Hold My Hand

by Michael Barakiva

  * * *

  Alek’s nice Saturday school clothes were strewn about Ethan’s room. His dark slacks hung lopsided on Ethan’s orange plastic rolling desk chair. His formerly crisp white button-down shirt lay on the floor, and his serious navy-blue tie, improbably, had found its way to the ceiling fan, a passenger hanging on to a lazy carousel.

  “Do you think…” Ethan asked between heavy breaths. “… Do you think you might be ready now?”

  The question had become inevitable, like lightning after a clap of thunder. Knowing he was going to disappoint Ethan sucked, but not nearly as much as how knowing the question was coming made it impossible to enjoy their time together.

  It would’ve been so easy, Alek thought, to have just said yes. To get it over with. To give his boyfriend, the guy who’d given him so much, what he wanted. But it wouldn’t have been honest. Alek didn’t compromise on small things, let alone things of this magnitude.

  Alek didn’t verbalize his no. He just gave his head the slightest of shakes, and Ethan rolled off him and onto his back, next to Alek on his bed.

  Even though it was just before four p.m., the sun had almost set on this December Saturday, a few hours after the reverend’s epic fail. Ethan flipped on the overhead light, revealing the half-naked men that plastered his walls. Alek felt exposed, suddenly. He wrapped himself in Ethan’s comforter.

  “I’m—I’m sorry,” he stuttered.

  Alek missed the days of simple groping. He missed the innocence of the beginning of his relationship with Ethan, before the sex thing had entered the world of possibilities.

  Ethan was never pushy. Ethan never guilted. Ethan always accepted Alek’s decision. But he had asked more times than not since Thanksgiving. And even if he didn’t say the words, Alek didn’t need him to. Alek could hear Ethan’s thoughts. And his hunger.

  “Hey, man, it’s cool.” Although Alek suspected it was a cover, Ethan acted as if he were totally unfazed by Alek’s repeated rejections. “There’s lots of other stuff we can do.” Ethan smiled his positively feline smile, leaping out of bed and onto his desk chair in one fluid gesture, not bothering to get dressed. He sat in his boxers, clicking the mouse wheel. “Come check this out. I thought we could hit it before your birthday dinner next weekend.”

  Keeping the comforter bundled around him, Alek lumbered over to Ethan’s computer. “Oh my God! They’re doing a Star Trek Academy simulation at the Intrepid museum!”

  “Do I know my nerdy boyfriend or what?” Ethan beamed.

  “You know your nerdy boyfriend,” Alek conceded. He leaped out of the down comforter and embraced Ethan.

  “Whoa! We should nerd out more often.”

  “Ethan, seriously, you’re the best.” Alek pulled back, but his mind was already speeding with the possibilities. “Do you think your dad might be able to take us?”

  “I already asked, and the forecast is doubtful. He’s got plans with Lesley during the day, and then he’s seeing Remi right before your b-day dinner.”

  Alek stopped. “Remi? Like, your Remi?”

  “He’s not my Remi.” Ethan’s shoulders and neck tensed up. “He’s not my anything. Except my ex, I guess. But yeah, apparently he’s back in town, and apparently he reached out to my dad.”

  “They’re like, what—getting together?”

  “Sure—you remember, my dad used to be his prof. That’s how Remi ended up living here when he lost his scholarship.”

  “And he didn’t reach out to you?”

  “Nopers.”

  Alek gathered his clothes, using the activity as an excuse to buy himself a few moments to think. When he’d met Ethan last summer, Ethan was still grieving the Australian college student who had become his first boyfriend, then abruptly moved back to Brisbane, severing all contact with Ethan. But since Alek and Ethan had gotten together almost six months ago, all traces of Remi had disappeared from Ethan’s life, from the picture he used to have of the two of them on his nightstand to even mentioning his name. “So what do you think you’ll do when he does reach out to you?”

  “‘If,’ you mean?”

  “No, I mean ‘when.’”

  “I don’t know that he will, and I don’t know what I’d do,” Ethan admitted. He kicked his feet up on his desk, reclining into the chair.

  “Ethan, you know I trust you. Do whatever you think is right.”

  “So you’d be okay if I hit him back?”

  “Sure.”

  “What if I got together with him?”

  “What do you mean, ‘got together’?”

  Ethan laughed. “Just, like, saw him, dude.”

  Alek squirmed. “Also sure.”

  “Seriously?”

  “I am not my boyfriend’s keeper, Ethan.”

  “There’s no point in even talking about it, because apparently that a-hole thinks it’s okay to hit up my dad without even like PMing me or whatever, so who cares, you know?”

  Alek broke the awkward silence a few moments later. “As much as I love the Intrepid idea, if your dad can’t do it, it’s pretty much dead. You know how my folks are.” Alek could already hear the complaints about traffic, the price of parking, and every other possible detail.

  “Maybe they’ll let us do it by ourselves,” Ethan, ever hopeful, said.

  “Totally,” Alek played along. “And you know who I suspect will deliver to us that news? A flying pig that escaped from a frozen hell.”

  “Point made.”

  He surrendered himself to the pleasure of Ethan’s hands running over his body, like he was clay being sculpted by a master artist, confident of every stroke.

  But before things got carried away, Alek pulled back. “Come on—I have to get going.”

  “You do?”

  “Yeah—don’t you remember—movie night at Becky’s.”

  “You can be late, you know.”

  “To Becky’s?” Alek stepped on the desk chair, retrieving his tie from the ceiling fan. “Have you met her?”

  Ethan leaped out of bed. “Then I’m coming with.”

  “Seriously?

  “Sure! It’s just you I want to be with. I don’t really care what we’re doing.” Ethan threw on whatever clothes he could find from the piles littering his bedroom.

  Alek stopped and look at Ethan. “It’s Remi’s loss, you know.”

  “What is?”

  “You are. Because I’m sure you’re the best thing that ever happened to him. Just like you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”

  6

  “So what’re we watching?” Alek kicked off his shoes and leaped up onto the brown monolith of a sofa in Becky’s basement, cuddling up against Ethan, their fingers intertwined.

  “María Candelaria,” Becky gushed with joy.

  “Maria who?” Ethan asked.

  “Becky and I have been working our way through the classics of the Mexican Golden Age,” Alek explained.

  “Subtitles?” Ethan groaned. “You two are getting to be so pretentious in your old age.”

  “Moi?” Becky said, splaying her hand against her chest.

  “House rules, Ethan.” Alek reached back and wrapped his hand around his boyfriend’s neck. “Besides, we’re lucky Becky let you stay.”

  “Seriously, Ethan, my basement is harder to get into than Hamilton.”

  Ethan had propped his skateboard against the wall behind the stacks of old DVDs that looked like fingers, emerging from the earth below.

  “I’ll take your word for it.” Ethan raised an eyebrow. “You’re just about the only people I know who still watch movies. TV is the present, people. Television is the culture of our time. Look at all the good shows now—it’s impossible to keep up. Television is our mythology.”

  “And I’m the pretentious one?” Becky snorted.

  “I don’t care if it’s TV or movie—as long as it has superheroes in it, I’m in.” Alek looked at his boyfriend and best friend. “If you could choose any superpower, what would it be?�
��

  “I hate this game.” Becky rolled her eyes.

  “On that, we can agree,” Ethan said.

  Alek chose to ignore them both. “You want me to go first? All right, but only if you insist.” Becky and Ethan groaned. “I’d choose reality manipulation.”

  Becky sat on the floor, flipping through DVDs. “Okay—I’ll bite, in spite of how my instincts are telling me that even asking you about this is a huge mistake. What is reality manipulation?”

  “Duh—you can control reality. Like, if I wanted a slice of pie, I would just…” Alek waved his arms around, demonstrating how he would activate his power. “… and then a slice of pie would appear.”

  “Any kind of pie?” Ethan asked suspiciously.

  “Any kind! That’s the whole point. You can manipulate reality.”

  Becky put the DVDs down. “Alek Khederian, that is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

  “What better use for your superpower than to get pie?” Alek demanded.

  “No—I mean—that is just a superpower that would let you do anything.” Becky smacked two DVDs against each other for emphasis. “That’s not being a superhero. That’s being a god.”

  Ethan tried a different approach. “Does any superhero actually have that power?”

  “Um, of course they do—Legion, for one. And the Beyonder, of course.”

  But Becky had lost interest. “Whatever. Reality manipulation is too powerful. It’s a cheat.”

  “Okay, well, which superpower would you pick?” Alek asked.

  Becky finished sorting the piles of DVDs into new piles that, to Alek’s perception, were equally random. “Superspeed.”

  “How come?” Ethan leaned forward.

  “That way, I could finish up all my chores and homework, like, superfast and be done with the boring parts of life. So I would have more time to enjoy the fun ones. Like watching movies.” Becky underscored herself, singing a made-up sentimental Hallmark instrumental. “With friends like you.”

  “You know, we could be at Mercer Mall in twenty minutes.” Alek started speaking like a country bumpkin. “You should see what they’ve got in these movie the-a-ters, Ma! Real popcorn with butter! And an arcade and everything!”

  “Give it up. Dustin made me go see one of those last night, and I’ve had my fill for this year.”

  “I’d heard that you and D-Dawg were hanging out,” Ethan said, trying hard to sound as casual as possible.

  “D-Dawg, my ass.” Becky began fiddling with the DVD player controls. “Why do you and your friends have such stupid names for one another?”

  “Maybe the four of us could—you know—double-date sometime. It’d be fun!” Ethan said.

  “I’m glad you think so. Because he should be coming over any second now,” Becky informed them.

  Alek stood up. “He is?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Just that—I always tell you in advance if I’m inviting Ethan when we hang out.”

  “Except for today.”

  “Okay, except for today.”

  “What’s the big deal, Alek?” Ethan shifted. “Dustin’s the bomb.”

  “No big deal. I’m just saying…”

  “Besides, Dustin’s into all that sci-fi stuff you like. The two of you can go to the movies together and see as many explosions and things going kablooey as you want, and neither Ethan nor I will ever have to sit through two hours of trying to make sense of how radioactive material in outer space and genetic mutations cause superpowers.”

  “You’re conflating three totally different origin stories!” Alek protested. “And besides, I’m not going on a movie date with Dustin. He’s your boyfriend. You deal with him.”

  Becky turned quickly. “I didn’t say he was my boyfriend.”

  “But you didn’t say he wasn’t, either,” Ethan pointed out.

  “Why don’t you just ask him out?” Alek nuzzled into his boyfriend’s parka.

  “That’s not how it works,” Ethan responded. “In the hetero world, boys have to do the asking.”

  “Really? I guess this is one of the many superior things about being gay,” Alek said. “We don’t have the luxury of those heteronormative expectations.”

  “Oh my God—I didn’t realize there could be such a thing as a pink soapbox until you just stood up on one. Are you guys done mansplaining, or do you have any more prefeminist propaganda to spout?”

  “You’ve got to admit we have a point.” Ethan adjusted himself, putting his arm around his boyfriend.

  “Who has a point?” Dustin appeared at the top of the basement staircase. He strolled down, his bright green skateboard almost matching the bright green carpet. He unzipped his white hoodie, revealing a red Flash T-shirt.

  “What’s up, D-Dawg?” Ethan leaped from the coach, finger-snapping Dustin a greeting infinitely more complex than any feat of agility Alek could perform.

  “They think I should stop waiting for you to ask me to be your girlfriend.” Becky didn’t even look up from her DVDs. “So what do you say, D-Dawg? You want to do this?”

  Dustin propped his skateboard next to Ethan’s. “I thought you would never ask.” He plopped down next to Alek and put his hand around Alek’s shoulder. “This is so lit, right? Becky’s bestie, his bf, and her bf all hanging together?”

  For Becky’s sake, Alek swallowed all the snarky responses that presented themselves and simply grunted his consent.

  “I’m glad we have that settled.” Becky began munching on a bag of Haribo sour grapefruit candies that Alek would’ve sworn she did not have a moment ago. “Are we ready to start?”

  * * *

  The next morning, Alek curled up in the back of the car on the way to church, watching his brother’s ability to drive diminish with every piece of criticism their mother offered. Although it would be exactly two years and one week before Alek could get his driving license, he made a mental note to begin strategizing now how to avoid his brother’s fate.

  “Okay, now there’s a stop sign coming up, so slow down.” Mrs. Khederian clutched the inside car door handle, bracing herself for the accident that she clearly regarded as inevitable as the rising sun.

  “That stop sign is a full mile away.” Nik clenched his jaw.

  “Do what your mother says,” Mr. Khederian chimed in from the back, next to Alek. When Nik finally won the weekly debate about driving to church today, Alek had just pitied his older brother. There was no such thing as victory with their parents. Just different kinds of defeat.

  Nik stepped on the brake as lightly as possible, aiming for the impossibly slim passage between the Charybdis of his parents’ hyper-cautiousness and the Scylla of the irate drivers behind him.

  “Now, at a four-way intersection, you come to a full stop and look all ways,” his mother instructed him. “I said ‘full stop’!” she yelped when the vehicle began moving again.

  “That was a full stop!”

  “I don’t think it was. Boghos, what do you think?” Mrs. Khederian didn’t wait for her husband to respond. “What if a car had been lurking on Maple, where they’d have the right-of-way? Or even worse, what if another car had flown through their stop sign altogether? It would’ve come barreling down the intersection and—WHAM!” She smacked her hands together to illustrate. “That’s why it’s important to always practice defensive driving.”

  Nik’s jaw clenched tighter, like a vise being cranked. “I am trying to drive this car.”

  “Don’t think of it as a car.” Their mother clutched her seat belt. “Think of it as a two-ton death machine!”

  “What’s wrong with you?” Nik abandoned the calm he had so desperately been holding on to. “It’s like you’re trying to get inside my head!”

  “Don’t speak that way to your mother!” Mr. Khederian leaned forward to make sure his admonishment had sufficient emphasis.

  “Forget this!” Nik pulled into a stranger’s driveway. “This is impossible!”

  “You should put y
our signal on at least five seconds before you make a turn.” Their mother looked around anxiously to see if any police officers had witnessed the unforgivable traffic violation.

  The Khederians had traveled only a fraction of the distance between their house and the entrance ramp to Route 33: approximately three miles. Alek was impressed; he didn’t think Nik would’ve made it half that distance with a Cassandra of vehicular doom sitting in the passenger seat, predicting death and destruction at every possible turn.

  “Nik, we want to trust you with the car.” Mr. Khederian again leaned forward from the back seat. “But every time we give you the chance to drive, you don’t want to. Now let’s try again.”

  “I do! I do want to!” Nik began maneuvering the car in a K-turn. “But now my PTSD kicks in whenever I sit behind the wheel!”

  “You’re getting too close to the curb,” Mr. Khederian warned.

  “It’s fine!”

  “At least slow down!” Mrs. Khederian yelled.

  “Would you calm down?!”

  “But you’re going to hit the…” Mrs. Khederian reached over and grabbed the steering wheel, sending the car lurching.

  Thump.

  “I told you,” Mrs. Khederian stated simply. Her husband hopped out of the car to investigate.

  Alek turned and saw his father holding up a broken post with a breadbox-size mailbox on top.

  Nik dropped his head on the steering wheel. The horn blared out aggressively, obnoxiously, existentially.

  * * *

  Fifteen people to go.

  The more Alek had thought about what the reverend father said when he addressed the Saturday school class just yesterday, the more indignant he had become.

  Eleven.

  But actually engaging the head of his church required more courage than he had anticipated. Now that the service had ended and he was a mere eleven (make that seven!) people away from confronting the reverend father, Alek began second-guessing himself.