A Perfect Day
The footballer pulled his baseball cap down low over his face, hoping that no one would recognise him. He'd been sitting in the car for five minutes now with the engine running ready to get out of this town. He'd even sent a text saying he was outside but once again that boy had kept him waiting. It was a stupid idea, why had he even said it? Then the boy appeared at the front door. The footballer's heart stopped for a beat or two, like it always did. The boy looked amazing. He walked calmly to the car, clutching a wicker basket very tightly. He then proceeded to put the basket in the boot and sit the passenger seat next to the driver.
"Let's go" he smiled.
There was a grunt of acknowledgement and the car pulled away. The radio was put on because the footballer never knew what to say around the boy. He wanted to tell him everything and nothing. Occasionally he glanced to his right and saw that the boy was propped against the window, watching the world whizz past. It made him smile.
They drove up a mountain to a viewing spot where they could see the towns and the country. It was a perfect setting. The footballer had spent almost 4 evenings looking for it on Google Maps but he wasn't going to tell the boy that, he had just said he knew a place they could go. They got out of the car and the boy got the basket, which he then placed delicately on one of the ageing wooden picnic tables. He dutifully unpacked all the food, hoping he had got it right. The footballer ate without complaining.
He rested his hand on the table; the boy put his on top. He wanted to show the footballer he was there and that he could tell him anything.
"I sort of wish ….. never mind" mumbled the football player, looking embarrassed that he's spoken.
"You can tell me" said the boy, placing his second hand around the footballers and looking him directly in the eyes.
The footballer paused, took a breath and went on slowly, "I sort of wish we didn't have to leave."
The boy had never heard anything so sweet. It was selfish but he wanted to hear more. "Why?"
The footballer looked down but when the boy squeezed his hand, he knew he could say what was on his mind. "We don't have to keep it a secret here. We can be together and nobody cares because it's just us. I'm not sure I want to go back to waiting until we can find an empty classroom or driving to yours in the middle of the night so we can talk together without having to pretend we know nothing about each other. I'm sick of it but I couldn't handle it if people found out, they would treat me differently and I'd have to leave the football squad. I couldn't handle it but at the same time I feel like I could give up anything for you." The footballer breathed out, for he hadn't paused to allow himself to think let alone breath. He still couldn't look at the boy for fear of rejection or ridicule.
The boy lifted the footballer's face, to look at his, with one porcelain hand. They held quivering eye contact for a moment and then the boy kissed the footballer. It was soft and tasted like oranges. It was enough. It was perfect.
They held hands until the sunset, the boy resting his head on the footballer's shoulder.
"Kurt…"
"Yes?"
"I … I think I love you."
"I love you too, David."
It was enough. It was perfect.