by Chase Connor
“That’s incorrect.”
“Four years is a long time to only know who someone is during summer,” Mike said.
“There’s more daylight in summer,” I replied. “It’s a better time to see me.”
He chuckled.
“And you know who I am,” I said. “I’ve always been honest with you. You know me almost as well as I know myself.”
“Just one kiss.” Mike pleaded with me, falling to his knees in the water before me. “Give yourself to me like you said you would.”
I waited for the water to settle.
“One?”
“Maybe two.”
A mischievous grin bloomed, the blue light from the moon casting wicked, tempting shadows across his face. I looked down at him, less than four feet away from me, kneeling in the water. The moon smiled down at me, calling me a fool. The stars blinked in disbelief as I lowered myself to my knees, sinking into the water, but didn’t move closer to Mike. I allowed myself to shiver slightly, now that Mike could no longer see my body.
“Come and get it then.” My voice was even, controlled.
Unemotional.
Uninterested.
Disguising.
“Do you want to kiss me?”
“No,” I replied. “And yes.”
“You know that I know I wouldn’t be your first.” Mike chewed at his bottom lip and looked down. “If, ya’ know…you had let me love you.”
“No,” I replied. “You wouldn’t be.”
“You wouldn’t be my first.”
“I know that, too.”
“I don’t care.” He looked up. “You know that, right?”
“Are you going to collect this kiss I owe you?” I asked.
“Only if you want me to.” He smiled widely.
“We only play one game, Mike.”
He looked down again, the wide smile disappearing into the shadows cast by the movement.
“If you want a kiss, you can have it,” I said. “Come get it. But I’m not going to beg you or make this out to be something that it isn’t.”
“What is it?” His head snapped upwards.
“Me giving you what I promised.”
“What if I don’t want it now?”
“Stop it.” I shook my head gently, my eyes not leaving his. “You want the kiss. I’ll let you come get it. So, come get it.”
“I hate you.” He grumbled.
“No. You don’t. I’d kiss you if you did.” I sighed. “That’s why this whole thing is a bad idea. But if you want complicated, come and get it. I have a lot of complicated over here.”
Mike started to move in the water, sending ripples towards me before stopping himself.
“Will you still be my friend the rest of this summer?” He asked. “Our last?”
“Yes.” I nodded.
Mike moved those few feet between us in the water and slowly raised his hands, curtains of water sliding off of his arms as he reached up to take my face between his hands. I raised my hands slightly to place one on either side of his hips as he pushed his body against mine. His eyes settled on mine and I returned his gaze as he looked at me contentedly.
“I love you.” He whispered.
“Then kiss me,” I whispered back.
So, he did.
Chapter 2
Mike
Summer Before Freshman Year
“He’s a fucking psycho, man,” Kyle mumbled out of the corner of his mouth as we sat on the bank of the creek.
My question had been: “Who is that?”
I had been referring to the kid sitting on the other side of the creek, his back against a tree, his knees propping a sketchpad in front of himself as he worked with extraordinary focus. A dark swoop of hair hung in front of his face as his arm jerked quickly, his hand obviously flying over the pad of paper. He looked up every few seconds without moving his head. Other kids were sliding into the creek from the bank, jumping around in the water, splashing each other, screaming and laughing, acting like kids. But everyone stayed away from the kid by the tree. He didn’t seem to notice.
“Psycho?” I frowned as I stared at the kid.
“Yeah.” Kyle snorted. “He’s like in a gang and shit. Apparently, he does drugs and has been arrested, like, a million times or something. You want one?”
He held a pack of cigarettes out to me, one of the cigarettes sticking out of the hole he had torn in the foil.
“Yeah.” I shrugged as I pulled the cigarette free from the pack and put it behind my ear. “Thanks, man.”
Kyle shrugged as a form of acknowledgment and kicked his legs out in front of himself, leaning back to prop himself up with his hands. I stared at the kid as he sketched, though I had no idea what he was drawing. If it was even any good. I was enthralled. A real psycho. Someone that made Kyle, one of the toughest guys I knew, speak with fear, but also envy. The sound of the kids playing in the creek, running along the banks, and walking in from the woods, talking loudly to each other, slowly disappeared from my consciousness.
It was if I were listening to see if I could hear any sound that the kid across the creek might make. Was he humming? Was he whispering to himself like a crazy person? What did his breathing sound like? Could I hear his art implement scratching on the paper? Everything around him seemed still and quiet, his own personal bubble. What did a vacuum sound like right there in the middle of chaos?
As if I found myself in a movie, the kid’s head slowly rose and his eyes connected with mine. My gut fluttered at the sight of his pale blue eyes, like icebergs floating in milk. They pierced into me and my gut flip-flopped, butterflies hopped up on caffeine. He stared back at me, impassively, his face a blank slate.
The face of a fallen angel.
Lips downturned like a bow.
Stuck between a frown and a smirk.
Kissable.
What?!
His hair hung in a curtain over his forehead, reaching to just below his eyebrows, but mercifully leaving his eyes unobstructed from view.
Skin that had known the sun, been kissed passionately by it.
Self-consciously, I looked down, lowering my head. I counted to ten. When I looked back up, he was staring back down at his sketch pad, his arm jerking furiously as he continued his work. I watched him for as long as I was brave, then forced myself to look away. Kids were dunking each other, laughing uproariously. I peeked at the kid. People were jumping into the creek, then rising to the surface and bellowing about banging their legs on the bottom. I peeked at the kid.
My gut flipped and flopped.
I felt giddy.
I peeked at the kid again.
“I’m fucking thirsty.” Kyle groaned dramatically next to me, then leapt to his feet. “You wanna walk to the store with me? Then we can go hang out at my house or something?”
“Nah.” I shook my head nonchalantly. “I’m gonna chill here for a bit and then go home, man.”
“All right.” He brushed off the seat of his shorts. “See ya’ tomorrow?”
“Yeah.” I gave an upward nod.
Kyle walked away, grabbing our friend Dalton around the neck with a loud laugh. They walked off together through the woods, talking about getting something to drink. My eyes went back to the kid with the sketch pad. He looked up again, a vaguely irritated frown forming on his kissable mouth—what? —as his eyes met mine for the second time.
I looked away immediately, my stomach tightening and sending the butterflies into a flurry once again. Peering through the hair in my eyes, I looked up briefly, ever so slightly. The kid was standing and sliding his feet into his flip-flops. His sketchpad was tucked under one arm. Without looking over again, he walked away from the creek, in the opposite direction of the woods than Kyle and Dalton had gone. My breath caught in my throat and I instinctively found myself counting to twenty. Then I leapt up from my spot on the other side of the creek.
Exactly two minutes later, I found a shallow spot in the creek to dash across to the other side. I climbed
up the bank and walked quickly towards where I had last seen the kid. Once I found the tree he had been sitting against, I walked in the direction that I had seen him go. I walked quickly to make up time between when he had left and when I had chased after him, but I didn’t go so quickly as to seem eager if I ran into him.
The woods were plentiful on this side of the creek, littered with hills and cliffs, but there weren’t as many vines and fallen branches and obstacles—save the hilly areas. I found myself walking up a steep hill, straining to climb in my own flip-flops. When I crested the hill, I nearly gasped as I found myself at the edge of a cliff, just having avoided falling twenty feet to a trail below. I swallowed hard and exhaled slowly, silently, glad that I had avoided a broken leg—or worse—out in the middle of the woods.
Looking to my right down the pathway, I saw nothing but the trail and green trees. My head shot to the left, and a hundred feet away, I spotted the kid. He was sitting against a tree just off of the path, the sketchpad against his knees again as his arm worked furiously. I crouched down suddenly, trying to be silent as I stared at him sitting there and working on…whatever it was that he was drawing. The early summer breeze that blew down the trail ruffled his hair and tried to flip pages in his sketch pad.
I swore I could see a smile slide across his face as he patted the pages of his sketchpad back into place and tossed his head to get the hair out of his face. The kid worked peacefully and quietly, with purpose and focus. Within the bounds of a wild environment, he seemed to bring peace to the small space that he occupied. Chaos danced all around, but within his space, all was art and quiet purpose.
“Don’t you walk away from me, fucker!” I jumped at the sound of a voice to the right on the trail.
I crouched down lower as my head snapped to the right. I looked over at the kid with the iceberg eyes. His head was raised and he was peering off in the direction that the voice had come from as well. When I turned my head back to the right, I saw a kid—scrawny, short for his age—who I vaguely recognized as being in a few of my classes. He was walking quickly, his head down, looking afraid. Behind him, three kids—who I recognized as soon-to-be high school juniors—much larger than the kid from my class, followed.
“Hey!” The bully leading the others screamed at the kid. “You better fuckin’ stop!”
I let my eyes slip over to the blue-eyed kid with the sketchpad. He seemed to let out a full-body sigh before he set down his sketchpad and rose to his feet. The small kid hurrying down the trail saw the kid by the tree and walked even more quickly in his direction. Stepping away from the tree, the kid who had been sketching waited until the kid was past him, then stepped into the trail, putting himself between the bullies and the bullied.
“Chambers.” The lead bully laughed haughtily and his friends joined in. “Get the fuck out of my way.”
“There are younger guys to pick on that way, too.” The kid, whose last name was obviously ‘Chambers’, nodded his head towards the other end of the trail. “So, why don’t you go that way?”
”This has nothing to do with you.” The bully seethed.
“Let’s keep it that way.” Chambers replied, bored.
The kid who had had the bullies chasing after him was practically cowering a few feet behind Chambers.
“I’m not going to tell you again.” The lead bully growled, his hands turning into fists at his side. “Unless you want to get your ass kicked for this little faggot, you’ll go back to drawing your little pictures.”
“Go away, Carson.” The Chambers kid said, his voice still bland. “You, too, Martin. Jon.”
Chambers was fearless. And I was in awe. My stomach was midnight at the dance club, again.
“I’m not going to tell you again.” The lead bully, Carson, growled once more. “If I have to kick your ass, I will.”
Chambers, who was several inches shorter than the three bullies, many pounds lighter, and obviously outnumbered, just stood there, staring impassively at Carson.
“Go swimming, Carson.” Chambers said. “Go to the store and get something to eat. Go home and play video games. This isn’t something you have to do. No one will think any less of you if you walk away.”
My breath was caught in my throat. This kid wasn’t taking the bait from this bully. He wasn’t returning the insults and threats. He was being reasonable. And he seemed utterly bored with it all.
“One last time, Chambers.” Carson practically howled.
Chambers shook his head side-to-side in a way that was almost undetectable from my position so far away. Though, I doubted he had put much effort into the movement. The bullies didn’t seem like the type he would waste much energy on.
Carson let out a howl of rage and the kid behind Chambers cowered even more, practically whimpering. Chambers stood there, his expression still bland and bored. Maybe sad. Carson ran towards Chambers and all I could think was: Why did you have to get involved?? The sound of a fist connecting—a sharp crack of bone against flesh and deeper bone—made me jump. But Chambers was still standing, looking as bored and relaxed as before. Carson was on his back on the trail, laid out like the Vitruvian Man. I hadn’t even seen the fist being thrown. Hadn’t seen it connect. Chambers had clocked Carson so quickly and with such force, the fight was over before it even had a chance to begin.
Carson lay there limply for the most silent and tensest of seconds, everyone else frozen, waiting to see what would happen. Was Carson out cold or just stunned? Was he dead??
“You broke my fucking nose!” We all exhaled.
Except Chambers. His expression never changed.
“It’s not broken.” Chambers responded. “But you’ll want to put ice on that eye.”
“You fucking piece of shit!” Carson howled as he slowly sat up, his hand going to his eye. “I’ll fucking kill you!”
Chambers took two steps to cross the distance between himself and Carson sitting on the trail. His steps were measured, even. Carson’s friends jumped back. Chambers stood there before Carson, looking down at him, utterly and completely bored.
“If you shut your mouth and leave now—that way—you can save some of your dignity.” He spoke down at Carson. “But I will hit you again if you force me. I don’t want to fight you, Carson. But I will.”
Carson held his face with one hand and glared up at Chambers with what could only be described as murderous disdain.
“Why don’t you two help him?” Chambers looked at Jon and Martin.
Jon and Martin immediately grabbed Carson under his arms and pulled him to his feet. Chambers took a step back as Carson was brought to his feet. He was tough—but he wasn’t dumb. Carson continued to glare at Chambers as his two friends drug him off in the opposite direction. Chambers returned the glare with a bored stare. But when the three bullies were around the bend and no longer in sight, Chambers turned to the kid who was standing a lot taller now that the first was over.
“You all right?” He asked the kid.
“Y-y-eah.” The kid stuttered.
Not from fear. He had a stutter.
“I told you not to come out here without your brother, Kevin.” Chambers nudged him gently in the shoulder before going back to the tree. “Guys like Carson are too scared to fuck with you when your brother is around.”
“I wuh-was juh-just walking home.”
“Stick to the streets, Kevin.” Chambers said. “Out here, Carson thinks he’s king of the jungle or something.”
Kevin laughed. “I guh-guess you shuh-showed him, huh, Ian?”
Ian Chambers.
That was his whole name.
Ian Chambers.
Righter of wrongs. Protector of the weak.
Brave.
Selfless.
Tough.
Kissable lips.
My stomach fluttered.
What was wrong with me?
“Buh-but you duh-didn’t have to hit him so huh-hard.”
“Some people don’t understand mercy until
they see mercilessness.” Ian Chambers said, his head turning to Kevin. “Now…go home, Kevin. Tell your brother I said ‘hi’ for me.”
“He duh-doesn’t even like you,” Kevin said.
“I know that.” Ian Chambers smiled finally. “That’s why you should tell him I said it.”
Kevin chuckled nervously. He gave a small wave and dashed off in the direction he had been going before the fight. Ian Chambers watched Kevin running away for a moment, then turned back to the tree. He bent at his knees and scooped up his sketchpad. The sketchpad got shoved under his arm again, cradled against his side. I watched over the lip of the cliff as he stepped back onto the trail and turned in the direction that Kevin had run. He paused for a second, his back to me, and tilted his head upwards slightly.
“I’m going home now.” He stated loudly. “There’s no point in following me anymore.”
I swallowed hard.
“Show’s over.” He added lowly, his voice sounding sad.
Ian Chambers didn’t look back, didn’t look directly at me, but I knew that he was speaking to me. Unless there was some other weirdo hiding in the woods, watching him teach a group of much older and bigger bullies a lesson. He walked with long, slow strides down the trail. The breeze blowing in his direction, as though patting him on the back. My heart was fluttering in my chest as my stomach started its dance party again.
Ian Chambers.
The name became my personal mantra. I found myself repeating it over and over in my head on the walk home. Over dinner with my family. In the shower. As I watched T.V. As I drifted off to sleep. That name and those lips, those iceberg eyes, that swoop of dark hair. A kid who could lay an older and bigger bully out with one punch but didn’t actually want to fight. The kid who just wanted to sketch his pictures and be left alone. Ian Chambers. It might as well have been the name of a God.
For the next several days, I found myself looking for Ian Chambers everywhere I went—but especially when I went to the creek. Usually, it wasn’t hard to spot him. He was always off to himself, sketching or simply laying against a tree, his eyes closed, a smile on his face as the sun shone down on him through the trees. I’d find him at the creek almost every day, by his spot at the tree—a place none of the other kids tried to occupy. Ian Chambers wasn’t a psycho after all.
