Authors: Michael Griffo
Michael wasn’t sure what Ciaran was asking him. “I know I’ve never been on a swim team before, but if I keep practicing, I’ll only get better.”
“I’m not talking about the swim team,” Ciaran said. “I’m talking about Ronan.”
If someone had asked Michael something so personal a few weeks ago, he would have found a way to avoid answering. He would have changed the subject or just remained silent, lived inside his head instead of in the real world. But now, he knew he couldn’t run from such questions, and the best way to answer them was directly. “I really like Ronan,” Michael said. “And he feels the same way about me.”
“So you think that you should act upon those feelings so soon?” Ciaran asked. “I mean you hardly know each other.”
“That’s why we’re going out on a date tonight, to get to know one another. And hopefully after a bunch of dates we’ll know each other really, really well.”
There was so much Ciaran wanted to say, but he knew there was no way to begin. “Just be careful, Michael, that’s all I ask.”
* * *
Why was this so difficult for him to accept?
Michael thought. “And all I ask, Ciaran, is that you give us a chance.”
* * *
But what chance could Michael possibly have if he wore the wrong outfit? He looked at himself in the mirror, hated what he saw, and wondered if Ronan was having an equally difficult time trying to figure out what to wear. He doubted it. Ronan always had that relaxed air about him that made it look as if he just reached into his closet and put on the first thing that his hands grabbed. And no matter what he wore, he looked sensational. Michael was desperate to look just as perfect. He hadn’t yet realized that Ronan didn’t care what he wore and probably wouldn’t notice anyway. He was much more interested in looking into Michael’s eyes and watching the way his mouth moved when he talked.
“This might work.” The emerald green V-neck sweater really did accentuate his eyes, and the white T-shirt peeking out underneath made it look more casual and not so formal. His jeans fit well, not too tight and not too loose, and his new black loafers were a better choice than his muddy sneakers. His skin was, thankfully, blemish-free and his hair was simple and loose, the way he thought Ronan liked it. But maybe he should put some gel in it just to give it a lift? No, because if it doesn’t look good, then it’ll be harder to get it back to normal. Michael sighed at his indecision and realized he was thinking way too hard. He sighed even louder when he realized that Ronan had probably been ready an hour ago. He was wrong.
The second after he put the pomade in his hair, Ronan regretted his decision. He rarely used hair-grooming
products, partly because he thought his hair looked fine without cosmetic help, but mainly because he felt inadequate applying the stuff. However, he had wanted to do something special tonight for Michael. He quickly realized he’d made a mistake. Or wait, maybe it was just nerves talking.
He ran his fingers through his hair, then pushed down some unruly strands that were sticking up at the sides and then stopped touching his hair altogether. It actually looked good. His hair, pushed back off his face instead of flopping on his forehead, made him look a bit older, kind of collegiate and studious. He liked it. He also liked the way his thin, light blue sweater fell over his muscles, showing off enough but not too much. And his jeans, well, they were just jeans, which meant they were comfortable, which helped him feel a bit more comfortable. Just as he started wondering what Michael would look like, there was a knock at the door, and he wouldn’t have to wonder any longer.
When Ronan opened the door, Michael couldn’t believe his eyes.
He actually gets better-looking every time I see him.
“Wow, love your hair,” Michael said, cringing at how girly he just sounded.
“Really? I wasn’t sure about it.”
“Yeah, I’m sure. It really, um, looks great. So do you.” Michael tried to stop speaking but couldn’t. “I mean, you know, you, uh, you look great.” And now he sounded like a girl with a speech impediment.
He’s just as nervous as I am, Ronan thought. That’s good.
“Thank you.” Just as Ronan was going to invite Michael to come in, he noticed his backpack. “Planning on getting some studying in tonight?”
“Oh no … this contains the contents of our date,” Michael said proudly.
Ronan was intrigued. He crossed his arms and leaned against the side of the door. “In that little bag of yours?”
“Well, laddie, you might call it my li’l bag o’ tricks.”
Ronan laughed and Michael, recognizing a bad pun even when it came out of his mouth, joined in. They only stopped when Ronan gave him a kiss. “Sorry. I’ve wanted to do that since tryouts.”
“Me too.” Flustered, Michael desperately tried to think of something to say. “Still can’t believe I made the first team.”
“Why not? You swam a great race.”
“Just hope I can keep up.”
“Don’t let Fritz make you question yourself,” Ronan advised. “Or Ciaran.”
“Ciaran? He hasn’t said a word,” Michael half lied.
“Exactly. When my brother gets pissy, he shuts down. Keeps it all to himself, he does, ’til he explodes.”
“I can’t picture Ciaran exploding. He’s too, I don’t know … too
Jane Austen
for that.”
“Give him time. He can cause a scene that would make Ms. Austen roll over in her grave,” Ronan said knowingly. “Now, enough about him. Where are you taking me on our first date?”
“I like the sound of that,” Michael said. “Our first date.”
Ronan reached up to hold the top of the doorjamb and leaned into Michael, his biceps bulging a bit more underneath the soft material of his sweater. “Then I’ll say it again,” he said, his lips barely touching Michael’s. “Where are you taking me on our first date?”
Ronan had the ability to scare and exhilarate Michael at the same time, but Michael wanted to stand his ground in Ronan’s presence, so oddly it helped him find his own courage. When Michael spoke, he didn’t pull his lips away but let them rest on Ronan’s. “You’ll have to follow me to find out.”
When they got to The Forest of No Return near where Ronan had found Michael a few days earlier, Michael stopped. “Here.”
“Here?” Ronan asked, intrigued, but concerned.
Michael knelt down and began to unzip his backpack. “The weather’s a bit like what we Ameri-
cans
call Indian summer, so I thought it might be fun to have a moonlight picnic before it gets too cold to do much of anything outside.” So Michael was a romantic, Ronan thought. “You don’t think it’s stupid, do you?”
“Not at all; it’s sweet.”
“I was actually going for sophisticated, but I’ll take sweet.” Michael pulled out a bedsheet that would double as their tablecloth. “Don’t worry, I washed it first.” Ronan grabbed the other side of the sheet and together they laid it out on the grass. Next Michael pulled out two napkins that he had swiped from St. Martha’s, some glasses, and a bottle of grape soda. “I couldn’t find
any grape juice—you know, underage wine—so I thought this would be the next best thing.”
“You’ve thought of everything, haven’t you?”
“Well, if cheese, crackers, and some grapes are everything, then yes, I have,” Michael said, feeling silly and, yes, sophisticated at the same time. “Bon appétit.”
Kneeling on the bedsheet across from Michael, Ronan realized that there was no turning back now; he was entering into a relationship with Michael. It was the start of something that could very well be, hopefully be, the most important relationship of his life. It could also be the most dangerous and destructive. So many nights he dreamed, he prayed, that his life would change, that he wouldn’t feel so isolated and here, kneeling in front of this boy, under the moon’s glow, he realized that his prayers had been answered. He felt the strength of The Well course through his veins and knew that, despite his misgivings, The Well was giving him its blessing. It was just the encouragement Ronan needed so he could relax and enjoy Michael’s company.
Michael was enjoying himself so much, he didn’t even notice that Ronan wasn’t eating or drinking. Of course his limited human vision wasn’t able to see Ronan’s sleight-of-hand tricks as he spilled soda behind his back or tossed the food into The Forest; his eyes didn’t pick up such quick movements. Down deep, Michael might suspect that something odd was happening, but without any proof, his suspicions would remain unvoiced. His emotions, however, were a different story.
“No, I didn’t have the best childhood,” Michael admitted. “Never felt comfortable in Weeping Water.”
“I’m sorry to hear that. Mine was just the opposite. I was too comfortable growing up on the island.”
“How so?”
Ronan rolled a grape between his fingers. “Never really wanted to leave.”
“Must be nice to come from a place you love so much you don’t ever want to leave.”
“That’s a better way of looking at it.” When Michael’s eyes blinked, Ronan tossed the grape to the side, and a second later it was carried away in a robin’s beak. “So what made you so uncomfortable back home?”
“Me,” Michael replied. “Didn’t like who I was, who I am, so of course I hated everything around me.” Michael took another sip of soda and was happy he could speak so openly about himself to Ronan. “It’s hard growing up gay in the Midwest. Since I’ve come here, though, I don’t know, I feel differently. Things are a bit easier here.”
Ronan knew more than Michael thought, about growing up as a minority, an outsider. “Homosexuality isn’t such … a scarlet letter.”
“Or a love that dares not speak its name.”
“Quoting Mr. Wilde now, are you?”
“Well, that one’s pretty famous,” Michael said. “Even on our side of the pond.”
Suddenly, Ronan felt the need to speak without using any words. He reached over and took Michael’s glass
out of his hands, placing it on the ground. He brushed his fingers through Michael’s hair and then let his knuckles caress his cheek; he could tell Michael’s mouth wanted to form words, so he pressed his thumb against his lips to silence him. Then he gently, but firmly, pushed him back onto the ground and looked down into his lovely face. Yes, Ronan reminded himself, there was no turning back.
Ronan lowered his head and Michael felt his heart pound and when Ronan stopped half an inch from his mouth he thought his heart would burst. With one hand playing with the soft strands of Michael’s hair and the other pressed against his chest, Ronan kissed Michael softly on the lips. Michael’s hand found Ronan’s and their fingers intertwined, rough on soft, just the way Michael liked it. With his other hand, he found Ronan’s neck, strong and muscular, and took the liberty of embracing it before feeling his back, his shoulders, and then his waist.
Although their kissing intensified, the tips of their tongues, curiously, hesitantly, meeting each other, exploring new territory, neither boy had any intention of getting more intimate. They mutually understood that they wanted to take things slowly, especially Michael, who was the less experienced of the two. He wanted to awaken his body slowly, move to the next level when it was ready, and not be rushed into anything prematurely. Instinctively, he knew Ronan would let him take his time and for that he was thankful.
“This is a perfect first date,” Michael whispered, then
added with a laugh, “Not that I have any experience to make a comparison.”
Ronan leaned on his side, his head resting in the palm of his hand, his other hand resting on Michael’s chest. “I’m not going to lie to you, Michael; I have been on a few first dates before, but this is by far the best.”
“You’re not just saying that to make me feel good?”
“No,” Ronan replied. “I won’t ever lie to you.”
Something about the seriousness in Ronan’s eyes ignited Michael’s curiosity and he felt the need to embrace him. Michael sensed that for all of Ronan’s muscles and strength and power, he was quite vulnerable. He didn’t know what made him that way. It could be nothing; it could be something very traumatic from his past. Regardless, he understood his need to be comforted. So that’s what he did.
He leaned forward, pushing Ronan onto the ground, and kissed him deeply. He didn’t have the skills yet, but he tried to convey with his kiss that he would always be there for Ronan, always be ready to comfort him when he was saddened, ready to listen when he needed to talk. Michael was successful. Ronan understood what the kiss meant and for the third time today he was grateful. A marvelous feeding, being named captain of the swim team, a beautiful first date. It was a perfect day.
Until he got home to find his mother waiting for him.
“Hello, son,” Edwige said. “Why don’t you sit down and tell me all about your new boyfriend?”
Edwige Glynn-Rowley was nothing like her son. She wasn’t honest, thoughtful, conflicted, or forgiving. Yes, she was a vampire, so they did share the gift of immortality, but other than that, they had little in common. Like the knack for showing up at the most unexpected times.
“Mother?” Ronan said, quickly closing the door behind him. “What are you doing here?”
Edwige stretched her legs and propped her feet up on Ronan’s bed, the long, thin heels of her black pumps scrunching up the bedspread a bit. She was sitting at his desk, her arms resting on the sides of the captain’s chair,
her head leaning against its curved back. She was so petite and the chair so substantial that she looked like a student taking a break from studying. If anyone had seen her, they would have mistaken her for Ronan’s girlfriend unless, of course, they knew Ronan, and then they would realize that it was very unlikely that Ronan would ever have a girlfriend. He did, unfortunately, have a mother who was very involved in his life.
“So tell me all about Michael,” Edwige said, raising her hand absentmindedly to caress the smooth collar of her pink silk blouse.
The bad feeling Ronan felt earlier in the pit of his stomach once again returned. “How do you know his name?”
Edwige crossed her ankles and smiled. She was about to use her index finger to push some strands of hair behind her ear, a sultry gesture she liked to use on any man, but realized at the last moment that just this morning she had her long, straight black hair cut into a short pixie. “And since when are you a blonde?” Ronan asked.