“Michael.”
How could one simple word make him feel so good? Michael didn’t understand it, but when Ronan said his name, he got the same feeling he did the first time he heard him say it. Like he was hearing a new language, a word that up until now had been unknown, like Ronan was asking him so many important questions just by saying his name, in that one word, there was so much potential, so much possibility. And then Michael remembered what he had seen.
“Hi, Ronan,” Michael said in a flat tone, and then returned to his Latin homework. His eyes couldn’t even focus on the foreign words, cruor, cruorem; his head was swimming with thoughts about the boy who was standing in his doorway. He had so much he wanted to say to Ronan, he didn’t know how to begin, but he definitely wasn’t going to say anything in Ciaran’s presence. He couldn’t, but thanks to Ronan that obstacle was about to be removed.
“Ciaran,” Ronan said. “Could you please give us some time alone?”
Don’t be surprised, Ciaran; this is what you knew would happen. You knew Ronan would track Michael down like prey and you know that in five minutes Ronan will explain everything away, explain that Nakano is part of his past, ancient history, and he and Michael will begin their new life together while you get to watch everything from the sidelines. Do you like watching Ronan live his life? Do you enjoy seeing him constantly move farther and farther away from where you’re standing? From where you’re stuck? You only have yourself to blame, Ciaran; you could’ve kept your mouth shut. Unfortunately, Ciaran knew certain things about himself. The first was, he would spend his life trying to help Ronan in whatever way he could. And the second was, no matter what Ronan asked him to do, he would comply. “Of course,” Ciaran said. “Fritz said he needed some help with his chem lab.”
It didn’t even occur to Michael to protest, to tell Ronan that they had nothing to talk about because although he was afraid to have this conversation with Ronan, he wanted to share his space. What he didn’t want to do was appear interested and so he desperately fought the urge to look up and continued to stare at his textbook. He even went so far as to copy some more words down from his textbook. Vivo in profundum. He had no idea what he was writing; the words weren’t from today’s lesson. But at least he was doing something other than acknowledge Ronan, so that made him feel good.
Ciaran gathered his books and tossed them in his backpack. Before he opened the door, he looked over at Michael just as Michael could no longer fake indifference and looked up from his books. He noticed something in Ciaran’s face that he hadn’t seen in quite some time; it was the same look he would see in his mother’s face when he would catch her staring at him. It was a look of concern. Yet again, Michael felt remorse. When he saw his mother looking at him like that, it made him furious, but now seeing Ciaran wear the same expression, it gave him comfort. Having your mother constantly worry about you could be suffocating, but having a friend watch your back was different; it was nice. “Have a good chat, boys,” Ciaran said, closing the door behind him. And then Ronan and Michael were alone.
Now that there were no barriers to overcome, the boys were finding it difficult to start a conversation. They smiled and nodded; Michael wrote down a few more words—procul nox noctis—and Ronan surveyed the room. He had been here countless times before to return notes that he borrowed from Ciaran or a textbook; on a few occasions, he even came by just to hang out and visit, but this time was different. He wasn’t here to see Ciaran; he was here to see Michael and confess, in part, the truth about his past. But he had no idea how to begin, so he started to walk around the room aimlessly.
Michael was neater than he was; he liked that. His clothes weren’t thrown in a pile and his sneakers weren’t left where he kicked them off. His books too were stacked neatly on his desk; a few already had Post-its coming out of them to remind him of an important page or passage at a later date. His surroundings were as well kept as he was. Even sitting on his bed doing homework in a baby blue T-shirt and navy track pants, he didn’t look like he just rummaged through his laundry bin to pick out something to wear; he looked like he stepped out of the pages of a magazine. His feet, bare, looked so smooth, the arch so perfect. Oh, he’s so handsome; please make him believe me. Please make things go back to the way they were just a few days ago when everything was on the brink of a new beginning.
They caught each other’s stare at the same time.
Ronan said, “Is this your mum?” at the same time Michael said, “How are you?”
“Sorry, you first,” Ronan said.
“No, that’s okay,” Michael replied. “Yes, um, that’s me and my mother at a fair back home.”
The picture was old, but it was Michael’s favorite. He and his mother had gone to the Nebraska State Fair in Grand Island when he was ten years old, just the two of them. Grandpa had wanted to go, but his mother, sensing her son needed a break from his grandpa’s company, told him that she wanted a mother-son day and so they drove the fifty miles alone singing along to the radio, talking about nothing in particular, at least nothing important that Michael could remember. At the fair they ate too much junk food, rode the roller coaster three times in a row, and his mother won him a stuffed panda in the water balloon race. But what he cherished most about that day was how much they laughed. Easy and often. They laughed more that day than they ever did before or since. It was as if that one day was a reprieve from his mother’s worry, her nervousness, her hovering. If only, if only every day could have been so joyful.
Ronan was holding the picture in his hands, his thumb absentmindedly caressing Michael’s face. “You both look happy.”
Michael couldn’t help imagine how Ronan’s thumb would feel if it touched his cheek, his lips. “Yes, we were,” Michael said, and then added quietly, “That day anyway.”
Ronan placed the picture back on the shelf as if he were hanging a painting in a museum, with too much attention and special care. It was simply a tactic to avoid the real reason he was here. But no matter that he was just as nervous, Michael wasn’t going to allow him to stall any longer. “So what do you want to talk about?”
“I think you know.” Oh, that’s good, Ronan, accuse him.
“I’m not a mind reader.” Terrific, Michael, be arrogant; that’s a great way to start a conversation.
They said “I’m sorry” at the same time. Michael closed his books—it was useless to pretend that he was actually studying—and looked at Ronan. He was about to speak when Ronan began. “I think you may have seen something the other day that, um, looks different from where you were looking at it from, different from, um, what it really was.”
Michael tried, but couldn’t follow Ronan’s words. “What?”
Be direct, Ronan, just be direct; that’s always the best way. “Nakano and I weren’t hugging.”
Oh, really? “Could’ve fooled me.”
“Well, yeah, we were hugging,” Ronan started, “but we weren’t hugging.”
“Oh, of course, now I get it.” Great, Michael, so much for not being arrogant.
“I’m sorry, Michael. What I’m trying to say is, I was saying good-bye to Nakano. He’s my ex.” Say the word, Ronan, just say it and get it out there so there’s no confusion and you don’t have to wonder if Michael is interested in you as a friend or as something more than that. “He’s my ex-boyfriend.”
He is gay. Thank God. Wait a second, why am I relieved? He just told me he was hugging his ex-boyfriend. I shouldn’t be grateful about that. “It didn’t look like a good-bye hug to me.”
He didn’t make a comment about my having an ex-boyfriend. I was right. Okay, one hurdle behind me. Behind us. “That’s what it was. I’m not going to lie to you. Nakano still has some feelings for me. I don’t think they’re honest feelings.”
“And what exactly is that supposed to mean?”
“I think he’s just jealous of you.”
Don’t smile, Michael, this whole thing is not supposed to make you happy. “Me? Why would he be jealous of me?” Oh, wow, I actually made Ronan blush. He looks like he just ran a mile; his cheeks are all blotchy. And just adorable.
“Because, Michael,” Ronan whispered hesitantly, “I like you.”
Don’t say a word, Michael, let the moment seep in. This is what you’ve been waiting for, this is what you’ve been waiting for him to say.
“And, well, he isn’t going out with anyone right now, so you know, he sees me and you … not that there is a me and you, but he knows that I, um, would like there, maybe, to be, and he started acting weird and saying things, and I told him that what he and I had, which was over a year ago, by the way, was over and he had to forget that anything would ever start up again. So even if there is no me and you, there isn’t going to be a me and
