Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(28)

“I dislike drama. It’s just that I want to feel alive and push the limits and reach for the sky.”

“Yeah, well, if you drink enough bourbon you’ll be kneeling on the ground and tossing your cookies.”

“Okay, I’m done with this conversation. The man I love does not support me.”

“What was that you said about not liking drama?”

He ignored my question. “I’m pouring myself a drink. If you don’t want to partake in downing some stolen liquor, then I’ll happily drink alone.”

I reached for a plastic cup and held it toward him. “Pour.”



* * *



We were sitting on folding chairs right next to each other. We’d kiss, then we’d talk. We were, of course, having our very adult drink of bourbon and Coke. Though I wasn’t sure if adults actually drank their bourbon with Coke. And, really, I didn’t give a damn. I was just happy listening to Dante talk and having him lean into me and then kissing him. There was only me and him and the darkness around us and the threat of a storm and there was a campfire and it made Dante seem like he was appearing out of the darkness, his face shining in the light of the fire. I had never felt this alive and I thought that I would never love anyone or anything as much as I loved Dante in this very moment. He was the map of the world and everything that mattered.

And then our kissing started getting serious. I mean, it was seriously serious. It was so seriously serious that my whole body was trembling. And I didn’t want to stop, and I found myself moaning and Dante was moaning too and it was so strange and so beautiful and so weird, and I liked the moaning. And then there was a bolt of lightning and we both jumped back and laughed. And it started raining and we ran into the tent.

We heard the rain pelt the tent, but it was secure—and somehow, the storm made us feel safe and then we were kissing and we were taking each other’s clothes off and the feel of Dante’s skin against mine and the storm and the lightning and thunder seemed as if they were coming from inside me and I had never felt as alive, my entire body reaching for him and his taste and his smell and I had never known this, this body thing, this love thing, this thing called desire that was a hunger and I never wanted it to end and then there was this electricity that shot through me and I thought that maybe it was like a death and I couldn’t breathe and I fell back into Dante’s arms and he kept whispering my name—Ari, Ari, Ari—and I wanted to whisper his name, but there were no words in me.

And I held him.

And I whispered his name.

And I fell asleep holding him.



* * *



It was dawn when I woke.

I could sense the calmness of the day.

I could hear the steady breathing of the boy sleeping next to me. But he seemed more like a man to me just then. And my own body didn’t seem to be a body that belonged to a boy. Not anymore. I do think that there are moments that change you, moments that tell you that you can never go back to where you started and you don’t want to go back to whoever you used to be because you have become someone else. I stared at Dante. Studied his face, his neck, his shoulders.

I covered him and moved away slowly. I didn’t want to wake him.

I unzipped the tent and the air was cold and I walked out into the sunlight, naked. The cold breeze hit my body and I shivered. But I didn’t mind. I had never noticed my own body, not like this. And it was so new, and I felt like that baby that made a noise and then suddenly knew he had a voice. It was like that. It was a kind of thrill I’d never known, and I knew I might not ever know again. I just stood there. Not smiling, not laughing, just standing there as still as I could.

I took a breath. And then another.

And then I heard a laughter coming from inside me that I had never heard. And I felt strong. And for a moment, I felt that nobody in the world could ever hurt me.

And yes, I was happy. But it was more than just happiness. And I thought that this must be the thing that my mother called joy.

That is what it was. Joy.

Another word that was growing inside me.



* * *



When Dante woke, I was lying right beside him. And he smiled at me and I ran my thumb across his face. “Hello,” I whispered.

“Hello,” he whispered back. I don’t know how long we lay there, staring at each other, not wanting to speak because anything that we said would be wrong—wrong because any word we used would spoil the silence and the beauty of it. Yes, it was true that words could lead to understanding. But they could lead to misunderstandings, too. Words were imperfect.

This silence between me and Dante, this silence was perfect. But the silence had to be broken sometime. And just as I was about to say something, Dante said, “Let’s go for a walk.”



* * *



I watched him get dressed in the tent and I didn’t care that he noticed. “You like watching me?”

“Nope. I just don’t have anything better to do.” I tossed him a smile.

“That was such an Ari thing to say.”

“Was it?”

He finished tying his tennis shoes and then he leaned over and kissed me.

We straightened out the sleeping bags and the blankets and Dante’s pillow. “I have to have my pillow.” I liked his pillow. It smelled like him.