What do people usually do in this kind of situation? Do they lick the other person’s finger? Give it a little nibble, maybe? I’d probably have had a nervous breakdown, so, yeah. Thanks, Mom.
Right after she came home, my mom made dinner. We ate in front of the TV by force of habit, and now, lying in bed and ready to sleep, the candy episode seems like a distant memory.
And I choose to believe that.
“So what’s the challenge this week? Anything I can help with?” Caio says, turning off the lights and settling on the mattress by my bed.
“I think this time I’ll have to figure it out myself,” I say.
“Why?”
“The challenge isn’t exactly something I have to do. It’s more like something I need to think about. To find out, actually. I need to find the trigger that gives me the courage to, I don’t know, do things I normally wouldn’t. Something I need to find inside myself. It’s a little confusing.”
“Whoa.” Caio seems surprised.
“Yeah. I won’t be able to figure it out in one week. I think it’ll be longer than that.”
“Like a month?” Caio asks optimistically.
“Like a lifetime,” I answer realistically.
“And do you know where to begin this search?”
“I think I do. I’m not sure. I got a book from the library today that might help me out. My grandma told me to read it when I was a kid, and at the time, I don’t think I really got what it was about.”
“Which one?”
“The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. Have you read it?”
“Yeah. I mean. Actually, no. I know the story, though. The Wonderful Wizard of Oz is like the book everyone says they’ve read even though they haven’t.”
“Caio, I can’t believe you’re that kind of person,” I say in a funny voice to pretend I’m shocked. (I actually am, a little bit.)
“Are you going to tell me you’ve never done that?”
“Never! It’s one of the worst character flaws.”
“Character flaw?” Caio is the one feigning shock now.
“Relax, everyone has one or two,” I answer, trying to calm him down.
“What are yours?”
“Sometimes I walk into the elevator and press the button really quick so the door will close, even though I know there are other people coming, because I hate to share elevator space,” I admit.
“Monster,” Caio answers.
“Your turn,” I say, turning this conversation into the Character Flaw Game.
“Okay. Sometimes I don’t wash my glass after drinking water, because water can’t make things dirty,” he says.
“Who’d throw the first stone for that one?” I ask. “Sometimes I accept flyers on the street and then throw them out in the first garbage can I can find.”
“Sometimes I look at the phone screen of the person sitting next to me on the bus and judge them if the wallpaper is a photo of themself.”
“Yes!” I yell. “I can’t fathom the amount of self-confidence required to need to see one’s own face when looking at the time.”
“Sometimes, when my mom isn’t looking, I drink juice straight from the container.” Caio keeps admitting things as if this is the most fun game on the planet.
“Sometimes I put bubble gum under my desk at school.”
“Sometimes I flip over the doormat outside apartment 55 because I hate the woman who lives there.”
“Mrs. Clélia?” I ask.
“The one and only.”
“I hate her, too.”
And we confess the night away. At no point do I find the courage to confess to more, um, serious stuff. But it’s fun to tell him things that no one else knows about me.
When the confessions get too gross (“Sometimes I take a booger from my nose and play around with it in my fingers before throwing it out, because there are times when the texture feels really good” were Caio’s precise words), I feel like it’s time to stop.
“Okay, no more confessions for the time being, because I want to continue to believe you are a good person,” I tell him.
“Yeah, I better stop right here,” Caio answers. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow hating me forever.”
As if that were possible.
FOR SOME REASON, I can’t sleep well. Around three in the morning, I wake up from a restless sleep, and in an attempt to relax, I pick up The Wonderful Wizard of Oz from my nightstand. I start reading it under my phone’s flashlight.
Well, then it’s nearly six a.m., I’ve finished the book, and the story wasn’t much help in my journey to find my inner courage. If anything, reading the book after all this time annoyed me. I didn’t remember the magician being such an asshole.
The courage that the Cowardly Lion was looking for was always inside him, that’s for certain. But instead of saying, “Dude, your courage is inside you,” the Wizard gives him a green liquid to drink, as if it were a potion. The Lion drinks it, feels brave, and becomes king of the forest. And he’ll probably never know that the green liquid had absolutely nothing in it. So, the Wizard is an asshole.
Caio is asleep on his mattress, curled up under a blanket and snoring softly. I wonder how many gallons of courage potion I’d need to hold his hand. To say, “I like you, and I want to kiss you.” To actually kiss him, if he allowed me to.
My head feels like it’s about to explode at any moment, so I do what any sensible person would in my situation: run to my mom.
I leave my room quietly, so as not to wake up Caio, then slowly creep into hers. I even give her door a light knock, but I don’t wait for an answer.
The room is still dark, despite the slightly open window. I step slowly toward her queen bed, which is only half-occupied, treading carefully so as not to trip on any shoes that might be lying on the floor.
“Mom?” I say in a quiet voice, lying by her side and pulling the floral comforter over my body.
“Is everything all right, Felipe?” She’s still half-asleep, but her hand moves straight to my forehead to check my temperature. It must be some mom emergency protocol, I don’t know.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. I just wanted to stay here for a bit.”
“It’s been a while since you stayed here with me. You were still little the last time,” she says, pulling me in for a hug.
When she does that, I feel small again. Not in a bad way. I feel protected. It’s as if I could say anything and still be sure it would be okay. And then, without second-guessing myself, I blurt out, “I think I’m in love.”
“With Caio?” my mom says without hesitation.
“Is it that obvious?”
“Speaking as someone who brought you into this world and who lives in this house, yes. Pretty obvious,” she says, smiling.
“That’s what I was afraid of.”
“Afraid of?” She seems confused.
“If it’s that obvious to you, it must be obvious to him, too, Mom! And if he hasn’t made a move yet, then that’s definitely because—”
“Because he’s shy. Or afraid that his mother will find out. Or maybe he’s intimidated because you’re the handsomest guy in the world,” she interrupts.