3- I can´t deny what I feel for Mathew
Mathew and boyfriend Pierre, they stayed as close as they could throughout the many years we spent together. As time went on and each of us began to mature and show much more clearly what we wanted for our lives, of course we underwent some changes. I never let go of the dream that had captivated me at such a tender age, and although at no time did I ever dare to set aside the deep addiction that always pushed me to eagerly and relentlessly seek any dose of adrenaline, however small it might be, the truth is that I learned through bumps and scrapes to be much more mature and cautious; I no longer ran around like an unbridled madman, nor did I seek any risk I could get my hands on. I wish I could say the same about Mathewe, but the truth is that his case was completely different from mine, so much so that he was practically the antithesis. As time went by, he became much more impulsive than usual, which caused me far more headaches than I could have imagined, because on more than one occasion I had to bite the bullet to get him out of the predicament he had gotten himself into, like the time when, at only three o'clock in the morning of a Monday, I had to run out to rescue him from a distant and unknown road where he had been stranded because he was chasing a party that had already lasted for three long days. Like that, there were many things that, at the time, got on my nerves, although once I had a chance to look at them through a completely different lens, I realized that they were actually more like fun memories, anecdotes that we could tell whenever the occasion arose. The two of us supported each other in any way we could, as we always had, and although I would like to say that it was only fun and funny moments that required the support of one or the other...the truth is that it wasn't the case.
Mathewoo, Mathewe's father, had always been a kind, generous, and funny man, something very similar to what I saw in my best friend. From the first moment I entered his home, he went out of his way to make me feel comfortable, like one of his family, for which I was always grateful. Whenever you needed advice, moral support or help of any other kind, he was always there, more than willing to extend a helping hand. I remember that as a child (and even some years later, when I was a little older) I used to see Mathewoo as a strong and invincible man, something like the human and an improved version of a massive oak tree, which was not even the strongest wind in the world would be able to bend, much less collapse. And it wasn't just me, because anyone who got to know him well enough always had the same impression; it was like his personal seal, that healthy, permanent, and invulnerable appearance, so I guess that's why we were all so surprised when he was diagnosed with a terrible terminal illness. At first, it started with small, sporadic, and unimportant symptoms, but when things started to get complicated, it was time to go to the doctor... and there was nothing more to do. Mathewe's family, desperate to save their beloved and admired patriarch from the clutches of death, began to move their contacts (which were many, to be honest) to try to find a second, and even a third medical opinion that could give them some hope, however small. For two whole years, they traveled back and forth, but when they realized that there was nothing to be done, they returned home so that my friend's father could say goodbye from what had always been his home. One sad January morning, when Matthew and I were nineteen years old, finally, after resisting as long as humanly possible the cursed illness that had befallen him as a divine punishment, the man I had long considered my second father died.
When I received the news, of course, I felt as bad as I had ever felt before; Mr. Mathewoo had always been a figure of authority and affection that had been present for most of my life, and the very idea that he could no longer be there took me by surprise. I remember crying indecently for hours on end, until something in me clicked, and putting aside my grief, allowed me to remember that my best friend had just lost his father. Upon realizing this, I felt even worse, for if for me the physical loss of Mathewoo had represented a heavy blow like no other, I did not even want to imagine what my friend would be feeling at that moment, who had always professed an enormous and inordinate love for his father. The terrible misfortune had taken place in the wee hours of the morning, and although going out in the street at that time was not the most advisable thing in the world, I could not care less. I put on my clothes the first thing I could find, and after grabbing the keys to my truck and hastily saying goodbye to my parents (via text message, as they were both sound asleep at the time, and I didn't want to wake them up so as not to allow them to stop me from leaving), I left the house like an arrow and headed for my friend's house. When I arrived, I had to go through a series of condolences, hugs, and tears before I found him, who was alone, crying silently standing on the balcony of his father's room, from where you could enjoy a wonderful view of the city, which at that moment was obviously marred by the fatality that covered the environment like a shroud.
-Mathewe..." was the only thing I could utter, before he turned to me, and in a burst of uncommon sentimentality, I rushed to meet him to give him a big hug.
It may sound stupid in many different degrees and senses, but back then I was prey to a terrible machismo that prevented me from showing my affection or my feelings in any way. It was like a weakness, something impure that had to be kept under lock and key, hidden in a dark corner at all costs, where no one could see it and, therefore, could not use it against me. I don't know how many others were like me, but I know that Mathewe felt the same way, so he understood perfectly that I could not allow myself some kind of closer and more accurate comfort, but that rather rough and impulsive embrace that we had to break immediately. After that, and during the whole painful process involving his father's funeral, wake, and burial services, I remained immovably by his side, as silent as he was but always present. By that time I had more than planned my move to London to study the career I had dreamed of for most of my life, and although it had cost me this world and the other to have everything ready so that I felt completely sure of the giant and important step I was going to take, just to accompany my friend I allowed myself to postpone it for a few days and thus be able to accompany him in his grieving process. Matthew already knew that I would be leaving shortly, and although he must have noticed that I postponed my trip, he never said anything. However, he didn't need to, because I knew him as well as I know myself, to the point that I knew very well, without him needing to tell me, how grateful he was for my company and for the support I was giving him in that dark moment of his life.