The Boy Who Came in From the Cold (46 page)

The group broke into applause and then toasted the couple. Todd and Gabe interlinked their arms and drank from each other’s glasses. When they had drunk, they kissed to a second round of applause.

“I love you, Todd.”
“And I love you, Gabe.”
“Shall we go check out our new home?”
“Well….”
“Go! Go!” said Izar. “You have the day off my
mutil maitagarri
.”

And so, hand in hand, Todd and Gabe left the restaurant. But they had one more errand to do before they went to their new home.

W
HEN they pulled into the driveway, matching folded pieces of paper in their pockets, whom should they see but Peter, sitting on their front stoop, those great gangly legs crossed, hands folded at the wrist over his knees, and holding his always-present cane.

“Ah, my boys! I didn’t miss you! Alas, I cannot stay, but I have something for you!”
The “something” turned out to be a second bucket of ice complete with Champagne. It was something called “Taittinger Comtes de

Champagne Rosé” and somehow Todd guessed it had to have cost at least a couple of hundred dollars—that’s just the way Peter played.

“Did you want to come in?” Gabe said, and knowing him the way he did, Todd knew his lover was just being polite. Gabe didn’t really want Peter to come in. And in this instance, Todd knew why, and he felt just the same.

“There’s the pity, but no—I cannot tarry. But I wanted to provide a means for you to christen your nest. But please drink it and don’t break it on yon doorframe.”

“Don’t worry, we won’t,” Todd said, picking up the bucket and cradling it carefully. “You sure you don’t want to come in and see the place?”

“See it later I shall.” But then Peter wavered. Neither standing still nor going to his car. Obviously, there was still something…. Then it hit Todd.

“You told him?” Todd asked Gabe.
Gabe sighed. “Yeah, baby. Sorry.”

Todd grinned. “It’s fine,” he said, pulling his folded piece of paper from his pocket and opening it. “Well, get yours out too,” he said. Gabe nodded and followed suit.

And what they showed Peter made the man grin even wider than usual.

“Excellent!” Peter cried, and standing up, hugged them both. It was their HIV results. Negative on both counts.

“This certainly means I must part company with you boys. I believe this means you two have an entirely different christening ceremony in mind!”

As per usual, Todd turned pink.
“How charming,” Peter said. “That after more than a year spending time in my presence, you can still blush. I knew you were a prize, my boy!”
Peter spun around and, swinging his cane like a baton, went to his little Porsche 959 (stunning and sexy and oddly appropriate for the

elegant man), but then with his usual style, stopped and leaned against the car. “Remember this, my sweet friends, that where we love is home, home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts.”
“And who was that?” Todd asked.
“That was Oliver Wendell Holmes,” he said and with a final “Adieu,” folded himself into his car and pulled down the driveway and out of sight.
“I just love him,” Todd said. Then he turned and saw the way Gabe was looking at him. Wow. His heart started pounding.
“I love you,” Gabe said.
Todd’s heart leapt in his throat. “I love you too,” he replied.
Gabe pulled him into a sweet kiss—just enough to make things start happening to Todd, but not enough to scandalize the neighbors.
“Ready to ‘christen’ our new home?” Gabe asked, a sensual grin on his face.
“I sure am,” Todd said.
And that’s exactly what they did.

S
PECIAL thanks to the amazing poet Michael Lee for allowing me to use some of his words at the beginning of this book. We wanted to make sure you had a chance to read his entire poem, and you will find it below.

Please check him out on the Internet. You will be happy that you did. This young man is simply inspiring. Especially check out his poem “Pass On” at YouTube. You are not going to believe it.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PZ7-rgfu-2s

Thanks! B.G. Thomas
Bloom Backwards —Michael Lee
¹

When we were young we were whispers:
soft, but resonating like giants clapping across the ocean floor. We were mystics with a faith softer than dusk
believing a cape, juice boxes, and our limited vocabulary could bring

world peace,
“let’s all just be friends”.
We were small like songbirds, a little less quiet, but just as much

orchestra.

 

We were instruments knowing so little that there was mystery to everything,

but these days we are yells.
We know so much and it is so heavy.
We are moving faster than whispers,
though we forget where we are going;
it doesn’t matter. There are no mysteries in a place this loud. Growing up is a whisper bursting into a yell.

¹
Bloom Backwards © 2010 by Michael Lee. Used with permission of the author. All rights reserved.

 

Regaining your childhood is blooming backwards. So bloom backwards.

Open your mouth, swallow a swarm of fireflies,
hold your breath until they freeze into street lamps.
It is dark, but we are not lost yet.
Yell back down your own throat,
there are still echoes that sound like footprints,
a rifle pulse in every toe until it is only a tremor beneath your feet. You haven’t stopped running since you forgot where you were going.

Reshape your liver, broken from the nights spent drinking trying to lose yourself never knowing you’d actually do it. Replace your chest with a cello bending
in the dusk, calling music to your stomach,
smelling like rain that won’t come until tomorrow.