for words, so she decided to let him start. Eventually, he asked;

“How are you?”

“I'm alright, thanks.” She smiled unconvincingly, and did not ask how he was.

“I wanted to apologize again,” he said. “I feel that the whole time we were going out, you were being made a fool of... Wait, that didn't come out right. You're not a fool. What I meant was, I spent a long time lying to you, and an even longer time lying to myself...”

“I think our relationship made fools out of us both,” Claire said, wanting so badly for this torment to be over. Wes nodded.

“I just wanted to tell you again, I'm sorry.”

“I hear you have a boyfriend now,” she said, out of the blue, surprising even herself. Wes looked at her, wide-eyed.

“I didn't think anybody knew.” They probably didn't, Claire thought, as she only knew by her own unorthodox means. She shrugged, in a way that suggested the whole town knew.

“Well, I'm happy for you.” It was the biggest lie she'd ever told, but her smile was more convincing than the last one. “You really deserve somebody.” She was about to go inside, when another thought struck her. “Wes?”

“Yeah?”

Claire said nothing for a few seconds, then; “Never mind.”

She'd been about to ask him a question. If you were straight, would you love me? Could I have been the one for you? But, as curious as she was, Claire knew deep down that people really don't want all of their questions to have answers.

Tonight, they slept together. Claire didn't see much, they were under the covers for most of the time, but every time she saw the sheets move, she felt a tightness in her belly. She was glad she couldn't hear their moans, and after a short while decided to step back from the window. She's never asked herself why she does this; why she feels compelled to observe these new chapters of Wes's life that have nothing to do with her.

He's become a completely different person recently, and she hasn't changed at all. Wes has different friends, good people who don't judge him or spread rumours the way that his old gang did. He walks more confidently, as if everything about him is more open. His smile is the same. It's the lopsided grin he had the day he asked her out when they were both sixteen, only now he smiles for the boy in his room, not for her. Whenever he looks at Claire, his smiles are wistful and sad.

She's back at the window now, and they are both dressed, thank God. They are talking, and Claire is reminded of a silent movie. She starts to put words in their mouths, imagining the course of their conversation. “I'm sorry, other boy, I can't be with you. I still love Claire.” Or: “I'm not really gay, it was just a phase.” In real life, she is slowly letting go of such hopes. She sees Wes speak again, and even though her lip-reading is amateur at best, the tightness in her belly worsens.

No, she must have imagined it. He can't be saying that, the thing she had said to him one night months ago. He'd listened to her speak, and replied by telling her he was gay. Now he's saying the words to this new boy, words he'll never say to her. The boy says something back, and now they are kissing, arms wrapped so tightly around each other that it becomes unclear where one ends and the other begins.

Feeling sick to her stomach, Claire leaves her perch on the windowsill and walks downstairs. Mum is in the kitchen, washing dishes. She looks up when she hears footsteps.

“What's wrong, girly?” She asks. “Can't you sleep?”

“He's in love,” she whispers. Her mother instantly knows who she is talking about, and puts her soapy hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer.

“He's in love,” Claire says again, louder this time. Then, she starts to cry.

After this, she doesn't watch Wes anymore. She doesn't go out of her way to avoid him, but when he catches her eye in the street, her gaze doesn't linger on him or the stunning young man who is always around. She allows herself to feel jealous, too; not because she wants Wes, but because she wants somebody. Somebody who will say the words and mean them. Claire puts up blinds in her bedroom window, and the only time she will ever smile or wave at Wes is as she walks through the front door of her house, leaving him to mow the lawn next door.