Getting There and Keeping Going
Chapter 1
Romano Vargas sat at the airport looking out at the city before him. The sun, the heat, the color, there it all was before him. It dulled the city he left and even the previous events of his life.
Romano Vargas was an ordinary Italian-American from an ordinary American city. He was nineteen years old.
Romano Vargas had just finished high school. While everyone else had dreams of being doctors, teachers, politicians…he had one dream. In all of his gloomy existence, in his gloomy town where football was the Olympics, burgers were gourmet, and cheerleaders caught the eye of almost every guy in his little school in that gloomy town, in all of this, Romano wanted to escape. Where did Romano decide to go?
As he looked out, he realized he actually did it, even if just for a little while. He just hoped Spain would answer his prayers.
Romano grabbed his luggage and started out of the airport and towards a familiar family he only knew from photographs. This was his host family, the family he would be living with for the next two months. It wasn't a traditional family, but he was happy about that, as he wouldn't consider himself a very traditional person. It was simply a single French man named Francis Bonnefoy who liked wine, roses, and hot guys, as Francis had said, himself, as he was introducing himself on the host family website.
"Mon ami, Romano! Over hear!" he yelled as Romano began to make his way over, slightly angry as Romano obviously had already seen him.
"Frenchie! I'm not stupid or deaf, I already saw you…idiota." He yelled and then whispered the extra insult under his breath.
Romano pulled his one heavy suitcase, his only suitcase stuffed with every piece of clothing he owned because there was never a time when he didn't want to be caught stylish, along behind him, and set it down with a groan in front of Francis.
"Oh, mon ami, let me help you with zhat," Francis stated, before he simply lifted the heavy case over his shoulder with ease and began strutting away toward his car. Romano, with no other choice, followed along, a bit shocked and angry at how pathetic he probably looked when he had lifted the suitcase with so much difficulty.
They finally got to the car, a red convertible, and Romano, still angry, got in the front seat passenger side. Francis slid in beside him, into the driver's side to drive them home, but not before trying to start a conversation.
"So, mon cher, how was your flight? I hope it was alright, but judging by the look on your face, it doesn't seem like it went that well." Francis asked Romano with evident concern in his voice.
"It was fine." Romano said with a humph.
"Oh but, mon cher, it doesn't seem like it was fine, unless somezing happened after," Francis then leaned in and touched Romano's cheek, "Is there somezing I can do to help?" he asked with a clear tone of seduction in his voice.
Romano jerked away, his head hitting the tan leather seats.
"Stay away from me you French bastard!" he exclaimed, suddenly a little scared to be in a car with this man, to be going home to stay with this overly-stimulated and passionate man. Francis had clear blue eyes that looked like pure pools of spring water, wavy blonde hair that turned this pure water to waves of the ocean, and a lean and toned, muscled body that turned even that beautiful ocean to drops of exertion after the most intimate of things. Romano could tell that Francis didn't just like sex, but he was the living embodiment of it. And Romano wanted no part of it.
Romano definitely wanted passion. He wanted to fall in love with sights, smells, and feelings. He wanted to feel senses he hadn't felt before, and he wanted to cling to these senses. He did not, want sex. He didn't want to use his body that way, ever. He came to the conclusion that he wanted more, and coming to this country would mean that. Would he ever feel these things? Romano didn't know, but a part of the reason he came to this country was to find out.
The car ride was endurable. Francis soon learned to back off and realized that Romano would only be an ami to him, and he therefore pushed no more. Romano experienced the classic movie moment of driving with the top down in the city he knew he would fall in love with, and all seemed peaceful. He saw mosaic tiles, colors, stucco buildings, and people. Real people. Real people who baked things, and hugged their real friends, who napped in the middle of the grass in the middle of the park without a care in the world, who created art to sell in the street, who kissed people on their cheeks. These were real people, and, for the first time in Romano's nineteen years, he was excited to meet them.
The car came to a sudden stop in front of an apartment complex. Francis lived slightly out of the city, but only slightly. It was a beautiful, artsy district. The complex wasn't brown and brick, it was orange and yellow stucco, with balconies that had small flower pots attached, and people who stood out of them to yell an, 'Hola' to any random passerby.
They both exited the car and entered the seemingly unlabeled building, with its vines that grew around the door knob, up the door, and onto a small balcony above them. The interior had yellow, flowered wallpaper, an antique couch, a red and tasseled rug, but these weren't the main features that Romano noticed. He noticed the sunlight pouring in through the windows. The sunlight that basked both of them in a warmth that Romano had never felt before. Usually, Romano became depressed on sunny days, but this wasn't a sunny day. The sun was not shining through that window. That wasn't even a window that this light was pouring through. This was Romano's soul getting a cleansing. He felt the light's warmth seep through him, through his skin, and felt clean for the first time in months. He felt excepted. He felt possible. He felt pure.
Romano stood in awe of what was happening to him. Francis noticed, gave the other man a moment, and decided to speak.
"The sunlight is like no other, no?'
All anger flooded from Romano's veins and was evaporated into the air as the light hit him. It felt as if he finally knew why his hometown depressed him so. It felt as if this whole country's anger was evaporated by their magnificent sun and precipitated into the gloom of his home, into Romano's bloodstream. He smiled at the thought and replied, "The warmth is like no other."
"Oui, zhat is why I decided to live in it." Francis replied. He then went back to the car to get Romano's suitcase. Francis then entered the apartment again and began walking. He suddenly stopped when he didn't hear the patter of footsteps against the old carpet. He turned his back, "Are you coming, mon ami?"
"Si."
Romano followed the blonde man down a dark hallway until he reached a small room with a bed, desk, and bedside table. The floors were smooth dark wood and almost black in color, the bed had a hunter green frame, the desk and bedside table were a matching light brown wood, the walls were an unintimidating, peaceful, yet mature yellow. Romano felt like he could take a bite out of the walls, this whole room really, and taste a homemade, slowly cooked grilled cheese sandwich that would make even the pickiest eater close their eyes for a second and let out a loud moan. The pillows, sheets, and blankets were a pale white, with an almost lacy embroidery decorating them, and they simply felt like a home a hopeless child would run into and crawl under its covers of safety and love. This felt like home. Romano, in all of his nineteen years, felt at home.
"I know it's not much, but zis will be your room. My room is just beside yours and the bathroom is just down the ze hall. It's not a very spacious house, but I try to make it a good home. If you need anything, I'll probably be in my study, the small space next to ze kitchen. Of course, you are an adult, so you are free to explore all you would like. I know I'm a bit older, but I hope you can see me as a friend."
"Of course," Romano replied.
"Well, zhat is all. I 'ave a bit of work to do, mon ami, but when I am finished I will cook us a lovely celebratory dinner. Is around six okay?'
"Sounds great."
"D'accord. Well, I'll be off then." Francis then made his way toward the kitchen, to a small makeshift room separated off by floral golden curtains. 'Did Francis give up his study for me to stay with him?' Romano wondered. He also wondered, if so, why Francis would've done that for him, when he easily could've stayed with anyone else in Spain. He stopped his wondering, not wanted to stress over it too much. While in this country he agreed with himself never to worry about anything, or at least that he would try his very best. There wasn't a burden on his shoulders here. Here, he was simply Romano Vargas, he wanted to see Spain, so he did. He wasn't the weird, 'probably gay', kid from a small area connected to a bigger city that wasn't even an important big city. 'Stop worrying about all of that' he then told himself. He wasn't there anymore, and he wouldn't return for two months.
He made his way back to his room to contemplate what to do with his time. It felt so strange to him that he was an adult. He was an adult with two hours to kill, some money in his pocket that both gave him freedom and limited him to only two months in this glorious country, and he was an adult who could, finally, do whatever he wanted.
What did he do? What did Romano Vargas decide to do with his newfound freedom? Why, he went to the outside of the complex and basked in the afternoon sunset, its pinks, oranges, and purples beginning to reveal themselves in the midst of the yellow blanket that had its spotlight at noon and the few hours after. He was at peace, after so long. He joined many others who were either just relaxing or taking a late afternoon siesta until dinner was ready, just as he planned to do.
Romano was calmly shaken out of this state, because nothing was sudden or rash in this country, Romano decided, by footsteps. He was somewhat used to hearing this because of the wavelike excitement of the people surrounding him, but these stood out because they were headed to the apartment he was staying in.
Romano looked up and saw a handsome man with tan skin, bright green eyes, and a happy and sweet disposition. All of a sudden, Romano was intrigued. Romano could tell this man was one of the men he saw on the way to this apartment as he looked out of the red convertible about an hour earlier. Maybe not specifically, but this man was one of the men who hugged his friends when he saw them, who baked fresh bread and other delicacies Romano waited to try, and who kissed his friends on the cheeks to greet them. This man was a breath of fresh, cool air in the warm sunlight of Spain. Romano would meet this man, he decided, and he would breath this man in like there was no tomorrow, like he would never leave this country, or, better yet, like he would leave this country the moment the man exited his life. Yes, Romano would take this man in just like he took in the sunlight's warmth, let him seep through his skin to purify everything he once knew or was, and remember the feeling, make the feeling home, and visit it whenever he could, even if it was just that. A feeling.