Here the Whole Time(3)
We never talked. Kids don’t really talk when they’re at the pool. We would scream and dive and compete to see who could stay underwater the longest. We didn’t have time to talk because, at any moment, Caio’s mom could stick her head out the window, yelling his name, and the fun would be over just like that. His mom was always that type. The type who yells.
Somewhere in the middle of all the fun and no talking, I had a day I’ve never forgotten. I must have been around eleven, and after almost an entire afternoon playing sharks and pirates (I was the pirate, Caio the shark), I suggested without an ounce of fear, “Do you wanna play mermaids?”
None of the other kids in the building knew that I loved to play mermaids. It was something I did just for me. I was afraid of what the other boys might think of me if they found out that when I went underwater, in my head I was Ariel. And that deep at the bottom of the pool, I kept my imaginary collection of forks, mirrors, and thingamabobs.
Caio just smiled, crossed his legs to form a tail, and dove underwater. He didn’t care to know how to play. He didn’t say he’d play only if he could be a merman. He merely went along with my silly fantasy and we swam like mermaids until dusk. It was the best day ever.
After that, everything went by in a blur. As I grew up, the shame of wearing a Speedo in front of Caio grew with me. I didn’t quite understand what I felt, exactly, but I know that when I was twelve, I started wearing a shirt whenever I went to the pool. And after I turned thirteen, I never set foot in the pool again.
At thirteen my body began to change, hair started growing everywhere, and I had this urge to kiss someone on the lips. And I wanted that first person to be Caio.
It was ridiculous how hard I had fallen for Caio. But he’s way out of my league. It’s like being in love with the lead singer of your favorite boy band: All you can do is watch from afar and dream.
Now do you understand my despair? Fat, gay, and in love with a boy who won’t even acknowledge my Good morning in the elevator. Everything could go wrong. Everything will go wrong. And I don’t even have time to come up with an exit strategy, because the doorbell is ringing. And my mom is opening the door. And I, of course, am covered in sweat.
So it begins.
“COME IN, COME IN!” my mom says, pulling Caio inside while fixing his bangs.
Boundaries, Mom. Boundaries.
I was expecting him to arrive with his mom and a laundry list of instructions. But here he is, all by himself.
“My parents got on the first flight to Chile this morning,” he explains to my mom.
The two must get about two minutes of conversation in while I’m just standing here, watching. Doing all I can to sweat less and act normal.
“Help him with the suitcase, son!” my mom says, snapping her fingers in front of my face and bringing me back to reality.
A reality in which I’m wheeling a huge leopard-print suitcase full of clothes that belong to my hot neighbor—who, by the way, is spending the next fifteen days with me—into my room. I take a deep breath and put the suitcase in a corner, between the closet and my desk. Then another deep breath, just to be on the safe side.
“Sorry about the giant suitcase. That was all my mom,” Caio says, appearing out of nowhere in my bedroom door and scaring me a little, which I try to hide with a tight smile.
I don’t say anything, because I don’t know what to say. I want to show that I’m funny, but out of the three jokes that I can come up with, two require knowledge of specific episodes of Friends, and the other, I’m almost sure, would be offensive to Caio’s mother.
“Boys! Lunchtime!” my mother shouts, rescuing me from the embarrassing situation.
“I’m going to take a quick shower and then I’ll be right there!” I yell back, running to the bathroom and leaving Caio behind.
When I step into the shower, I’m finally able to breathe. The water relaxes me, and I can think about the situation more calmly. I know how to talk to people, I’m kind, I’m pleasant (maybe). He’s just a guest.
It’s like when my great-aunt Lourdes comes to visit every year on All Souls’ Day. Her husband is buried here in town, and when she comes to visit his grave, she always spends the whole week with us. Great-Aunt Lourdes cooks everything with green peppers and uses her spit to fix my eyebrows. Caio won’t be doing any of that (I hope), so this should be even easier.
When I get out of the shower, I feel calmer and more confident that everything is going to be fine. It was just another one of the thousands of times in my life when I was being overdramatic for nothing. I should be used to it by now. I can almost laugh at myself, but the laughter doesn’t come. Because I suddenly realize that I didn’t bring any clean clothes to the bathroom. All I have with me is a towel and a pile of sweaty clothes.
I need to think fast, because I don’t want Caio to think I’m taking too long in the shower. You know what they say about boys who take too long in the shower. Well, there you go.
I press my ear against the door and hear voices in the kitchen. My mom is there and Caio must be eating his lunch. I think I can go down the hallway really fast and get to my room without being seen. I wrap a towel around me, play the Mission: Impossible theme song in my head, and take three long strides to my bedroom.
And when I open the door …
I.
Want.
To.