And I feel that I’m a little different—but I don’t know how exactly.
I once thought that you could find all the secrets of the universe in someone’s hand.
And I think that’s true. I did find all the secrets of the universe in your hand. Your hand, Dante.
But I also think that you can find all the secrets of the universe when a girl who is more a woman than she is a girl cries all her hurt into your shoulder. And you can also discover all the hurt that exists in the world in your own tears—if you listen to the song your tears are singing.
If we’re lucky. If we’re very lucky, the universe will send us the people we need to survive.
Three
A WEEK. SCHOOL WAS STARTING in a week. That word, “school,” was hovering over us like vultures over a dead carcass. It was a Saturday. Not that Saturdays meant all that much during the summer. I went for a run. I always liked the sweat that poured out of me after a run.
Afterward, I sat on the porch steps thinking. I laughed to myself. Ari, and you thought you didn’t have any hobbies.
My mom came out and sat next to me. “Don’t get too close, Mom. I’m pretty smelly.”
She just laughed. “I used to change your diapers.”
“Ugh. That’s disgusting.”
That made her shake her head. “There are certain things that sons may never understand.”
I nodded, and then this idea ran through my head. “Mom, do you have plans today?”
“No,” she said, “but I feel like cooking.”
“That’s perfect.”
“Why? Do you feel like eating?”
“And you wonder where I get my smart-ass attitude.” I just jumped into my idea. “Mom, do you think I can have my friends over for lunch?”
My mom had this great look on her face. “I think that would be wonderful. But who are you? And what did you do with my son?”
“Ha! Ha! Well, I think I need to tell Susie and Gina about me—and I thought having them over for lunch and, you know—”
“Susie and Gina, the girls you’re always complaining about because they won’t leave you alone? The girls you’ve always pushed away for having the nerve to want you as a friend?”
“You’ve made your point, Mom.” I felt like an asshole. “I guess I’m starting to get it. This may sound strange. But they’re the closest I’ve had to friends ever since I was in first grade. I don’t want to shut them out anymore. And it’s like you said, I’m going to need some friends. Dante and I can’t go at this alone.”
“Ari,” she whispered. “I’d all but given up hope that you’d open up your eyes and see how much those girls cared about you. I’m proud of you.”
“It only took me twelve years.”
“Better late than never.” She blew me a kiss. “You’re right. You’re pretty smelly. Take a shower. I’ll cook up something special.”
* * *
I called Dante and asked him what he was doing for lunch.
“Nothing. Are you planning on taking me out on a real date?”
“My mom’s making lunch. She feels like cooking. And when she feels like cooking, it means a feast.”
“Sounds great! Do you still love me?”
“That’s a stupid question.”
“It’s not a stupid question. A stupid question is when you’re walking down the street with a friend and it’s raining, and your friend asks, Do you think it’s going to rain today? A stupid question is if my mom walks into the room looking convincingly pregnant and for me to ask her, Mom, you’re thirty-seven. You’re not really pregnant, are you? That would be a stupid question.”
“Okay, not a stupid question. This is what I should have said: Keep asking me questions that you know the answers to—and I’ll—” I had no idea where I was going with this.
“You’ll what?”
“I’ll kiss you. But I’ll kiss you like I don’t mean it.”
“I don’t think you’ll be able to pull that off.”
“What makes you so sure?”
“Because it’s me.” He had the over-the-top tone he took when he was joking around. “Because once you place your lips on mine, you will be unable to control the passion that I have aroused in you.”
“I’ll say one thing for you, Dante: You just might have a future writing cheap romance novels.”
“You really think so? I’ll dedicate them to you.”
“See you soon. And please bring the smart Dante with you and leave the airhead I’ve been talking to on the phone at home.”
“Fine, I’ll leave the airhead here all alone to die of a broken heart.”
I hung up the phone. He was a riot, that Dante. And I admired the ability he had to make fun of himself. I hadn’t yet acquired that art.
And maybe I would never acquire it.
Four
I TOOK A DEEP BREATH—AND decided to make the call. The dreaded call, that’s what I called it in my head. You know, there have been lots of things I’ve dreaded. Right before I met Dante, I dreaded waking up in the morning. That’s some serious dreading. Cassandra was right. I owed it to Susie and Gina to tell them that I was gay. It was so fucking weird. I mean, I actually practiced saying that in the mirror. I’d look in the mirror and point at the me in the mirror and say, “Ari, you’re gay. Now, repeat after me: I’m gay.” It was stupid, I know, but maybe it wasn’t so stupid. And I wasn’t normally the kind of guy who did silly things like that because I didn’t particularly like silly, and I didn’t even like the word. Dante said that every word deserved to be respected. I thought that was admirable. But sometimes we had too much respect for certain words. Like the word “fuck.” I didn’t particularly want to lose my respect for that word. Or maybe I didn’t have to respect that word in order to use it. I know which side of this argument my dad would take. And I didn’t have to guess what my mother would think.
I knew I was sitting around thinking all these things because I was delaying the dreaded call. Ari, you should tell them. Cassandra’s voice in my head. Great, just fucking great. Another voice living in my head.
I looked up Susie’s number in the phone book. I heard the phone ringing, and then I heard Susie’s voice on the other end. “Susie? This is Ari.”
“Ari? Aristotle Mendoza is calling Susie Byrd? Well, push me into the swimming pool wearing a wedding gown.”
“Knock it off. This isn’t such a big deal. I’ve known you since the first grade.”
“Well, that’s a good point. You have known me since we were in the first grade. And not once have I heard your voice on the other end of the telephone line.”
“And what’s ever stopped you from picking up the phone?”
“You, Ari. That’s what’s stopped me. Oh, I think I’ll give Ari a call, see what he’s up to?”
“Okay, okay, I get it.” And then the smart-ass in me kicked in and I said, “So, Susie, what have you been up to?”