Hearts in Ireland

by J. C. Long

  “Do you have any idea where he’s taking you?” Aunt Gwendolyn asked, helping me fold things so they would fit properly.

  “I don’t remember a name or anything, but he told me there’s a place not far from here that he and his friends go to sometimes. Maybe a forty-minute drive? I don’t remember.”

  “Well, I’m going to give you my mobile to take with you. That way if something happens, you can get in contact with us.”

  “I’m sure everything will be fine, and Fergal will have his cell phone too. Really, there’s no need to worry.”

  Aunt Gwendolyn pressed her phone into my hands anyway. “Take it just in case. It’s a good idea to have more than one should something happens to one of them or the battery dies or it doesn’t have signal or—”

  “Okay, okay,” I said with a laugh, packing the phone into the knapsack. “I bet you didn’t give Hannah this much grief when she was going off to college.”

  “You have no idea,” Hannah said, standing in the doorway to the guest room. “She took control of the packing, had it all done a full week before I was set to leave, and kept double-checking after that.”

  “It’s good to be prepared, is all,” Aunt Gwendolyn said defensively.

  “It’s the best way Mom knows how to show love.”

  “I appreciate it, Aunt Gwendolyn, I really do.”

  “One last thing,” she said as she sealed up the knapsack for me. “Do you have, you know…?”

  I blinked, wondering what she meant. “Do I have what?” I heard Hannah’s snicker and realized what Aunt Gwendolyn was getting at. I felt my face heat up until I probably looked like a tomato. “No! I don’t think I’ll—this is just—I won’t need them, Aunt Gwendolyn.” I grabbed the knapsack and hurried out of the room as if I could escape that conversation.

  It brought back unpleasant memories of having “the talk” with my parents. They’d both known I was gay when I was in my early teens, and when they decided to talk to me about sex, they’d both done as much research as they could—using the Internet, books, and I’m pretty sure some gay porn for help. I don’t know what was worse: my father’s vague hinting at different sexual deeds—followed promptly by his reassurance that it was perfectly natural and normal, and he loved me and wasn’t judging me—or Mom’s desire to explain to me every possible scenario I could run across. I’d cut the conversation short when she got to rimming.

  “You should always be prepared,” Aunt Gwendolyn said, following me down the stairs.

  “I’ve had the sex talk before, Aunt Gwendolyn.” I sat the knapsack down beside the front door.

  She chuckled. “Knowing my sister, that was probably embarrassing.”

  “I would say you have no idea, but you probably do.”

  THANKFULLY THE topic of sex and preparedness didn’t come up again. Fergal arrived right on time in his massive truck. Before I could lever my pack off the ground, he was there, taking it from me. I knew it would do no good, so I didn’t protest.

  “Remember to call if anything happens,” Aunt Gwendolyn said, walking me to the truck. “And don’t forget that you need to be back for Grandma Murphy’s dinner Sunday evening—you’re invited, as well, Fergal, of course. Have fun!”

  I was actually relieved once we pulled away from the house. “I’m pretty sure she’s more nervous about this camping trip than I am,” I told Fergal before I thought better of my words.

  “Yeh’re nervous? Why?”

  “It’s just an expression,” I said quickly, skirting the question. “So, did you bring campfire snacks? S’mores materials?”

  “Of course Oi did! Can’t ’ave a campfire without proper s’mores, can yeh?” Fergal gestured towards the bed of the truck. “There’s a cooler back there with drinks and such too. And the tent and the sleepin’ bags.”

  “Sounds like you’re well prepared,” I observed.

  “Yeh should always be prepared,” Fergal said, and there was something in the glancing look he gave me that sent a tingle through my body.

  I fended the thoughts off as best I could, reminding myself that it was only Aunt Gwendolyn’s sex talk that had me thinking along those lines. I was sure that Fergal’s meaning was not as dirty as my mind tried to make it.

  And a little part of me—okay, maybe not so little—hoped I was wrong.

  “You were right about the weather,” I remarked.

  “Oi know. That’s why Oi brought these.” Fergal took out a pair of Aviators and slipped them on his face. They suited him. It only served to make him look even more attractive, sunlight pouring in through the windows, causing his nearly brown hair to actually glow red. It was an enchanting look for him, and when he glanced at me and smiled, my heart skipped a beat.

  Damn it, Ronan, this is the last thing you need to be thinking.

  As we made the drive, Fergal told me about the different times he’d been to this place with his friends and the different shenanigans they would get up to. It sounded like he had a pretty wild group of friends. The story that interested me the most was how the five of them got drunk, stripped down naked, and streaked around the moors they were camping in. I couldn’t resist imagining Fergal naked.

  I was half hard before I realized it. I closed my eyes and forced myself to think completely unsexy thoughts; the last thing I wanted was to go through this drive with a hard-on. Corduroy wasn’t exactly the best material to be wearing when you wanted to hide something.

  “This place is incredible,” I commented, gazing at the passing scenery. It looked like we’d driven right into the pages of Mom’s photo books. “I almost can’t believe that I’m here.”

  “It gets better,” Fergal promised.

  He was right. The farther we drove, the more beautiful it became. By the time we reached the campsite, we were surrounded by rolling green hills. In the distance the hills were lined with picturesque trees. It was utterly perfect.

  Fergal, seeing the look on my face, grinned. “Did Oi do good?”

  “You did very good.”

  He drove the truck into a low valley surrounded by hills. As I jumped out, I felt like I was stepping out into untouched lands. There wasn’t a soul in sight, no hint of anyone living nearby. The weight of the isolation settled over me like a blanket; I found it comforting, not frightening.

  “Are we allowed to camp here?” I inquired as Fergal dragged things out of the truck.

  “Yeah. All this land is owned by friends of my father. They don’t mind if Oi bring a few friends out ’ere as long as we don’t leave any mess behind when we go.”

  I helped Fergal unload the truck. He’d brought a lot of things with him, including a mini camp stove, battery-operated lanterns, extra batteries, a big pile of chopped wood, and two huge ten-gallon jugs of water.

  “You weren’t kidding about being prepared.”

  “Gotta be prepared when campin’” was his reply as we unloaded the first water jug. “Leave the other jug. Oi’ll get the tent set up if yeh would put some of the wood down fer a fire later—don’t need to light it, just get it set up.”

  In the center of the valley was a well-used fire pit. I began placing the wood there for later. I’d seen enough wilderness survival shows to know the proper way to stack it. Fergal gave the logs a once-over as he handled the tent and rewarded me a satisfied nod.

  In no time the tent was set up, sleeping bags were placed inside, and Fergal had maneuvered two of the thicker logs by the fire for seats. Wiping sweat from his brow, he observed our—well, mostly his—handiwork.

  “All right, we got some time, so yeh want to take a short hike around the area?”

  “Sure! Sounds good. I brought water bottles just for this!” I pulled two water bottles out of my knapsack and passed one to Fergal. “Lead on, oh fearless leader.”

  “Okay, this way. There’s somethin’ Oi want to show you.”

  Fergal led me up the hill to the east of camp. The hill was steeper than I was expecting, and the grass made it difficult for
my plain old Converse sneakers to get traction. I nearly fell over twice before Fergal reached back and took my hand to steady me. I really hoped he didn’t hear my sudden intake of breath or notice how sweaty my hand quickly became.

  We continued beyond that point, scaling and then descending from each hill. I was surprised by how quickly my legs started to burn from the exertion; I might not have been in peak physical condition, but I was used to lots of walking, and when I did go to the gym, I always spent a long time on the treadmill.

  Granted, it had been a while since I’d been to the gym.

  “Almost there,” Fergal called to me from near the top of the tallest hill we’d come to yet. I was only somewhat annoyed to hear that he didn’t sound the least bit out of breath.

  He grew up in these hills, I reminded myself, not in some massive city where no one walked anywhere.

  I crested the hill and stood next to Fergal, trying to hide just how out of breath I was. The sight that greeted me took whatever breath I had left. From the top of the hill, I could see for at least five miles in every direction. In the distance I saw a cozy farmhouse, smoke rising from its chimney. Near the house was a pen, and inside it I could see a number of sheep. The sun was just beginning to sink down, and the cloudless sky was a canvas of bright colors, pink darkening into a blazing orange just along the horizon.

  “This is one of my favorite spots,” Fergal said. I noticed his voice was pitched lower than before, the slightest hint of reverence, like someone truly devout speaking in a church. “Whenever Oi go campin’ Oi always come ’ere and watch the sun set.”

  “I can see why.” I sat on the ground, drew my knees up to my chest, and put my arms around my legs, resting my chin on my knees. “It’s stunning. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen anything so beautiful in person.”

  I was hyperaware of Fergal’s every movement as he sat next to me and his legs crossed, our knees all but touching. We sat there on that hilltop, quiet, watching the sun disappear slowly from sight.

  Twilight had well and truly fallen when Fergal stirred, straightening his legs and leaning back, propping himself up on his hands. “Are yeh hungry yet?”

  Part of me wanted to just sit there in the growing darkness, soak in the quiet, and enjoy being so close to Fergal. The other part of me was hungry and really hoping to get away from the mosquitos that had begun to swarm around us.

  “Yes, let’s get food.”

  We made our way down the hill—much more difficult than going up, especially in the dark. I didn’t mind reaching out and steadying myself on Fergal’s shoulder. Once we reached the camp, Fergal turned on the two battery-powered lamps.

  “Do yeh know how to light a fire?” he asked, turning to the camp stove.

  I tried to give him a withering look, but it just turned into me laughing. “Yes, I know how to light a campfire. Do you have any fuel?”

  Fergal tossed me a bottle of lighter fluid.

  I lit a twig with a match and got the beginning of a fire going and then added the lighter fluid, stepping back quickly as the flames shot up. When they settled, the fire was crackling nicely, casting its flickering glow around us.

  I heard a sizzle and turned to see Fergal applying two thick hamburger patties to a fry pan on the camp stove. “Hamburgers, huh? You went all out!”

  “Just fer the first night—tomorrow it’s Spam.” I made a disgusted face and Fergal laughed. “Why don’t yeh get the plates from that box, and buns and things? These burgers won’t take too long.”

  It was nice to sit beside the fire and eat the burgers, just enjoying each other’s company. “This burger is really good!”

  Fergal scoffed. “Yeh sound surprised. What, didn’t think Oi could cook?”

  “Didn’t you say as much in the pub?” I teased, and Fergal managed to make a face that was both affronted and adorable at the same time. “It’s not that, I just didn’t think that a burger cooked over a camp stove would be this amazing. You did a good job.”

  “Burgers are ’bout the only thing Oi can cook. Ah, thanks fer remindin’ me!” Fergal quickly pushed his plate into my hand to hold while he hopped up, went to the cooler, and opened it to remove two bottles of beer. “Can’t enjoy a good burger without a beer.” He took the plate from me, swapping it with a bottle of beer, and twisted the cap off his own. I followed suit, and we clinked our bottles together. “Chin chin,” said Fergal, and I echoed the toast.

  “When did yeh first realize yeh were gay?”

  The question caught me by surprise, coming out of nowhere.

  “I don’t know, really. I never went through the confusion, honestly. As soon as I was old enough to start having sexual thoughts, they were about guys. So I guess middle school?” I sat my used plate on the ground next to my feet, leaning into the warmth of the fire. “What about you?”

  “Oi convinced myself fer a while that Oi liked girls—dated one through Junior Cycle. Then Oi decided to come out in Transition Year.”

  “What are these words you’re saying?” I asked, confused. “Junior Cycle? Transition Year?”

  “Ah, Oi forgot they do things wrong in America.” Fergal slid off the log and settled back, propping his elbows up on it. “Schools ’ere break down a wee bit differently. Primary school is basically the same—First Class through Sixth Class. Then secondary school gets different. We ’ave first, second and third years of Junior Cycle. Then there’s Transition Year. Not all schools require it—it just depends. Mine did. After that we ’ave Senior Cycle fer two years.”

  “So how old were you during this, uh, Transition Year?”

  “Oi was around seventeen, Oi think.”

  I sat there for a moment, drinking the last of my beer. “Transition Year. What even?”

  “Don’t mock it just because it’s different from what yer used to,” Fergal chided, patting my knee, his hand lingering there afterwards.

  I stared at it for a moment, feeling it warm and heavy through the corduroy fabric of my pants. When I looked at Fergal, he was staring into the fire, utterly casual, like it wasn’t strange for his hand to be on my knee.

  “There are so many stars in the sky,” I said quickly, shifting my legs enough to dislodge his hand and bring an end to the silence that had settled between us. “I’m from a big city, so I almost never really see the sky like this.”

  “See, that’s what Oi don’t get about people who spend their whole lives in big cities like New York or London or Tokyo or wherever. ’Ow can yeh go yer entire life without lookin’ up and seein’ the stars burnin’ up the sky? ‘Dwell on the beauty of life. Watch the stars, and see yourself running with them.’”

  I let out a low whistle. “Quoting Marcus Aurelius, are we? That’s impressive.”

  Fergal nudged me playfully with his elbow. “Oi didn’t know Americans knew who Marcus Aurelius was.”

  “Hey, the whole ‘American education system sucks’ thing is only 90 percent true. The other 10 percent is actually pretty good. Now, what do you say we break out those s’mores?”

  The moon, waxing towards full, was high in the sky by the time we decided it was time for bed. This was the moment I’d been anxious about all evening, especially as we finished the last of the s’mores.

  Fergal turned off one of the battery lamps and took the other into the tent. I followed close behind him, stooping over. “The red sleepin’ bag is fer yeh,” Even he seemed suddenly more subdued than he had been earlier. All I could think about was how much smaller the tent looked on the inside; the sleeping bags were practically touching.

  “Thanks,” I said, moving over to the right side of the tent where the red sleeping bag was. I didn’t really know how to proceed and felt like an idiot. Fergal pulled off his shirt and shucked his jeans, leaving himself standing there in a pair of gray Fruit of the Loom boxers.

  “A boxers man, huh?” I said, following his lead until I was in my own black-and-red Andrew Christian briefs. “I probably should have worn different underwear.”
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  “No, no, those are… those are nice,” Fergal said quickly, clearing his throat.

  I noticed that his eyes went all over the tent except where I stood. I blushed a little bit, hurrying into the safety—and warmth—of the sleeping bag.

  Fergal zipped the tent, climbed into his own bag, and placed the lamp between our heads. “All right, good night,” he said after a moment.

  “Good night, Fergal,” I replied as he turned off the lantern.

  Caibidil 15

  I WOKE in the morning to the sound of overly chipper birds singing somewhere in the distance. I rolled over in the sleeping bag and saw that Fergal was still asleep. He was on his side facing me, his left arm tucked under his head as a cushion, the sleeping bag thrown back enough to bare his upper chest.

  My first thought was about how handsome he looked sleeping. His face was serene, his hair tousled and sticking up all over the place. It was nice to see someone seeming so at peace.

  My second thought was that I desperately needed the bathroom. I got up as quietly as I could—which, when sleeping in a sleeping bag, is not all that quiet—and searched around for my pants. The shirt proved somehow harder to find, so I decided I didn’t need it just to go outside and pee.

  I regretted that decision as soon as I stepped outside of the tent. The morning was brisk, the sky rain-gray. I looked up at the clouds with a frown, crossing my arms over my chest to suppress a shiver.

  By the time I returned to the tent from our designated bathroom spot, Fergal was stoking the fire, dressed and looking like he’d been awake for hours. I reminded myself to ask him the secret to his little trick so I could master it.

  “Mornin’,” he said, tossing me my shirt.

  I took it gratefully and slipped it on, then dug in my pack for the light jacket I’d brought. “I thought about changing clothes, but the only thing I brought was a pair of khaki shorts, and I think I’m going to stick with the long pants.” I zipped the jacket up and moved to the fire. “I don’t know why I felt the need to tell you that.” I noticed something in his hands and frowned. “What’s that?”