Nakano let his hands rest on Ronan’s arms, which still held him under his chin. So strong and warm, how many afternoons did they spend in the secrecy of The Forest of No Return like this, lying on the cool earth, Ronan’s arm around Nakano? Those days could not be over forever; they just couldn’t be. “Yes,” he answered defiantly. “And he ran off because he knew what he saw.”
Ronan spun Nakano around so they faced each other and then, unable to control his fury, he slammed him back into the Dumpster. Over the echo of steel, Ronan asked, “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Too incensed to lie, Nakano spoke the truth, at least as he saw it. “Because it’s better this way,” Nakano said. “It’s better that it’s over before it even begins. Michael isn’t worthy of you. He wouldn’t even stay and fight for you once he thought you were with someone else, someone who is perfect for you!”
The rage Ronan was feeling quite unexpectedly turned to laughter. “You? You’re perfect for me?” If anyone happened to witness Ronan just at this moment, they would never have imagined that mere seconds before, he had been capable of breaking Nakano into pieces. He was laughing hysterically, which was only making Nakano even more furious.
“Do not laugh at me!”
“Then don’t say stupid things! You know as well as I do that you’re not perfect for me. You’ve told me so yourself.”
“I never said that,” Nakano protested.
A little bit of the rage was returning and Ronan glowered. “How many times have you told me that I’m different? How many times have you reminded me that even though your race despises me, you personally understand that I cannot be judged for what I am?” Ronan hissed. “And now you tell me that you’re perfect for me? What am I supposed to do but laugh?”
Nakano slammed his fist into the Dumpster, denting it slightly, but not even bruising his knuckle. He was angry because once again he was not only battling Ronan, he was battling himself. His heart was speaking a language his mind didn’t fully comprehend. “I know what I said, I know what our races believe, but I also know you and me and I know that we are perfect together.”
Now Ronan saw Nakano for what he was. A sad little boy who was trying to think for himself, but not yet capable. “You don’t mean that, not really. You only think we’re perfect for each other because you think I might be able to find happiness with someone else,” Ronan explained. “Until Michael arrived, you were ignoring me.”
“That’s not true!”
“I told you yesterday, Kano, what we had was wonderful; it really was very sweet, but it’s over,” Ronan said as kindly as he could. “It’s part of our past and it’s not going to be repeated, so you need to accept that and stop interfering in my life.”
The hell with you, Ronan! “Because you think some kid, some dumbass American, can replace me?!”
Don’t take the bait, Ronan, don’t let him goad you on like this. “I looked into your eyes yesterday. I looked into the very essence of who you are and I didn’t turn away. Doesn’t that prove that I still care about you?”
“Oh, and you think I should thank you for that?”
Suddenly, Ronan was tired. Tired of this conversation, tired of the endless battle, and tired of Nakano. “No, but it would be nice if you could just be happy for me.” Now Ronan looked at Nakano with pity and disgust. “But I guess that’s too much to ask from your kind.”
Just as Ronan was about to turn the corner of St. Martha’s and be out of his view, Nakano couldn’t suppress the desire to have the final say. “When you tell Michael what you really are, let me know if he hopes you’re happy!”
Those words were echoing in Ronan’s ears when he knocked on Michael’s door. Even though he knew he wasn’t going to reveal his true self to Michael—he wasn’t going to expose every secret—he was still nervous. He was going to try to explain that Nakano meant nothing to him and that, well, he thought, and maybe he completely made it all up in his head, but he thought that Michael had wanted to get to know him better too. He thought that the two of them could just spend some time together to learn more about each other. When the door opened and it was Ciaran, Ronan was more than a little relieved.
“Is Michael home?”
“Well, hello to you too. Yes, Ronan, thank you, I’m fine,” Ciaran said sarcastically.
Ronan lowered his head, duly chastised. Sometimes I just can’t win with this one, he thought. “Sorry, how are you?”
“Does it even matter?” Ciaran opened the door wider as a means to invite Ronan into his room without actually having to ask him to come in. It also enabled him to see that Michael was sitting on his bed going over some Latin homework.
“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 him.” Michael wanted to toss his Latin textbook to the floor and jump up and down on his bed, but he sat still and didn’t say a word. “I’m going to try to stop rambling now. But I’m not really sure if I can stop, so it might be best if you could say something.” Michael loved how he looked right now, more boy than man. “Please?”
Michael looked at Ronan’s face, and for the first time he looked at him not as a stranger, not as someone he just met, not as someone he could dream about, but as someone he was going to have a relationship with, someone who was going to become his boyfriend. “I like you too.”
A smile ignited Ronan’s face. He couldn’t conceal it even though other thoughts were filling up his mind, thoughts that caused him concern and worry, but for now he was going to push them away, squelch their sound, and concentrate on what Michael just said. “Really?”
“Yes, Ronan,” Michael replied, thrilled that he had the power to bring Ronan such obvious pleasure. “Really.”
“Blimey! That’s good,” Ronan said, sitting on Michael’s bed. “That’s really good.”
“It is good,” Michael said, his eyes darting all over his room, not confident enough to just settle on Ronan’s face. “Really, um, really good.”
Good for now, until he finds out everything, Ronan thought. No, please, please don’t make me think of all that; just allow me a bit of time, some happiness. “I think I liked you, Michael, from the moment I laid eyes on you.”
Find the courage, Michael; just look him right in the eye and tell him. “I know. That’s how I felt the first time I saw you outside the cathedral. Ever since then …” Don’t say too much. Oh, why not? Just tell him. “Ever since that night, you’re all I can think about.” There, it was in the open. It felt invigorating not to keep secrets hidden. They reached out and their hands found each other.
“Oh,” Michael said. “I didn’t thank you.”
Ronan’s thumb stroked the softness of Michael’s hand. It’s not my cheek, Michael thought, but it’s a start. “For the drawing that you made. The Picture of Michael Howard.”
Ronan held Michael’s hand tighter, his cheeks getting back some of the rosy glow they had lost. “Oh, well, I’m not a very good artist.”
“I think it’s beautiful.”
This was absolutely effortless, Michael thought. All the years spent worrying and being frightened that he would never be able to just sit with another boy and hold his hand and talk to him were washed away. Because here he was. And here was Ronan. And they were together, sitting, smiling at each other, their fingers intertwined, knowing
what they wanted to do next. Unfortunately, that would have to wait, for at that moment, there was a knock at the door.
“Knock knock, is anybody home?”
It was Brania.
And just like that, Ronan’s bad feeling returned.
chapter 10
At the same time, Michael and Ronan asked the same question, “What are you doing here?” And then two seconds later, they both let go of the other’s hand.
“You know her?” Ronan asked Michael.
“Um, yeah,” Michael said, then added incredulously, “You know her too?”
Ronan looked at Brania, who had already come into the room, closed the door behind her, and was sitting with them on the bed. She clearly didn’t need an invitation to make herself at home.
“Of course Ronan knows me,” Brania said. “We’re childhood friends.”
Michael wasn’t sure what disappointed him more, that pronouncement or the fact that he and Ronan were no longer holding hands. When their dinner date—so thoughtfully arranged by his father—had ended, he thought that was the last he would see of this girl, but now here she was, unexpected and unrequested, sitting on his bed, next to the boy whose hand he wanted to hold and whose mouth he longed to kiss. Why in the world was she here? And if this was the way Ronan reacted when he saw a childhood friend, Michael didn’t want to know what he looked like when he saw an enemy.
When Ronan spoke again, Michael noticed that his voice was lower, more serious. He sounded the same way he did when he was outside St. Joshua’s standing next to Ciaran. “How do you know her?”
“We met at my father’s hotel for dinner,” Michael explained. “Our fathers are business associates.”
“Such a tiny, tiny world,” Brania said. “Isn’t it, Ronan?”
If possible, Ronan’s voice sounded even more serious when he spoke again. “What are you doing here?” But what concerned Michael more was his expression; it was grave. To look at him, it appeared that there was bad blood between these two, but one look at Brania dispelled that theory. She looked relaxed and downright playful. Stretched out on Michael’s bed, she lay on her side, her slender neck resting in the palm of her right hand, her left knee bent so she looked very much like a fully dressed centerfold. “Now, is that any way to make a lady feel welcome?”
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