And The Children Shall Lead

by Michael J. Bowler

  Ricky eyed him uncertainly, and Lance knew the boy was hurting. “Remember,

  Ricky, that night I got so drunk and Michael took me back to his room?”

  Ricky blew out a heady breath. “I’ll never forget it, Lance. I thought I’d lost you.”

  Lance shifted nervously. “Remember I kept trying to figure out what I was telling him before I passed out?”

  Ricky nodded apprehensively. He did remember.

  “Now I know what I was trying to say.”

  Ricky waited, his whole body tense.

  “I told Michael I was confused, that there had to be something wrong with me cuz….” He let out a deep, profound sigh. “Cuz sometimes I thought I loved him, and sometimes I thought I loved Bridget, but mostly I thought I was falling in love with… you.”

  Ricky’s slim eyebrows shot up in surprise, and his heart began to flutter. “That’s what you were telling him?”

  Lance nodded. “Michael always told me I didn’t love him, that deep down I knew who I loved. I just needed to admit it. But I was too scared to admit it, Ricky. That’s how everything got so screwed up. I love you so much that when you’re with me the whole world just disappears and all I can see is you.” He stopped then, because a huge grin had slowly crept across Ricky’s face, pulling his dimples in for all they were worth.

  “What?” Lance asked, for once not reading the other boy’s mind.

  “You said you loved me, fool,” Ricky gushed, his breath wavering on his lips like vapor in the cold morning air. “How can I not smile?”

  Lance grinned. “I do love you, fool, more than anything.”

  Ricky smirked. “Yeah, well, I loved you first, so there.”

  Lance tossed off a little laugh, and that’s when Chris stepped into the room, dressed to work out and grinning impishly.

  “Okay, big brothers, who’s ass am I gonna kick today in the training centre?”

  Lance’s jaw dropped open in surprise.

  “Better not let mom hear you talk like that,” Ricky admonished.

  Chris smiled sweetly. “Don’t worry, I can handle mom. So, you guys afraid of me, or what?

  The older boys grinned. “Bring it on, little man.”

  So Lance and Ricky clambered off the bed and the three boys headed downstairs for their daily sparring session.

  †††

  After a brief workout, the brothers returned to their rooms to shower and clean up for the day’s gathering.

  This would be the first gathering since the election. As Lance nervously blow-dried his hair and gazed at his reflection in the large, filigreed bathroom mirror, he wondered how many of his fellow knights might be angry with him. By most accounts, exit polls and the like, it had been Lance’s final revelations about himself and Michael, and his expressed desire that maybe a ‘No’ vote would be preferable, that had swung the electorate so heavily in that direction. Would the other knights feel Lance had betrayed them? It didn’t seem that way at the victory party on Wednesday, but then everyone had not been in attendance.

  That party had doubled as both victory and birthday party, since Lance and Ricky had turned sixteen on that day. He involuntarily glanced down at the brand-new Galaxy smartphone his parents had given him. Ricky had received an identical one since both boys lost their phones in the train crash.

  Had it only been two weeks since Michael’s sacrifice and death? It seemed like yesterday, and forever ago. The slight throb in Lance’s ankle was a painful reminder of that day.

  He stared into the glass, his long thick hair trailing around his shoulders and down his back, and stood as straight as he could, attempting to emulate the royal bearing of his father.

  A chuckle from the open door startled him, and he looked over to find Ricky leaning against the doorjamb and smirking. His breath nearly stopped at the sight, the hand holding the hair dryer slowly dropping to his side as he gaped at the other boy. Ricky wore a formal, scarlet red tunic, brushed brown leather pants, and knee-high leather boots, the standard attire for gatherings. He wore the circlet Lance had given him for his birthday round his brow to restrain his hair, and his face shown with dancing amusement at Lance’s openmouthed reaction.

  “Caught you checking yourself out again,” Ricky said with a laugh as he stepped into the spacious bathroom. “In answer to the question you had on your face when I came in, Lance, yes, you are the most beautiful boy in the world.”

  Lance smiled shyly, reaching out with his free hand to shove Ricky playfully. “Fool! I was trying to stand like Dad, you know, all regal and kingly and stuff.”

  Ricky grinned. “You can’t help but look regal, Lance, no matter what you do.” Then he chuckled. “But you better get your fool ass dressed or you’ll be regal and late.”

  Lance laughed, set down the hair dryer and hurried past Ricky to grab his green tunic from where he’d left it on the bed.

  †††

  Lance eyed Ricky nervously as they slowly descended the lushly carpeted staircase to the lobby, and the other boy flashed him a heart-melting smile of encouragement, which slightly quelled the butterflies flitting frantically around in his stomach. This gathering would mark their first since openly declaring their love for one another, and Lance wasn’t so naïve as to think that all of his father’s knights, especially the newer ones who didn’t know them well on a personal level, would be as accepting as Reyna or Esteban.

  He tossed Ricky a smile of gratitude as they made their way down the corridor leading to the backside of the Throne Room. Arthur, Jenny, Chris and Merlin milled around by the back doors chatting when the boys approached. Jenny stepped away from the group and gave each boy a hug and kiss on the cheek.

  “Shall we begin?” Arthur announced.

  The boys nodded nervously. Yeah, they could do this.

  Merlin, dressed formally in his own tunic and pants, and looking none too happy about it, pulled open the door and stepped through. As had become tradition, each had his or her own place on the dais and followed a certain order. Jenny trailed after Merlin, followed by Chris, as Arthur’s number three son. Ricky went in next, with Lance trailing right behind, and finally the king, himself.

  The room was packed, with Arthur’s leadership team filling out the front row, followed by row upon row of chatting, excited, tunic-clad youth of varying ages and ethnicities. Mayor Soto sat in the front row beside Reyna and Esteban, wearing his standard grey suit with a sky blue tie. He grinned when he saw Lance and Ricky enter.

  Lance looked out at his fellow knights, his peers, as he and Ricky strode to their seats to the right of Arthur’s massive throne. All heads seemed to turn as one and focus on the two boys, and Lance felt momentary panic wash over him. Forcing himself to stand as proper as possible, he ignored the “looks” he knew he might be imagining. The chattering quelled as everyone realized the gathering had begun. Yet even as Arthur emerged from behind his throne to stand majestically before it, Lance knew almost every eye remained on him and Ricky.

  Arthur, attired in his formal tunic, pants, elegant red cloak, and sporting his large, jeweled crown, unsheathed Excalibur and held the enormous sword aloft, causing the chandelier lights to sparkle off its shimmering blade in a kaleidoscope of rainbow colors. The assemblage quieted and took their seats, gazing up at the king expectantly.

  “My noble knights and ladies,” the king began, leaning in to the microphone on its stand before him. “Welcome to our first gathering of the next phase of our crusade.”

  There were cheers and applause from the knights, whose eager and expectant faces excitedly regarded their king and mentor.

  “As you all know, we ultimately won our battle for the hearts and minds of Californians, for they chose to return childhood to its rightful owners – you.”

  There was more applause, but also some scowls and shaking of heads from the older kids, Lance noted with dismay. He snuck a quick look Ricky’s way, and the other boy’s sly wink instantly calmed him.

  “Before we m
ove ahead with the next phase,” Arthur went on confidently, “we have an honored guest with us today who wishes to address all of you. I give you the mayor of Los Angeles, Julian Soto.”

  The mayor rose to his feet amidst thunderous applause from the knights, led vociferously by Lance and Ricky who stood to welcome the man up onto the stage with them. Soto had been publicly supportive of Arthur and Lance and their proposition, to the dismay of many in the political arena. The short Latino man with the close-cropped hair and round face greeted Lance and Ricky with a huge grin, before winking at Chris and bowing to Jenny.

  The mayor went on to greet Arthur with a bow, and the king stuck out a hand of friendship. They shook warmly and Arthur stepped back away from the microphone, sitting in his throne and motioning the boys to resume their seats.

  The mayor grinned out at the applauding youth, obviously gratified by their response. He held up a hand to quell them.

  “You should be applauding yourselves for pulling off the most significant victory for youth this state has ever seen,” he began, and then raised his own hands to applaud.

  The kids cheered and stomped excitedly.

  When they again subsided, the mayor looked out over their eager faces soberly. “The election, however, was the easy part. Now the real work begins, and that’s where I need your help. Your prop becomes law on January one, and that means the system and the state can no longer give up on kids, can no longer throw them away into jail or prison and pretend they never existed.”

  More applause and cheers erupted from the assembled kids, and once more the mayor awaited their attention.

  Lance turned his eyes onto the crowd as his fellow knights allowed their cheers to subside. All of them were focused on the man at the microphone. But one set of eyes remained riveted on him – they belonged to a tall, lean African-American kid whose name Lance couldn’t recall – a new recruit, another ex-gang member. Marvell, wasn’t that his name?

  Why is he mad dogging me?

  The mayor’s voice pulled his attention from the glaring boy.

  “The problem of troubled youth in troubled neighborhoods, or even in rich ones, won’t be solved by me or the government. It will be solved by you who live in those communities. That’s why I’m setting up a task force to brainstorm ideas that can solve, or alleviate, some of these social ills that plague our youth, and I want as many of you as possible to sit on that task force. I want to begin next week, organizing meetings with you and community leaders and professionals to begin putting into place real and sound interventions. The City Council and I are committed to making this thing work, and give kids more reasons to reject gangs and drugs than to accept them. But you all are the key. You have the answers – it’s just that no one’s ever consulted you before. Now I am. How many are willing to help me?”

  Almost every sword and every hand flew upward.

  The mayor grinned. “Outstanding. I’ll have a sign-up sheet at the conclusion of the gathering for all who are interested. Just give me a way to contact you and we’ll begin setting up the groups next week. Thank you all for showing the world that Los Angeles has the best young people in this country, and for being the leaders we adults need to emulate.”

  More thunderous applause, cheers, and foot stomping followed his remarks as the grinning man turned to Arthur. The king rose and shook his hand again, and then Soto bowed to Lance and Ricky before dropping down the three small steps to the floor and resuming his seat.

  Arthur returned to the microphone and looked out at the excited young people before him. “That brings us to our next step forward. As you are aware, my sons have formulated an audacious plan to amend your United States Constitution to provide stronger protections for youth such as yourselves. I do not pretend to understand the workings of this country, but my sons have been doing their homework and they have consulted with my attorney, Samuel, about how best to proceed. To explain their plan and present their new bill of rights, I give you Prince Lance and Sir Ricky.”

  The applause, to Lance’s great delight, became thunderous in its intensity as the knights rose to their feet, some clapping, others waving their swords and stomping their booted feet. And then the chant arose, “Long live Lance! Long live Lance! Long live Lance!” In the front row, Reyna, Esteban, Justin, Darnell, Techie, Enrique, and Luis chanted the loudest.

  Lance basked in the adulation of his peers, his fears washing away like dust off a car under a light spring rain.

  The chanting died down, and everyone resumed his or her seat. Everyone except the African-American kid Lance had spotted earlier. He remained standing, glaring around him in amazement.

  “Don’t it matter to none ’a you all that them two are queer?” he hissed in a tone laced with anger.

  Lance blanched as ripples of wrath swept through the crowd. Reyna turned her head, and if looks could have killed, the new kid would’ve been dead on the spot. Esteban clenched his fists and started to stand, but Lance caught his eye and shook his head. Likewise, Arthur made a move to rise, but Ricky shook his head too.

  The boys exchanged a look of resolution. It was up to them to handle what would likely be the first of many such challenges all across the country. Together, they strode to the microphone just as another boy rose to his feet, Caucasian this time, bulky and surly.

  “I agree with Sir Marvell over there,” he called out. “You guys being faggots is gonna make us all look bad.”

  Again, nasty, angry looks flew at them from all directions, but a few other knights could be seen nodding their heads in agreement. A girl’s voice called out from in back, “Yeah, well, I think they’re cute together.” That comment generated a short round of clapping.

  Lance noted all of this with an outward calm he didn’t feel as he waited for silence to fall once more. He stood as tall, with as much royal bearing as he could muster, and locked eyes on those of the Caucasian boy. He tried to place the name in his memory. Sir William was it? No – Sir James – that was it.

  “Sir James,” he said calmly before returning his eyes to those of the other boy, “and Sir Marvell, approach the throne.”

  The two knights exchanged a glance and then both slid their way out of the row each was seated in and sauntered sullenly forward. They stopped just in front of the stage and frowned up at the two boys.

  “A faggot is a stick of wood,” Lance announced matter-of-factly. “Ricky and me are not sticks of wood.”

  The tall black youth growled, “You know what we be talkin’ ’bout.”

  “You mean this?” Lance asked, his voice strong and steady as he took Ricky’s hand in his.

  The black boy grimaced, and Sir James narrowed his eyes with disgust. “Everybody’s gonna think we’re queer, too.”

  Lance and Ricky looked at each other. They reluctantly unclasped their hands. Lance wanted to make a point, but did not wish to be “in your face” about it. He turned back to the detractors before him.

  “You already know, as part of our code here within the Round Table, that labels are not acceptable. Especially faggot. Or queer. Or white boy or cracker or beaner or everybody’s favorite, the “N” word. Do you guys want us to use any of those labels to describe you?”

  Both of the challengers scowled fiercely, anger thundering across their eyes and darkening their faces. “Hell no, but skin color ain’t a choice, man!” Sir James hissed heatedly.

  “My feelings for Lance aren’t a choice, either,” Ricky said calmly, but with conviction.

  “And mine aren’t for Ricky,” Lance confirmed, eyeing the two boys with a strong, penetrating gaze. “You have no choice but to be white or black. I have no choice but to be brown. And I have no choice about loving this boy. You can pretend I do if that makes you happy, but this crusade is about sweeping away those useless labels and allowing all of us to be exactly the person God had in mind when He made us.”

  Ricky nodded in affirmation, and there were hundreds of heads nodding throughout the room, along with some agitate
d murmuring. Lance waited for them to settle down and then fixed his intense green eyes on the two dissenters.

  “Within the Round Table, Sirs Marvell and James, you always have a choice. You may stay and accept me as your prince and Ricky as your First Knight, or you may turn in your swords now and leave us. No hard feelings. Which do you choose?”

  Sir Marvell turned his tatted face to gaze at the freckled features of Sir James, and both boys suddenly didn’t appear so confident, or belligerent.

  “Look, Lance, I don’t mean no disrespect,” the tall black boy stammered, not nearly as certain of himself as he’d been a moment ago. “It’s just in my neighborhood, everybody seen you guys kiss on TV and it didn’t go down so good. They be wanting to know if I kissed you too.”

  He lowered his eyes shamefully to the floor, and Lance almost grinned, but fought it back. “You can tell them, Sir Marvell, that if any of them wish to kiss me they must take a number and stand in line.”

  Laughter rang throughout the room, and Ricky’s eyes bulged with shocked amusement. But Lance’s comment had the intended effect because even Sir Marvell grinned, and Sir James cracked a slight smile. The two exchanged a look.

  “Sorry about, you know, calling you a faggot,” Sir James muttered sheepishly. “You guys are pretty kick ass.”

  Lance kept his eyes on the boys. “Your decision, gentlemen?”

  Sir Marvell slumped his shoulders and lost the haughty pose he’d assumed. “I’d like to stay and be part of the mayor’s project.”

  Sir James looked sheepish. “Me too.”

  Lance smiled. “Cool. Resume your seats.”

  He waited until the two boys hurried back to their chairs. Then he scanned the eager faces below. “You are the family I never had, all of you, and I wanna be myself around you guys. So does Ricky. It shouldn’t be a problem for anyone else either, but we understand how it is in this country. So know that in front of the public, we will act like we always have – as knights of the table.”