There had to be a reason for Harry saving my life that afternoon. Maybe God does watch out for faggots after all, for only He could have made Harry come when he did and say what he had. After all, a six year-old could never have known exactly what I needed to hear.

And he had said everything I needed to hear. He said he loved me, and that he loved me unconditionally. He wasn�t lying. His was the pure, innocent love of a child, one unmarred by pride or selfishness or prejudice. I was his brother�that was all he needed to know.

This simple knowledge helped keep me alive that day, that week, and for the next twelve years. They were hard, many of those days, for I was horribly depressed, and an awful affliction like that doesn�t disappear overnight. There were many days that I didn�t want to live, and my thoughts returned to the drawer upstairs. I lived teetering on the edge, but I knew I couldn�t let myself lose control again.

No matter what happened, I�d made myself promise to live.

You�re in a pretty sad state when you wake up every day and have to convince yourself again why you should live, but I struggled through it. I suffered, but I lived to see my seventeenth birthday.

I should have gotten help. How I managed by myself mystifies me to this day, but I wouldn�t recommend my methods to even the strongest of souls. It was a stupid thing to do, going it alone, but I was too afraid to tell anyone. Hiding my feelings nearly lead to my destruction, but I�d trained myself too well to open up to my parents or teachers, or anyone who could have helped me. I�d attempted suicide�for the love of God, I needed help!

But I was scared.

The rest of my junior year was a blur. I was still sick at heart and in mind�and my Roger was still gone. My grades had slipped since I�d lost hope in everything (although slipping for me was B�s) so I began working harder on them. I�d always been extremely book-smart (even if I couldn�t figure out Macaroni and Cheese), and though I daydreamed more often than not, A�s seemed to come easily to me. Because this was the year my grades needed to be put together for college, I threw myself into bringing my grades up as high as I could. I had to think of college after all�college!

It worked out okay, I guess. By last quarter, my lowest grade was a 94 in advanced Trigonometry. Having no friends is good for your GPA, it turns out.

The senior class graduated in May. I�d always planned to go to it, but now I saw no reason to. It would be too hard to ignore the gaping absence of my best friend among the ecstatic young men and women in caps and gowns.

I didn�t go to my junior prom. I told everyone I was sick and spent the night in bed sleeping and reading my airship magazines. I pretended to be asleep every time Harry snuck in, and every time he would tickle and poke me until I�d suddenly spring up and knock him down with a swift whap from my pillow (but a nice one, I promise!) Then Mum would holler for him to �stop bothering your poor sick brother!� and he�d run giggling from my room. Overall, I thought my night was a much better alternative to standing in a corner of a dance floor sulking.

I spent the entire summer on my airship�MY airship, for my father officially turned ownership of it to me that June�and I was truly happy for the first time in a long time. It was hard to be depressed when the luscious sun shined on me everyday, and the cool, gentle waters lapped against my bunk every night. When I stood at the bow, this beautiful vessel was mine to command, and it warmed me inside in a way I hadn�t felt for far too long.

The ReddeSugar, my Prozac.

My mother had my little sister when I was seventeen. While Harry, though ten years my junior, had been planned, somehow I don�t think my sister was. But that was none of my business, so I kept my opinions to myself. We named her Rosemary, and she became Romey for short. She was a cute, energetic li�l kid, and I partly regretted that she�d been born right when I was about to leave home. At least Harry would have a sibling to keep him company as he grew up.

My senior year was all right, I guess. It was lonely. Long ago I�d told myself that Roger and I would be separated, and I�d prepared myself for it�or so I�d thought. Only now Roger wasn�t off in college, enjoying himself and learning and building his future. He was rotting in an asylum.

But I couldn�t fixate on that. I wanted my Roger back more than ever, but I�d finally realized that there was nothing I could do to bring him back. I�d done everything I could while he was with me, but now that he wasn�t, I was powerless. Nothing I said or did would bring him back; he had to do that for himself.

I might never see him again. That wasn�t in my control.

If he recovered and returned, I would thank God eternally. If he didn�t, well�

There was nothing I could do about that.

Goodbye, Roger.

I love you, and I miss you, but my mother was right. I have to move on. I hope you decide to live, as I have. I�d really like to see you again someday.

I�ll always love you.

A few years after I graduated high school, Mrs. O�Donnell moved away, and someone new moved into the house. She�d kept in touch with us for a few years, but eventually the phone stopped ringing and the Christmas cards stopped coming. I don�t know what happened to Roger. I�ve never seen him, heard from him, or heard of him since. I also haven�t seen his name in the obituaries. Perhaps no news is good news.

I took Marguerite to my senior prom because I figured I had to go to that, and she was the easiest associate of mine to stomach; Marguerite, who still adored me, who was perhaps the closest thing I had to a friend, even if I rarely realized it. We had a decent conversation, she didn�t make fun of me when I danced like an elephant, and she even asked if I knew how Roger was doing, which meant a lot to me. At least someone else remembered that he�d once existed. I kissed her before I dropped her off at her house afterwards, and it seemed to make her entire high school experience worthwhile.

(Marguerite Monough went on to become a high school math teacher, and she currently teaches at Harry�s school. Unfortunately, she still worships me. Every time I pick Harry up from school, she sprints across the parking lot, hugs me, and asks how I am. She awkwardly/subtly tries to ask me out at least once a week. I think Harry conveniently forgot to tell her I was gay.)

I earned a scholarship to a nearby university through soccer, and I graduated fourth in my class. Mrs. O�Donnell came to my graduation, which really impressed me. I had to give the woman credit: for a little Irish lady who weighed about as much as I had at age 12, she had emotional strength beyond any full-grown man I knew. She sat through the entire thing, and if she cried, it was only because she was so proud of me, her other adopted son.

College! God, I never imagined I would make it that far, especially not back in those dark days of 11th grade. Was high school really over already? Had that really been four years? I couldn�t remember ever not being in high school�but then, why did it also seem like just yesterday I�d been a ditzy little freshman?

I�d actually survived?

Yeah. I had.

Strangely enough, I, the perpetually neurotic fraidy-cat, was not worried about college. After what I�d been through already in high school, how could college be any worse? I was looking forward to meeting throngs of new people. Also, despite being the sissy mama�s boy that I am, I was eager to get away from the constant pressure of my parents.

The only downside to leaving home was leaving Harry. Ever since the day he�d saved my life, I�d spent a lot more time hanging out with him and generally being nicer to him. God knows, I owed the kid. Once I learned to be more tolerant and less full of myself, dealing with him became infinitely easier. He wasn�t a bad kid, really. He still threw tantrums from time to time, but it was more the rage of a misunderstood genius than a spoiled brat. He was smarter and more imaginative than I�d ever realized. He was so clever, he�d had all of us fooled into thinking he was dumber than he actually was in order to manipulate us better. He was quite a schemer, that little one-eyed criminal. I could tell he�d be a heck of a teenager.

When he realized that college meant I�d be leaving home and would probably never live at home again, he was inconsolable. He sobbed bitterly no matter how many times I promised to call him and visit him.

�If you leave, I won�t have any friends anymore!� he wailed, and it broke my heart to hear it. Determined to keep my brother happy and healthy, I introduced my family to a new Chinese family at the boatyard who had just come over from San Francisco. They had a boy Harry�s age, and we had them play together. They taunted each other royally at first, but in the end they teamed up and had a grand time chasing me around the boatyard with squirt guns. Voila, no more lonely Harry, and I could go off to college with one less worry. As far as I know, they�re still best friends.

College!

Hallelujah, freedom! Freedom to sulk openly and eat nothing but SpaghettiOs for days on end!

�Not to mention another type of freedom, one that I�d only dreamed about, one that both excited me beyond reason and scared me half to death.

I�d promise myself that in college, far from my family and my home, I�d come out. Oh, I wouldn�t ditch my closet completely; I still needed to keep the hinges on for my visits back home, but I�d leave it unlocked. I also didn�t plan to be Mr. Openly Gay Rainbow Boy, but if someone asked, I wouldn�t lie. Yeah. I am gay. Yup.

I wanted a boyfriend, GOD DAMN IT ALL.

The first person I ever came out to was my roommate, because I figured he deserved to know. Even then, I told him I was bi. (Hey, baby steps, eh?) Luckily he was a reclusive computer nerd, and he couldn�t have cared less about my sexual orientation, so long as I didn�t touch his complex laptop set up. (To this day I suspect that he secretly worked for the government, but I can�t prove it.) His reaction amazed me. He wasn�t going to publicly stone me? He actually didn�t really mind? My goodness, what a thought! If only I�d been so tolerant of myself!

It was extremely strange, that �coming out� business. I was so used to lying and covering it up that it took effort to casually admit that I was gay. The words sounded so bizarre on my tongue�was I really saying those things?

And everyone seemed to be okay with it. This was a big school, with a diverse student body, so people tended to be much more hip and open-minded than they had at my tight-ass little boonies high school. Even my college soccer team was okay with it (especially after I saved their asses in an important game), though I did change away from them, more for my own comfort than theirs.

I was only badly beat up once, by a group of Pete-esque jerks reminiscent of the horndog brigade. However, even that ended up working out, for I was rescued by the most amazing man in the world.

My freshman year in college, I met Bryce Prelutsky.

Oh, God, Bryce! If I had ten years and ten thousand pages, I don�t think I could properly describe Bryce and the kaleidoscope of things he meant to me.

He was tall and blonde and absolutely the most beautiful man I had ever encountered. He oozed confidence and attitude, and he didn�t take any crap from anyone. He came from the backwoods of Vermont, but from the sophisticated way he carried himself and the intellectual way he talked, he seemed to have been bred in nothing less than an elegant chateaux. He was fearless and flirtatious and every trait I knew I�d never be.

And he was gay.

He asked me out. He took me on my first real date, and afterwards gave me my first real kiss, the first meaningful kiss where both parties cooperated. I was infatuated with him instantly, and I giggled and babbled like an idiot whenever I was with him. I fretted that he thought me an airhead, but he seemed to be able to see through my nerves to the �adorable sweetie-pie� inside.

I don�t think I�ll ever lose that sense of amazement when I realize that I�m liked. This was different than Roger treasuring my friendship, though: Bryce and I were friends, but more than that, he was romantically attracted to me. The man couldn�t keep his hands and lips off me! It was the most unbelievable phenomena! I was finally able to show my affection for another man without fears of his revulsion and rejection. No more of that itchy longing that built up in my arms�if I wanted to give Bryce a hug, I could. He OFTEN reciprocated, as well, which was a hell of a lot more enjoyable than awkward straight-man hugs and high-fives. Goshdarnit, why had I wasted so much time with straight guys?

Having a boyfriend was so cool.

I hadn�t thought it was possible, after losing Roger, but I fell in love again.

I honestly cannot compare the love I had for Roger with what I feel for Bryce. They shared a lot of the same attractive personality traits, but the relationships were too different. My feelings for Roger had been unrequited and frustrating�and ultimately tragic. But with Bryce, I felt an indescribable happiness and contentment.

�because Bryce loved me back.

He told me before I told him, and I it made me want to cry because it was so wonderful to have my feelings returned. To know that this amazing man�s heart pounded whenever I looked at him�that he felt like he could tell me absolutely anything�that I was the reason he smiled every morning as soon as he woke up�that I meant that much to another person�was one of the happiest feelings I�d ever known. It boosted my confidence as high as it has ever been.

However, by my second year in college, I still hadn�t told my parents I was gay. The whole first year I was with Bryce, I had to hide our relationship. During the summer I kept him on the ship or disappeared to Vermont for weeks at a time (I was �on business,� Dad, I swear!) And considering how many phone calls I got from Byron, Bryan, Bryana, and Bruce, I still can�t believe my parents were never even the slightest bit suspicious. (Not to mention that time Bryce gave me a hickey on my neck that I didn�t notice until Harry pointed it out in the middle of dinner, eesh.)

Though Bryce was always supportive, I could tell it irked him. I don�t blame him; I don�t think I�d like my existence denied either. But how could I tell them? How could I tell my parents, who were so proud of me; who said I was such a good role model to my siblings; who knew I�d go so far in life; that I was homosexual? (Not a �fag�; Bryce wouldn�t let me use the term in a derogatory way.) Just because the people on campus were accepting didn�t mean my parents would be. My parents hadn�t changed a bit since eleventh grade, and if anything, they�d become even worse, constantly telling me that the responsibilities of carrying on the family name rode on my shoulders. I was still of the opinion that my parents would dissociate themselves from me if they knew. How could I tell them? I needed their money for my college education! Bah!

But Bryce wouldn�t let me keep lying to them. He knew how much it bothered me, and how sick I felt whenever I had to go home. He sat down with me one day, his arms around my neck, and told me that he wanted me to tell them when I went home that weekend. He said he honestly did not believe that they would kick me out, but if they did, I would always have a home with him. He was probably the only person on earth who could have convinced me to tell them.

So I did.

I told my father first, because his was the reaction I was most worried about. The opportunity offered itself soon enough. We�d been driving, the two of us, and he was chattering away happily. Why don�t you have a girlfriend, Arik? Come on, man, don�t you know that�s what college is all about? You don�t want people to think you�re gay!

I�ll never forget the look on my father�s face after I unloosed those four simple words: �Dad, I am gay.� His eyes went wide, and an expression of absolute shock and horror crossed his features. I burst into tears at the sight of it. I�m so sorry, Dad, I wailed, I�m so sorry, I tried to change it, but I can�t, I�m sorry, I�m sorry!

He pulled over to the side of the road, and for several long, excruciating minutes, he didn�t say a word, but stared thunderstruck out the window. My body shaking, I cried into my hands the entire time, wanting to rewind time and take back my confession, convinced that I�d just ended my relationship with my father forever.

Then my father reached over and put his hand on my shoulder. �Stop crying, Arik,� he said. �And don�t apologize for things you can�t help.�

And that was my father�s opinion on my orientation. He wasn�t a big fan of homosexuality, but since I couldn�t help it if I�d been made that way, he wouldn�t spurn me. He said he still loved me, and he certainly didn�t disown me. However, we haven�t had a real conversation since, so maybe in a way he did.

He made me tell my mother as soon as we got home. That was so much different, and infinitely easier. My mother hugged me and bawled all over me, but she said she cried because I�d suffered alone for so long, not because she was upset. She told me, over and over, that she loved me unconditionally, and that I shouldn�t have been afraid to tell her. I escaped to my room as soon as she released me, leaving my parents to discuss me in the kitchen, and I called Bryce. Just hearing his voice calmed me down and halted my tears.

I�d done the impossible.

My parents knew now. They knew I was gay, and that I was dating a man. I was surprised at how easily my mother took it�but then, she was a woman; she liked men, too. It wasn�t as weird to her. The same woman who had been so insensitive during other hard times in my life now took pains to make sure I knew I was loved and to make me feel comfortable. She was absolutely thrilled when she learned I�d been dating someone long-term, and she invited Bryce to dinner at my house soon after. She tittered over Bryce (she thought he was absolutely gorgeous and terribly charming) and took to him immediately.

I think the only conversation my father ever had with him was when he once offered Bryce a beer, and Bryce replied, �I don�t drink.�

It�s a good thing that I take to piloting so well, because sometimes I think that if I weren�t an airshipper�or if I were the slightest bit �flamier��my father would never have spoken to me again. As is, we only talk about sports and airship parts, but I guess it�s more than I expected, so I try not to complain.

After all, it could easily be worse.

My paternal grandparents disowned me. When my parents told them, my grandmother, who had always spoiled and adored me, slapped me across the face. My grandparents screamed that my lifestyle was disgusting and sinful, and how dare I go and do that after all my parents had done for me! My grandmother told my parents not to let poor Harry be around me, because �you know how gays are about children!��and that was probably the most devastating thing she could have possibly thrown at me.

But suddenly my father was standing in front of me, his face crimson and his hands waving, shouting angrily. �Get the hell out of my house!� he screamed at them. �I will not have you stand here and insult my son!�

There was more yelling of horrid words, but in the end, my grandparents left, and my father said they couldn�t come back until they learned to accept me.

We haven�t seen them since.

At every holiday where they should be there, where they had always been there before, their absence gnaws at me. All my fears throughout high school hadn�t been completely unfounded. It was entirely possible for one sentence to make people who had adored you your entire life stop loving you. I really hated wrecking my family, too.

Yeah, I have no right to complain about how my father treats me. It�s because of me that he�s lost his parents. It�s because of me that Harry and Romey will grow up without knowing Grandma and Grandpa Redde.

Yeah, Arik, it�s still all your fault.

Bryce and I were together for six years, and it was absolutely the most wonderful period of my life. After college, we both worked on the ship together. I could think of no life better than being with the person I loved most and doing the thing I loved most. It all seemed so perfect to me, and I was content to spend the rest of my life in the same manner.

Bryce didn�t seem to feel the same.

After you live with someone for six years, the ecstatic love you felt in the beginning begins to fade. I�m not being cynical when I say that; it�s reality. We still loved each other dearly, but every day wasn�t a pink-hued Tunnel-o�-Love ride. However, I was still perfectly happy with Bryce as my partner, and I never once entertained the thought of ending the relationship.

But apparently Bryce did.

After six years, my many insecurities were beginning to grate on his nerves. You�re such a fucking wuss, he�d yell at me, because when he lost his temper he screamed horrible things. You won�t even fucking stick up for me because you�re too much of a damn coward! You won�t even hold my hand because you�re such a fucking homophobe! I always cried when he raised his voice at me, because I couldn�t bear to have him angry with me, but that only angered him more.

On December 1st, only a few weeks after our six-year anniversary, we had an argument. Bryce punched me, stormed out, and never came back.

It�s been two years since, and I haven�t seen his face or heard his voice once.

But it�s still just as hard to believe now as it had been two years ago.

Bryce left me.

Not since I�d lost Roger had I cried so hard. Oh, God, it was the same thing all over again. Again, I�d lost the person I loved most. He was gone, and I�d never see him again. Just as with Roger, I would never see Bryce again.

Oh, God, no, not again.

And yet�this was different. Roger had left me because he was sick, and suffering unbearably, but he�d still cared about me. Bryce left me because he couldn�t stand to be around me any longer.

My self-esteem plummeted down to the murky depths of about mid-11th grade. It was all my fault�of course Bryce left me: I didn�t deserve him�he probably hated me�of course he hated me�how could anyone love me? I couldn�t, I didn�t�I hated myself!

I was alone on the ship, so there was no need to hide my anguish from anyone. I didn�t get out of bed for days, but lounged about bawling until I vomited. I didn�t want to see anyone or talk to anyone�I only answered the phone for the slightest possibility that it was Bryce. He never called.

That was all I wanted�all I want now. Just tell me you�ll give me another chance, Bryce, please. I�ll do anything to get you back. Please, Bryce, I love you, why are you doing this to me?

He was gone.

The last time I felt this devastated and distraught, I almost didn�t survive. Surely I couldn�t handle going through the same pain again? And indeed, my will to live thinned. What was the point to living, if awful things like this were going to keep happening? What was the point in living, if obviously I was fated to never be with the people I loved?

The gun was kept on the ship now, in the spare room.

Its presence overwhelmed me; when I passed the spare room, my chest constricted and my breath caught in my throat. I knew what was in that room. There�s an easy way to end this, strange thoughts told me. You know how to end all this pain.

But I wasn�t that far gone yet, and the thoughts terrified me. I�d promised myself I would never commit suicide�and, oh, God, I didn�t want to. God, no, I couldn�t kill myself. It�s so selfish�think of Harry, Arik, think of your parents. Don�t even go down that road, don�t even think those thoughts�no one will be there to save you this time.

This time, I got help: I began spending twice as much time with my family. So long as I wasn�t alone, I�d be okay. Please, God, don�t let me die.

Gradually, it got better. I never put the gun to my head, at least. Being with my family definitely helped keep me from drowning in the quicksand of my own mind. If I had to see them during the day, it forced me to get up, shower, shave, and leave the ship. Getting out of bed in the morning was the hardest part of the day. Even now, every morning I wake up and remember why I�m alone in the bunk, and the same lonely feeling turns my heart to lead.

But I�m still here, aren�t I?

I liked being able to spend time with Harry again. In the years I�d been away at college, absorbed with Bryce, or working, he�d grown up. I�ll never forget the time I came back home after being away all summer working and his voice had completely changed. How had my baby brother gone from first grade to ninth grade without me noticing�and without me there to see it?

As a teenager, he was still short and scrawny, but angry at the world and forever sulking. He went 180 degrees from me style wise, for he was a black-and-spike-clad punk with a taste for unpopular music and a loathing of all things pop-culture and athletic. He didn�t seem to want anything to do with me, but he treated everyone that way, so I didn�t take it personally. Of course he was still my buddy�this was my Harry after all!

Last year, however, his mood swings took a turn for the worst. My home was not a pleasant place to be, for every time I visited everyone seemed to be in a worse mood, with short tempers and dwindling compassion. Now that Harry was in high school, our darling parents were subjecting him to the same pressure and expectations they�d put on me. The difference was that I�d taken it graciously and obediently, and Harry told them to go fuck themselves. (Hadn�t I predicted that the kid would be trouble?)

Everyone in my house was always screaming at each other�and even at me, sometimes�and strangely enough, some days I preferred the solitude of the airship. However, even after I�d regained enough emotional stability to trust my judgment again, I continued to visit home frequently.

Because I was worried about Harry, you see.

The poor kid did not seem right to me. He was always angry, always upset�and from the redness of his eye, always crying. He started getting into trouble at school, he never left his room, and at one point he even ran away. Mum scared me half to death when she called me that night, her voice teary, saying that my brother was gone and no one knew where he was. I went out looking for him, horrid flashbacks of Roger�s problems jolting unbidden into my minds� eye, but the police found him first.

What scared me worse, however, was when he cut his hair.

The day after he ran away, he locked himself in the bathroom with a pair of scissors and hacked away at his hair and scratched at his face in a type of senseless but harmless self-destruction. And I couldn�t help thinking, Jesus, not again.

And I was the only one worried about him, wasn�t I? Had Mum and Dad forgotten already Roger�s slow descent into destruction? Maybe they had�after all, they�d never seen Roger�s hacked-up arms or listened to him cry for days on end.

Oh, God, Harry, not you.

I had no one left in the world but him. I could not let my brother fall into depression�and I knew how easy, if painful, a descent it was. I knew how awful and lonely an existence it was. I also knew for a fact I would not be able to survive losing him.

The summer after his freshman year, I adopted him to the ship for the summer. I wanted him where I could keep a close eye on him, so I could see if he really was in danger. He didn�t like that one bit, and had to be dragged to the boatyard kicking and screaming. He spent the first few days barely talking to me, sulking, and maintaining his rebellious �Fuck off� attitude. It was frustrating, and it worried me more. Why was he treating me so horribly?

He told me that he hated me, and I can honestly say it was one of the most heartbreaking things I�ve ever been told, right up there with �I don�t want to live anymore� and �I don�t want to be with you anymore��because he meant it.

It was like having a spike plunged through my chest. All those horrible times when I�d kept myself alive by telling myself that I needed to live for Harry had been for nothing�my brother couldn�t stand me.

And I thought, See, Arik? Your life IS fucking worthless.

But, no�we worked it out in the end. We talked long into the night, and he took back his horrible words. I told him things I thought I would never tell anyone�and by that I mean my suicide attempt�because he needed to know how important he was to me. He was devastated when I told him, which comforted me in a way. At least I�d been right in thinking that he would miss me if I were gone.

It really did work out wonderfully. Harry�whoops, Harris (oh, screw it, he�ll always be �Harry� in my head)�was not nearly as bad off as I�d feared. Once I gained his trust and friendship, he cheered up wonderfully. He was open with me when we talked, and he always came to me when he was upset, which was exactly what I wanted him to do.

And I accidentally-on-purpose walked in on him once when he was coming out of the shower. He hollered and threw a bottle of shampoo at me, but I�d gotten what I needed.

Harry had never cut himself.

There is a God.

He�s a good kid, my brother. No one gets out of high school without at least one temporary bout of insanity. He�ll be fine.

He spends more time with me now than he does at home, which is fine by me. I truly do enjoy his company. I�ve always been attracted to people with strong personalities, and Harry is certainly no exception. At sixteen, he is a sharp-edged, venomous young man, a dark specter with a razorblade smirk and a thoughtful eye. He hates rules and restrictions�they cramp his style, you know! His emotions are explosive and raw, and he�s as apt to screaming as bawling. The kid is so moody, some days I swear to God he has ovaries. Still, he�s forever laughing his skinny little self silly, and he likes to dance around to strange songs that he knows every word to. He�s quite the flirt around girls, even if he denies it. He�s nothing like me! He lives to heckle me, and I love him with all my being.

Plus, he�s probably the most gay-friendly hetero I�ve ever encountered and a hell of a cook.

Yay.

So I�m okay, I guess. I�m 26 now�but when the hell did I turn 26?! I don�t recall ever growing up! Being around Harry makes me forget what an old man I am, and its like being sixteen all over again, only this time it doesn�t suck so badly. But, God! Twenty-freaking-six!

I love every minute of my job as an airship pilot. I deal with U.C. shippers, which makes for a fairly interesting and exciting life. I�ve met more colorful characters than I probably would have cared to, but at least I�ve got a few stories to tell the grandkids. (Er, Harry�s grandkids, I guess.) I believe myself to be the only gay pilot in all of the U.C., so I don�t quite fit in with the other macho, rough-edged pilots, but I�ve gotten used to it. Somehow I�ve managed a reputation as a pilot not to be taken lightly (or in Harry-speak, they know I�ve got �mad skillz.�) My line of work can be an extremely well paying one, and I�ve been very successful for a young pilot. Airshippers talk, and I know they gossip about me to my father. Thus far it�s been beneficial to me, as I�ve managed not to do anything embarrassing yet.

If only my romantic life could be so successful! I�ve been single since Bryce left me, and to be honest, I have no interest in dating other men. Whatever�s left of my heart after Bryce ripped it out and fed it through the airship propeller still belongs to him. I don�t want anyone but my pretty blonde boy, and I don�t care if I�m being foolish or na�ve. No one understands; I would rather suffer this longing for him for ten more years than take back a single day I spent with him. The time I did spend with him is worth every minute of what I�m going through now.

But though my self-esteem problems have improved in recent years, I�m still not strong enough to seek Bryce out again. Oh, I could probably find him if I tried hard enough�I know where his parents live, after all. But he stomped on me pretty hard when he walked out on me, and I don�t have the valor to be rejected again. My longing for him grows achier and heavier every day, but I want him to come back to me.

I never claimed to make any sense.

I guess I�ve done well for myself. I may not have much to offer as far as personal achievements, but when Harry tells me that there�s no one in the world he loves as much as me, I figure I must be doing something right.

I haven�t had the best life in the world, but I certainly haven�t had the worst. I thank God every day that I chose to live it. If I�d ended everything in high school, I never would have met Bryce or become the pilot that I am. If I�d given up after Bryce left me, I wouldn�t have been there for Harry when he needed me. Clearly, my judgment can be a bit skewed when it comes to what I believe is best for me, so it�s a good thing God is able to intercede when I�m about to do something stupid. And I figure if He�s kept me around this long, He must not hate me too much. I wear my cross around my neck every day, lest I forget that.

I think I�ll be okay.

This story has a happy ending.

end.

Author's Note

Holy Hell, it's done. It took 36 chapters (counting Epilogue), 141 pages in Arial 10, and nine months of painstaking writing, but it's done.

This was easily the most challenging writing project I have ever undertaken, as well as the most emotionally draining. While I was writing this, I was extremely worried about certain people in my life, which may have fueled some of the more depressing scenes and dialogue ^^; --but then, which one of us hasn't ever been worried about someone we dearly loved? (Myeh, for the record, NO, I have no emotional/psychological problems, though I can only imagine what would happen if my mother got ahold of this story 0.o;; )

The writing and grammar improved drastically since my last major endeavor (that icky thing known as Into the Dark) and I'm rather proud of the work as a whole! Getting into Arik's head was a lot more fun than I thought it'd be, though it was difficult at first, for I am nothing like Arik (and I'm also female and straight, hehe). He really is a fascinating character, in my opinion, and to be honest, I prefer the inside of his head to Harris's.

Roger! That poor kid, I love him dearly, but I put him through more hell than any of my other characters ^^; For those of you I traumatized by torturing him, don't worry, I love him too much to ditch him, and you can count on his return into future RS plotlines (if I ever get around to it 0_o).

You haven't seen the last of Roger O'Donnell.

If you're reading this, it means you've survived another one of my literary monsters, and I congratulate you! Thank you for reading. I always appreciate comments and such, so please, by all means, drop me a line. It'd sure as hell beat the spam I get about penis-enlargers!

Huge hugs and love and thanks to Jessi and Raquel for being my first readers, and for encouraging me to keep writing and keep posting. You guys rock :D

Love, Dana (3/26/3)