Remy was my boyfriend. Well, I guess he was. We actually never put a label on it. Probably were too young for that. Not too young for the rest, though.

Growing up, I mostly kept to myself. Sometimes I hung out with the kids in the neighbourhood when Josie forced me to go outside. They knew anyway. About Dad, I mean.

Not about me. I always knew I was different somehow. Not only because I was into superheroes and all that shit. No, because I liked boys.

When the other boys used the Playboys they stole from their dads to look at the naked women, it just did nothing for me. Now when Luke Cage, my favourite superhero, took his shirt off. Phew, that was a whole different story.

Remy was on our basketball team. He was a year older than me, and his family had only moved here recently. I noticed him on his first day. He had dark curly hair, and his eyes were an interesting mix between green and brown. Brown in the middle and green on the edges. He had a strong, chiselled jawline and a smile that would light up every room. I didn’t even care that he was white.

Just after winter break, my PE teacher said I had talent and suggested I should join the basketball team. I didn’t know about talent, but if he said so? It was a good enough reason to be away from home, so I said yes.

I was a bit nervous about being on the same team as Remy, though. I had such a crush on him. And I’d see him a lot. And a lot of him as we undressed in the changing room. I didn’t even dare to steal a glance at him in case it gave me away.

The team started hanging out at the weekends, too. We met up at the park to shoot some hoops. At first it was everyone, then only Remy and I. Then we stopped playing. Sat on the kerb of the field and talked. He told me about his dog, Nola, and that they had to put her down before they moved in with his granny because she was allergic to dogs. I told him about Mom. Then about Dad. He listened. Sympathetic.

One day he brought a couple of cans of beer he nicked from a store. I hate alcohol. Don’t like what it does with people. But I was afraid to tell Remy. Maybe he’d think I wasn’t cool enough to hang out with? So I drank it. And then he kissed me.

I remember every little detail of it.

We sat behind an oak tree in the park, its large, sweeping canopy hiding us from the major pathway. It was dusk, and I was glad for the semi-darkness and the extra shield of protection it gave us. I remember the roughness of the bark against my back, the soft grass underneath me and the orange scent of begonias in my nose. His breath brushed against my skin, and I got just a whiff of beer on my face before his lips touched mine. I remember how his tongue licked my lips, how I opened my mouth to let him in. I didn’t really know what to do. This was my first real kiss. I was shocked that he kissed me and terrified that I’d do anything wrong. But I could also feel a flock of butterflies erupting in my stomach, like they were all fighting to get out at once.

One of his hands was tangled in my hair, his fingers tracing my neck – gentle, but strong. His other hand was wandering up and down my side, leaving a trace of goosebumps. I kept still, afraid he could stop if I did something stupid. But then, timidly, I started rubbing his back as well and moved my tongue in rhythm to his. He pulled me closer to himself, and I was rewarded with a little moan.

I don’t know how long we kept doing it. It felt like forever, but not nearly long enough at the same time when we broke apart. It was pitch dark when I got home. Josie scolded me, but not too bad. I think she could see the happy grin on my face.

The next day, I almost wanted to skip school. I was so nervous about seeing Remy again. What if I had been really rubbish at kissing? What if Remy regretted making out with me? What if things were real awkward between us now? But they weren’t. He gave me the biggest smile when he saw me, and at the first chance we got, he pulled me into a cubicle in the boys’ room and kissed me again. 

From that moment on, we kissed at every opportunity. Behind the bleachers, in the empty changing room, the back stairwell and in every nook and corner of the library. Of course, we got caught plenty of times, but we didn’t care. We discovered that the supply shed in the school grounds was an excellent spot, and this was when things went a little further. Hands first, mouths later. Then one day, he asked me if I’d let him fuck me. We were in an abandoned house in our neighbourhood that day. It was our new favourite meeting place because we started doing things that weren’t exactly meant for the public eye or school grounds. And we couldn’t go to either of our houses. Remy’s granny would have had a heart attack if she’d known what her “sugar” grandson was up to, and I didn’t want anyone to meet Dad. Not even Remy.

When Remy asked me if I wanted to have sex with him, I nodded. I didn’t really know what it meant. Of course, I knew how a boy and a girl did it, but I only had a vague idea of how it worked between a boy and a boy. I’d tried to find out more because I didn’t want to disappoint Remy in case it came to it, but I’d smashed my phone just before school started, and Dad refused to buy me a new one. And I couldn’t just search for “gay sex” on our school computers.

Of course I had imagined it, but what if my imagination got it all wrong?

It actually had.

It was so much better than my wildest dreams.

I was so excited that I came right into his hand and was quite embarrassed about it. But Remy touched my face, kissed me and told me it was fine. Then we did it. Face-to-face. My legs propped up against his shoulders. He went all slow and gentle, kept kissing me and asking me if I was alright or if he was hurting me. It did hurt a bit, but it also felt really good to be so close to him. Once I got used to him being inside me, he told me to wrap my legs around his waist so he could push even deeper into me. He put a hand between us and stroked me until I came again.

It was so different from what my clients do with me nowadays. When Remy came inside me, I felt so full of happiness like I never felt in my life before, like a jam-packed donut of bliss ready to burst. I walked home with his seed soiling my pants, but the happiest boy alive.

At home I went straight upstairs into my room – ignoring Dad shouting in the kitchen – closed the door and lay down on my bed. I put on my headphones blaring music from my favourite rock singer, a guy named Lestat who pretended to be a vampire. I tried to imprint everything that happened that afternoon – every touch, every kiss, every move, every push, every stroke – forever in my memory.

The next day was Sunday, and I knew Remy had to spend all day with his family. On Monday he wasn’t at the supply shed for our little pre-school make-out session as usual. I walked to our classroom feeling sick. I was so worried that he might have lost interest now that we’d done it. Or that I’d messed up. But he wasn’t mad at me or disappointed. He was dead. There had been a shooting in his area. Some rivalling gang members having a go at each other. A stray bullet hit Remy and blasted his head right off. He didn’t even see it coming. He was there one moment and gone the next.

I didn’t go home that night. Or to school the next day. I just kept walking around, like a zombie; there was nothing left to feel inside me. Remy was gone.

I never went back home. I just remained on the streets. First I begged strangers for money or food when I was hungry. Or I nicked some candy bars from a shop. I mostly kept away from other homeless people. They scared me with their missing teeth, empty eyes and the way they reeked of cheap booze. Once an older guy said he’d share a sandwich with me if I let him touch me. I was disgusted and ran away.

Then the hunger grew worse and it got cold. I started thinking, if that homeless guy offered to give me half a sandwich for touching me, how much would others give me, maybe if I touched them? I knew how to do it; I’d done it with Remy. And I saw other boys – and girls – do it on the streets for money. How hard could it be?

I watched how the other boys flirted with the men, where they went with them. And then I did it myself. It wasn’t hard to find a guy that was interested, and we did it behind a dumpster. I cried and threw up when it was over. But it got better with time.

Then one day, Josie just stands there at the corner where my usual sleeping place is. I don’t know how she found me, but she did. I think she’d scold me again, but she only hugs me and cries. 

We go to the diner around the corner, and she orders fried eggs and toast for me, coffee and a piece of cake for herself. She doesn’t touch any of her food, just talks, and I end up eating everything while she pours her heart out.

She met a bloke, and they started shagging (she doesn’t actually say that, but I assume), and then he basically moved in with her and kicked Dad out. But he wasn’t any better than Dad. Got drunk in the evenings and probably also hit her – she didn’t really say that either, but the way she avoided my gaze told me enough. Then she got pregnant. He called her a dirty whore and left. Now she is all alone in the house, and the baby is due in a few weeks. That is when I notice her bump.

She begs me to come home with her. Says she feels so lonely and scared, she doesn’t know how to do it. Have the baby alone. Said how much she misses Mom and wishes she were still there so she could ask her questions about the birth and how to take care of a little baby. I’m the only family she has left; there is no one else. There are tears streaming down her face. I can’t say no to her, so I go with her. I leave my things in the alley. Anything worth keeping, I have on my body.

Coming home to my old room feels weird. Like coming home to the room of a stranger. Or maybe I am the stranger. I feel so different from the kid that lived here. So much older. An innocent boy lived here. This boy didn’t exist anymore. So many things remind me of Remy, too. But Remy happened to someone else in another life. Remy isn’t there anymore either. We are both gone. I am only an empty shell.

My room and the house make me feel trapped. I can’t breathe. But I can’t leave Josie alone. She was always there for me, and now she needs me. I stay until Sophia – my little princess Soso – is born. She’s everything: perfect and beautiful, and steals my heart with her first breath. I know I will love her and protect her as long as I live. I stay a few more weeks. Then one night, I tell Josie I’ll leave again. Need to leave again.

She doesn’t make a fuss, but I can see the tears swimming in her eyes when she turns away from me. She says she saw this coming, hoped I’d change my mind, but deep down she knew. She only prayed I’d say goodbye this time.

She makes me promise to stay in touch – no matter what. Come back home any time I need anything.

Then she gives me a duffle bag she packed for me before Soso’s birth, when she packed hers for the hospital. There is a sleeping bag, clothes, condoms, some chocolate bars, Diet Coke and a bit of money. 

I take everything except the money. I slip it under Soso’s blanket when I bend down to kiss my baby niece goodbye. 

I hug Josie and feel her wet cheeks press against mine.

Then I walk out.