Two Boys Kissing(13)
Craig is still thrown by the I love you that Harry whispered to him. That is what he’s thinking about when the kiss begins.
Tariq makes sure all the cameras and the computers are working. He makes sure the live feed is working.
Right now, Tariq is the only viewer online.
We settle in. We watch.
Ryan doesn’t invite Avery inside his house, and Avery doesn’t ask why.
“Where are we headed?” Avery asks once they’re both strapped into their seats. “What’s the best Kindling has to offer?”
Ryan is torn. The Kindling Café is easily the best Kindling has to offer. But because of that, most of his school will be there on a Saturday, using the wi-fi and hanging out. If he takes Avery there, it will become a group event, and he doesn’t want it to become a group event, not yet.
So there’s only one destination that makes any kind of sense.
“The river,” he tells Avery. “How do you feel about heading to the river?”
“I feel great about heading to the river,” Avery replies.
Exactly what Ryan wants to hear.
One of the many horrible things about dying the way we died was the way it robbed us of the outdoor world and trapped us in the indoor world. For every one of us who was able to die peacefully on a deck chair, blanket pulled high, as the wind stirred his hair and the sun warmed his face, there were hundreds of us whose last glimpse of the world was white walls and metal machinery, the tease of a window, the inadequate flowers in a vase, elected representatives from the wilds we had lost. Our last breaths were of climate-controlled air. We died under ceilings.
Either the wallpaper goes, or I do.
It makes us more grateful now for rivers, more grateful for sky.
Avery figures they’ll just sit by the river and talk. But Ryan has grander plans than that; he calls his aunt and asks if they can park in her yard and borrow her canoe. She says sure. So instead of heading by the river, they head right into it. It’s a boat big enough for two—one in front, one in back. The current isn’t very strong, and the space between the shores isn’t very wide. They head upstream, not talking much, just a running commentary on the houses they pass, the shape of the clouds overhead. Then they get to a murmuring stretch, a shallow inlet.
“Here,” Ryan says. “A drifting spot.”
They put down their paddles, and Ryan turns his body so they’re facing one another.
“Hi,” he says.
“Hi,” Avery says back.
“I would’ve brought fishing gear, but it’s just so, well, mean to the fish.”
“I’m a vegetarian.”
“Me too.”
A smile. “Of course you are.”
Avery leans over a little, spreads his fingers in the water. It feels good to create a current, however small. The air is light and the water is quiet, the trees bending from the shore to listen to the tiny waves. The boat rocks gently.
“So what’s your story?” Ryan asks.
Avery looks up at him, hand still in the water. “My story?”
“Yeah. Everybody has at least one.”
For a few uncomfortable seconds, Avery worries that Ryan thinks he’s a mutant, thinks he’s a joke, and wants him to come clean. But then Avery realizes from Ryan’s expression that, no, it isn’t about that. Ryan is trying to craft a conversation, and wants it to be a meaningful one. Because what’s more meaningful than a person’s story?
“I can start if you want me to,” Ryan volunteers.
“Sure,” Avery says. “You start.” Because it’s a little safer that way. Avery doesn’t know how he can tell a story without telling the story, and he wants to be sure Ryan was really looking for something that big when he asked his question.
“Okay,” Ryan says. “Here goes.” He takes in an endearingly nervous breath, then exhales the start of his story, telling Avery how almost everybody in his family was born here and how almost everybody in his family has stayed here. His father being the big exception. He left when Ryan was three, and Ryan and his mom were stuck for about five years after that, until she met his stepfather, Don. He’s not that bad, as stepfathers go, but he’s not what Ryan would’ve chosen, either. He’s very old-fashioned about what men do and what women do. Ryan’s mom is fine with that—she likes him being the boss. But Ryan’s not as okay with it. They had two kids together, Ryan’s half-sisters, Dina and Sharon.
“Dina’s really sweet,” Ryan says, “and Sharon is going to grow up to be a monster. She’s only eight, but you can tell. If things don’t go her way, the world has to pay for it, you know?”
Avery nods, and Ryan continues. “So yeah. That’s the background. I grew up here, and I get into fights sometimes with my parents. My aunt Caitlin saves my life daily. Okay, that’s an exaggeration. She saves my life weekly. She totally called it on me being gay. My mother was too lost in herself to notice, and Don didn’t want to see it, so he ignored it. Caitlin waited for me to catch up to her. I had other things to think about at first—with Don, and then my sisters, and just fitting in to Kindling. Little League, that kind of thing. But eventually I noticed who I was staring at, and it wasn’t the girls. I’ll be honest—it freaked me out. I tried to like girls instead. I really did.”