The road winds, the top is down, and my best friend fills the seat next to me, making it a full car. It is only a two-seater after all.

His name is Arik. When I first met him I thought that was a strange name. I guess it�s really not, though. Names only seem strange if you�re not used to them. Maybe �Roger� is strange.

It�s my car, my pride and joy. It�s black, shiny, and everyone thinks it�s cool. Its mechanics are interesting to me�older cars run a bit differently, you know�but Arik doesn�t really care. He�s an airship boy. He doesn�t know jack about cars.

But I bet airships are more interesting anyway.

The road is shady, the wind cool and strong. It whips our hair around. Leaves and birds zip by alongside and overhead.

I should say something. Silence makes me nervous.

�You see Will&Grace last night?� I ask.

�No,� he answers, flat, brief.

Arik doesn�t watch much TV.

�It was so funny. You should watch it sometime.�

�Yeah.� He�s not looking at me.

I tap my fingers on the wheel and focus on driving for a few miles. When I look again I still have a three-quarters view of the back of his head. His hair is brown. Usually it�s short in the back and longish on the sides, parted in the center. Not now, though. Now it�s flying every which way, whipping around and around and around. If every strand weren�t rooted into his scalp the whole mop would have flown off a long ways back.

He turns his head back to the front and sinks down into the seat, his head back and eyes closed. This is unfortunate, as he has cool eyes. Cool, I say, because everyone would think me weird if I said they were beautiful.

Even though they are.

He�s wearing his usual. Khaki pants and a nice shirt, this time red and navy striped. He looks like he�s ready to go to church. He always does. Yet he always looks comfortable, too.

He�s shorter than me, more compact. He�s two years younger than me. I always forget that. Everyone I hang out with is younger than me, but somehow I always end up feeling like the little kid. Superior age does not guarantee superior maturity.

His face is blank and the light of the setting sun washes it orange. His eyes are closed, his mouth slack, his sturdy nose slightly raised because his head is tilted back. His skin is flawless, free of any blemish or freckle. His flesh is healthy, forever tan from skittering around the boatyard. It glows. I�ve never touched his face, but I can bet its soft and warm.

Arik is gorgeous. I can�t believe he doesn�t have a girlfriend. The girls all love him; he could have any girl in the school. Why won�t he pick one?

�and why does he always look so sad?

Mouth tilted downwards, eyebrows slightly furrowed, eyelashes quivering delicately� It hurts me to see it�Arik, just what are you so sad about?

�Wonk!� I exclaim.

Arik�s head swivels toward me and instantly his sullen face melts into a warm smile devoid of any sorrow.

�I agree,� he laughs, and it lightens my heart to hear him giggle. He sounds like a girl. His white teeth flash and the blue eyes sparkle. �That was random.�

�It was too quiet. Why do you always fall asleep in my car, man? Don�t you know convertibles are meant for blasting stereos? Shouting guys and giggling babes and all that good stuff?�

He shrugs lightly and his mouth slides out of the smile to a content neutral. His eyes watch me. His eyes stand out beyond any of his other features. They seem large, but they�re not. Maybe they�re even smaller than average. Whatever. It�s the color that makes them stand out so. Blue does not begin to describe them, the same as blue does not describe the sky; the sky is a rainbow, a gradient of blues. On a wonderful sunny day the sky overhead is a deep blue, but it fades to a whitish blue if there are clouds, or a pale, smooth blue if there aren�t, and then it disappears into the treetops.

Arik�s eyes are that point on the horizon right before it sinks into the trees. Pale blue and clear, smooth, infinite, like still water with no bottom. The pupil drowns, jet black and tiny in the center of them, a stark contrast to the surrounding corneas. Thin dark lashes lace the white, but you don�t notice them. You see nothing but the sky in his eyes.

His eyes watch me, and they see all of me. They know everything about me�nothing is hidden�there are so many things I�ve never told him, but he knows them all anyway. He looks at me, and he knows me, and he still loves me. It�s as if he�s embracing me every time he looks in my eyes. All my secret fears and sorrows and insecurities�his face tells me, �I know all that. It�s all okay.�

I�ve never known anyone like him.

We come to a stop sign, and I stop even though we are the only car on this scenic country road today. I take the momentary break to stretch my shoulders and crack my neck. Arik tries to repair the damage to his hair, re-creating a part and combing the sides back down with his fingers. The moment we start up the wind will harass it again, and I tell him this, but he just shrugs and grins.

We start up again, and Arik looks forward. We round the reservoir, ever smooth, reflecting the glorious forest that surrounds its perimeter. I�m told it�s glorious anyway. I don�t notice things like that. I�m thinking about the party the other night and wondering if Marisa will ever speak to me again, but Arik softly breathes, �It�s so beautiful.�

�Mm?�

�The reservoir. And all the trees. And everything.� His eyes flick upwards and he smiles.

�Yeah,� I agree, though at the moment I am much more enthralled with Marisa�s curves than an oversized puddle and some trees.

Arik�s not like me. He�s deep. Not in the hippie-poetry sense, but there�s a lot to him. When he looks at me, I search his eyes. They are as infinite as the sky, but also like the sky, you can gaze in them for hours and you�ll never see anything past the blue. There is just so much to him, so much true emotion, so many thoughts, but he locks it inside. He hides things from me; there is so much of him I don�t know and he won�t tell me. Granted, we both have our secrets from each other, but it�s different. No fair, Arik: you see me inside and out, but you won�t give me the slightest glimpse into your heart.

There�s something there, though. He has his own world, and he spends more time there than here. He lives in a universe inside his own head, where he thinks and imagines and wonders. Once he�s there he�s deaf to the real world, and you have to shake him or yell his name to wake him up. No one else can get into this universe of his; it�s Arik�s and Arik�s alone.

What goes on in there? He combats heaven and hell, I�ll wager, with life and death, right and wrong. He imagines, creates, dreams� I don�t trust myself with such thoughts�for me its cars, girls, and soccer. My brain has shown that it is not capable of anything further without dire consequences. I can�t handle things, can�t deal with them, when I�m alone my body throbs and my brain crawls and unwelcome thoughts come and come and I feel like I�m choking, I�m suffocating and�

But it�s not so bad when I�m with Arik. Arik is calm and controlled and peaceful. His voice quiets me like a drug when I call late at night, or when he calls me because he always seems to know when I need to talk to him. He makes me smile. I�m happy when he�s with me. He�s so safe, so loyal, so always there to protect me, and he asks for very little in return. He�s my perfect friend.

My mother is very religious. She has little statues of children with wings on our living room chest. There is a cross in my room above the door. She talks about God a lot. When bad things happen she puts her arms around me and tells me it�s part of God�s plan, God decided to do this to me, to kill that person, to make this happen. I don�t know how believing that someone we can�t see can do such horrible things to us can possibly comfort her, but it does. It seems nice.

I wouldn�t know.

She talks about angels just as often. She accredits my daily safety to the messengers of heaven. I�m an idiot; with all the crap I get into, she says, there has to be an otherworldly force protecting me.

�Hey, look out,� Arik murmurs, pointing ahead to a car backing out of a blind drive.

�Oh, thanks,� I reply and swerve a bit out of the way. I grin at the irony.

�Just doing my job,� he replies, winking.

I think Arik is my guardian angel. I�m not sure what an angel is, but I think it must be something like Arik. I know it�s stupid to liken a sixteen year-old boy to a guardian of heaven, but it�s the only thing that makes sense to me. He has to be. He�s the reason I�m alive and more-or-less healthy. He takes the keys out of my hands when I�m unfit to drive, he breaks up the fight when I�m about to get myself maimed, he takes me by the shoulders and throttles me when I�m about to do something completely stupid� He knows when I�m in trouble or hurt, and he knows what to say and do, and he always does the right thing. He takes better care of me than my parents do, and he knows more about me than they ever will.

And I love him more than anyone else.

I don�t understand love any more than I understand anything about our pitiful existence, and I�m afraid of it. I�m not sure how to use it, how to feel it. But I think it fits Arik. I care about him, and it�s easy to. I think a lot of people truly love him, and I wonder if he knows it. I trust him: he would never do anything to hurt me, would never betray me. I trust him with my life, and more importantly, I trust him with my soul.

�He says we�re platonic soulmates. I don�t know what that means�I�m not smart like he is�but he says it means we�re best friends. Bestest best friends, I guess. We�re friends, and we love each other, but of course we don�t talk about it because we�re not weirdos. But we both know it.

I hope there are girls like Arik out there somewhere. No matter what she looks like, if I could find a girl who makes me feel as safe as he does, I could love her romantically and we�d be happy together.

That would be really nice.

The road winds again, we round a curve and lean into the trees. We�re almost there, the ride�s almost over. I tell him this and we talk and joke for a few minutes and then lapse back into our content silence.

He means everything to me.

end

author's note:

Just a short, almost pointless sketch: a study I wrote while working on a story about Arik in order to work on Roger's opinion of their relationship. It's decent, if a bit mushy. Roger is an extremely interesting character to write, and there's potential for more by him to come ^^
-Dana