HE DIED IN THE HALLWAY OF A HOSPITAL.
A man, trying his best to keep his composure, was speaking into the microphone of a news reporter. “We don’t need health care in this country. Why have health care when we can just let people die?”
A group of people were carrying a banner that read: ONE AIDS DEATH EVERY 12 MINUTES.
And another carried a banner that read: IT’S NOT THAT WE HATE OUR COUNTRY—IT’S THAT OUR COUNTRY HATES US.
The camera moved away—and cut to the next story.
“Mom, when will it ever end?”
“I think most people think it will just disappear. It’s amazing the capacity we have to lie to ourselves.”
Seventeen
I WAS WATCHING DANTE SWIM. I thought of the day I met him. It was an accidental meeting, unplanned. I wasn’t the kind of guy who made plans. Things just happened. Or, really, nothing ever happened. Until I met Dante. It was a summer day just like today. Strangers meet strangers every day—and generally those strangers remain strangers. I thought of the sound of his voice the very first time I heard it. I didn’t know that voice was going to change my life. I thought he was only going to teach me how to swim in the waters of this swimming pool. Instead, he taught me how to dive into the waters of life.
I want to say the universe brought us together. And maybe it did. Maybe I just wanted to believe that. I didn’t know much about the universe or God. But I did know this: It was as if I’d known him all my life. Dante said he’d been waiting for me. Dante was a romantic, and I admired him for that. It’s as if he refused to let go of his innocence. But I wasn’t Dante.
I watched him—so graceful in the water. Like it was a kind of home for him. Maybe he loved the water as much as I loved the desert. I was happy just to sit on the side of the pool and watch him swim lap after lap. It was all so effortless for him. So many things were effortless for him. It was as if home was everywhere he went—except that he loved me. And that meant that maybe he’d never have a home ever again.
I felt a splash of water. “Hey! Where are you?”
“Here?” I said.
“You were in your head again.”
“I’m always in my head.”
“Sometimes I wish I knew everything you were thinking.”
“Not a good idea.”
He smiled and pulled me into the pool and we got into a splashing fight and we laughed and played at drowning each other. We swam and he taught me more things about swimming. I’d gotten better at the swimming thing. But I’d never be a real swimmer. Not that it mattered all that much to me. Just being in the water with him was enough. Sometimes I thought that Dante was the water.
I watched him as he climbed up the ladder and walked toward the edge of the diving board. He waved at me. He planted his feet firmly, then he went up on his toes—then he took a breath and he held this incredible look of serenity. He carried a certainty about himself that I had never had. And then calmly, fearlessly, he leapt up as if his arms were reaching for heaven, then reached downward, making a perfect arch, and twisted his body, a full circle, and then reached the water with hardly a splash. His perfect dive took my breath away.
I not only loved him. I admired him.
* * *
When we were walking home, Dante looked at me and said, “I quit the swimming team.”
“Why? That’s crazy.”
“It takes up too much time. They already started practicing, and I told the coach that I just didn’t want to be on the team anymore.”
“But why?”
“Like I said, it takes up too much time. And, anyway, I missed last year, so they really won’t miss me. And I’d have to try out again, anyway.”
“Like you wouldn’t make the team. Really?”
“And then there’s the small matter that I don’t really like a lot of guys on the team. They’re such assholes. They’re always talking about girls and saying stupid things about their tits. What is this thing about tits that so many guys have? I don’t like stupid people. So I just quit.”
“No, Dante, you shouldn’t do that. You’re too good. You can’t quit.”
“Yes, I can.”
“Don’t, Dante.” I was thinking that he just wanted to spend more time with me—especially because we didn’t go to the same school. I didn’t want to be responsible for Dante holding himself back. “You’re too fucking good to quit.”
“So what? It’s not as if I’m going to the Olympics or anything.”
“But you love swimming.”
“I’m not giving up swimming. I’m just leaving the swim team.”
“What did your parents say?”
“My dad was okay with it. My mom, well, she wasn’t very happy. There was yelling involved. But look at it this way—this gives us more time to be together.”
“Dante, we spend plenty of time together.”
He didn’t say anything. I could tell he was upset. Then he whispered, “I even told my mom I wanted to go to Austin High School. Just so we could spend more time together. I guess you don’t feel the same way.” He was trying to hold back his tears. Sometimes I wished he wouldn’t cry so damned much.
“It’s not that. It’s just—”
“Don’t you think it would be a lot more fun if we went to the same school?”
I didn’t say anything.
“You agree with my mother, don’t you?”
“Dante—”
“Ari, don’t talk. Just don’t talk. I’m too angry with you right now.”
“We can’t be together all the time.”
“Ari, I said, ‘don’t talk.’ ”
* * *
As we walked toward his house in the silence of Dante’s anger, a silence that I was not allowed to break, I wondered why Dante was so unreasonable. But I knew the answer already. Dante may have had a brilliant mind, but emotions ruled him. And he was stubborn as hell. I didn’t know how to deal with that. I guess I would have to learn.
We reached his house—and we both stood there, saying nothing.
Dante didn’t say bye; he didn’t even face me. I watched him walk into his house and slam the door behind him.
Eighteen
AS I WAS WALKING HOME, I was as confused as I had ever been. I was in over my head in this relationship with Dante. Relationship. That was a vague term if ever there was one. It could describe just about anything. I mean, Legs and I had a relationship.
I loved Dante. But I didn’t really know what that meant. Where was love supposed take you?
And besides, we were beginning our last year of high school. And then what? I knew that Dante and I weren’t going to go to the same college. I hadn’t thought about college very much, and I knew Dante was always thinking about it. Not that we’d talked about it much. But there was this school that he’d talked about when I met him. Oberlin. It was in Ohio, and it was, according to Dante, just the kind of college he’d like to go to.
And me? I knew I wasn’t going to go to some private school. That was for sure. Not in the cards for a guy like me. I was thinking maybe UT. Mom said Austin would be a good place for me to go to college. My grades were good enough, I guess. Not that the good grades came easy. Hell no. I had to work hard. I didn’t have Dante’s giant brain. I was a workhorse. Dante was a thoroughbred. Not that I knew anything about horses.