"We should get going," said John, tracing his fingers through the perspiration his bottle had left on the varnished wood. Bobby shrugged and started to draw a tic-tac-toe board in his own ring. John traced an X and won without ever using the center. "Now you wanna go or do you want me to hand you your ass again?"
Bobby decided that asking John for a rematch was probably a bad idea because he didn't get want go too obvious with the whole 'I wanna touch your hand because I like the warm fuzzy feelings in my knees' thing. "We can go. You done?"
"Yeah. Are you? Cause I could probably order us another one."
"Nah, it's ok. Sure you don't me to pay you back?"
"Yeah. Was only a few beers. Not like a huge drain." Bobby decided not to ask John where he gets money because he knows the answer would just be 'your mom'. And the thing is, Bobby doubts his mother would like John too much, at least not enough to give him money. There's something feral in the way he walks, and nothing very 'Home and Garden' about his attitude or mannerisms. They got up, John nodding to the bar tender on the way out.
"You think we'll get back in time?"
"It's only like midnight or so. A couple miles. Should be back in an hour or so. No rush."
"Yeah." They walked slowly, savoring the night and the freedom of breaking curfew, the rules and breaking them with someone else.
"Look, if we get caught or something, just say it's my fault, that I dragged you along."
"But you didn't. You said we should go, but you didn't drag me. I wanted-"
"Just in case. Ok?"
"Fine." Bobby counted sidewalk squares and didn't realize that they were passing a church until John crossed himself. "What are you doing?" The shock was more from seeing John do something so conformist than the actual action. He would have been equally as shocked if John had helped an old lady across a street or stepped out of the way for a Presidential procession.
John shrugged. "Old habits and all that crap."
"You're Catholic?" Bobby stopped on a crack and immediately filed the information to the back of his head. John refused to say anything about himself half the time, and Bobby had slowly realized John was worried that what he said would be used to send him home. If Bobby were better with words when he got anxious, he'd try to convince John he wouldn't sell him out. You don't do that to friends, not even friends who refuse to tell you their birthdays, not even friends who won't tell you their last name, not even friends you have dreams about.
"Used to be. Just think of my name dumb a-"John stopped and got a guilty, almost panicky look on his face.
"John? I should have guessed you were Catholic because your name is John? You don't even go to freaking church."
"One," John stopped looking scared for a moment to become morally defensive, "I have gone to church a couple of times. Saturday night masses when there's nothing else to do and two... My name, John is just what everyone calls me. Birth name is St. John."
"Singe-in'?"
"S-t-period John. My... I had an older brother who died of SIDS before I was born and my mom had a miscarriage and then she got pregnant with me so I guess she didn't want to take chances. Look Bobby, you can't-"
"I won't. Christ John, you're my friend." John nodded and they start to walk again. "Our Lady of Immaculate Conception," read Bobby. "Don't get all the 'our lady' and saint stuff."
"Lot of it has to do with the Virgin Mary. Some of it has to do with places where people have seen her- Our Lady of Lourdes refers to Lourdes France where Saint Bernadette saw her and dug this spring out that's supposed to have healing powers. Others, it's traditional; it refers to how she's known to be the, have, like... Like, Our Lady of Sorrows refers to her sorrow at losing her son and how she's considered the patron saint of mothers who have lost children.
"Catholics believe you can ask the saints to pray for you since they've got more a direct line to God, and the Virgin Mary is considered the female face of God, like the easier to deal with version. The Our Lady is kinda like devotions almost, that people have attributed to her, like her being the patron saint of women, or how she's tied into death. Make sense?"
"A little. But why do they all have the same names?"
"Cause it refers to previously established churches and eventually the church in Rome. Like orders and things. And the Immaculate Conception bit, that refers to the belief that Mary was preserved from original sin since her conception."
"Then doesn't that mean that Jesus wasn't the only blameless person to every live?" John shrugged and patted down his sweatshirt and pants pockets. "You put them in the pocket on your right leg."
"Thanks." John pulled out a crumbled pack of cigarettes and after offering one to Bobby, took one for himself. "Guess when you bear God's love child you're given a get into heaven free card."
Bobby laughed. "Seems like a good deal. Better than a second date, considering he didn't even buy her a drink or anything."
"You know, this is complete and total blasphemy." John was laughing, coughing out short bursts of smoke.
"Guess we'll just add that to the whole underage drinking thing."
"Yeah, might as well throw it on. Bobby and John go to Hell for Blasphemy. Be a good movie, in the same vein as Bill and Ted or Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid or something." They began to leave the city, the woods growing larger around them and the light of the street lamps leading the way, with small patches of light. John blossomed the spark from his cigarette into the size of a peach and held it in his hand as they walked, clenching his fist and letting the flame leak between his fingers, opening and letting it reform.
"So why'd you leave?"
"What?"
"The church."
"Dunno. Didn't seem right in some ways. Like it depended a lot upon... I dunno, like, like God being silent and I realized I spent too much time alone to believe in something that advocated it, that thought it was a good thing. Cause I knew it wasn't. Was safer but..." Bobby thought for a moment, not sure if John was bullshitting him or not because occasionally John spelled gullible B-O-B-B-Y.
"But you said you still go to church sometimes."
"I do but it's more for the ritual, the assurance almost. I mean, I know it's stupid to think that God would be into talking to anyone mortal let alone me but still... He didn't have to talk, just... leave me with the feeling that he cared or was paying attention. And things the church taught, I didn't always believe."
"Like what?"
"Like homosexuality or abortion or marrying outside the Catholic faith or divorce being wrong. Stuff like that." Bobby smiles. "What?"
"Nothing," he says as he shakes his head.
"You're Protestant right?"
"Yup. Non practicing really, until Christmas and Easter and the grandparents visit and everything."
"Huh." John stubbed out the cigarette before slowly pulling the flame back into him with one deep breath, then letting it trickle out his nostrils to slide back along his hand.
"Been practicing that huh?"
"Yeah, a little. Thought it'd be a good thing to put on the resume and all that."
"Does it burn?"
"What, when I absorb it? No not really." Bobby motioned to John's hand, the one holding the fireball still. John stopped walking and held the fire in the air, concentrating. Not looking away Bobby felt him blindly grasping at Bobby's side and found his hand. Startled, Bobby frosted. "Christ Bobby. Watch the hormones."
"Sorry, I didn't-" John raised Bobby's hand into the air, cupping it. Bobby tried to ignore the hot feeling in his stomach, like the balloon that had blossomed in his gut four days ago when he had been looking at porn on the computer and had heard John's key in the lock. He had tried to close the window and it froze. He tried to pull up Hearts to at least cover most of the picture and it wouldn't open. The balloon had grown larger and larger until he was almost ready to explain to John why exactly he had been looking at a picture of two guys kissing in bed. It closed and Hearts popped up just as the door had opened. Bobby had almost frozen the monitor's screen.
"Hold it there." John pressed his left hand against Bobby's right and together they formed a small bowl. John slowly brought the fireball back down and it began to melt at the frost on their hands, the water dripping along their wrists, sliding down to their elbows and then onto the road. John tipped the fireball more and more into Bobby's hand and eventually it rested there, slightly above the skin, burning.
"Holy crap." John slid his hand on top of Bobby's and absorbed the fire back into him, his palm going white with the heat for a moment, the back of his hand hot against Bobby's skin. They stood in darkness.
"Did it burn you?"
"No. No, I'm fine. How's your hand?"
"It'll cool down in a moment."
"Lemme see." Bobby took John's hand and blew on it, trying his hardest to control the temperature.
"Nice." Bobby let go of his hand and they stood for a moment not talking. "Thanks."
"No prob."
"Guess we do make a decent team."
"Yeah." They started to walk again, shuffling their sneakers against the ground, kicking through fallen leaves.
"If you quote a Bob Dylan song or a Robert Frost poem I swear to god-"
"I don't know any."
"Good. Just making sure."
"Not a fan?"
"Dylan can't sing. If he wanted to write, then he should have stuck to poetry. And I don't like rhyming poetry."
"Listen to the little critic."
"Little? Could take you now, in case you weren't paying attention to the Tic-Tac-Toe game back there."
"Oh yeah?"
"Yeah." John punched Bobby's shoulder lightly. Bobby hit him back and John had him in a headlock. "Wanna try that again or are we going to behave?" Bobby pulled himself free, bracing his hands against John's hips for a moment and hearing a slight crackle where his fingers froze the leather jacket John had bought in a New York Salvation Army for twenty bucks two months ago.
"Maybe later I'll kick your ass. Show you who's really boss." John laughed. "What was your family like?" John didn't say anything for a while and Bobby began to kick himself. "I'm sorry, I-"
"Don't have a mom anymore. And last I saw, my dad drank too much too much of the time."
"Oh. I'm sorry-"
"Drop it Bobby."
"Dropped. Done. Buried. Kicked into the ocean. Put in a box-"
"Bobby. Breathe."
"Sorry." They walked along and Bobby felt his hand brushing against John's. He was afraid to say anything, afraid that John would noticed the skin touching skin and would put his hands in his pockets or say, 'stop touching me faggot' or 'Christ Bobby, fuck off already' or something. It was the awkward walk of someone trying desperately not to touch anyone else, which meant he couldn't stop brushing up against him and stepping on the edges of his sneakers.
"What do you think the worst way to die would be?"
"Alone." John looked at him weird. "I know that's not what you meant but I mean, at least when you're not alone it wouldn't be as bad. Like, with the Titanic and everything, they didn't die by themselves. I dunno, I just... What would be yours?"
"Drowning."
"Yeah? I thought fire..."
"Wouldn't be much of a problem for me. Drowning just makes me think of falling forever or something. Plus, you feel like your cells exploding and with fire you pass out pretty quick, I'd assume from the smoke or the pain or something."
'Yeah maybe you're right." John hadn't pulled away. Then again, he hadn't leaned closer either. Since meeting John, Bobby had spent a lot of time wishing he was better at pretending to be drunker than he was, or better at just grabbing someone and kissing them. But no, he had to be the awkward touch type, the excuse me while I zone out and stare at your mouth and chin stud and the dip in your neck below your Adam's Apple type. The get a girlfriend you can't touch because you think it might distract you from your fascination with the same sex type.
Bobby thought about two weeks ago, when he fell asleep on John's bed while they watching Three Kings, after spending the day having a snowball fight in 70-degree weather. John had just lain back and fallen asleep next to him; Bobby had woken up to find their knees touching and had promptly dropped the temperature. John had woken up with a guilty, confused expression. Bobby had scrambled off and went to his bed, trying to hope that maybe John would think the whole thing was a dream. John hadn't said anything for a long time, stretching the silence into the next day. This, right now, was more than John had said to him in the hours leading up to the walk. "Are you a virgin?"
"What?"
John shrugged. "Are you a virgin? I was just wondering; you don't have to answer I mean I get that was kind of rude."
"Yeah. Why? Are... you're not?"
"No."
"But Christ John, you're not exactly that much older than me, I mean I'm fourteen and you-"
"I'm fifteen." Bobby couldn't think of anything to say. It was two streetlights and 49 steps before his brain could function and throw out some form of a sentence.
"Oh."
"Don't-"
"I won't. I won't John, all right? Whatever you don't want to go back to, I won't send you there. Promise." John held out his hand and Bobby grasped it. "Is there where you pull out the switch and we have the blood oath? We could sing gang songs."
"Have my lighter."
"That's ok."
"Wouldn't hurt you." They let go and went back to walking, their elbows and fingertips brushing. "Gotta piss."
"Me two." John checked the road and stepped off, crunching through the late night frost. Bobby hesitated and followed. They unzipped and didn't say anything. Bobby concentrated very hard on not freezing his pee and not looking a few feet to his left. Professor Xavier would have been amazed at his control. They walked back on to the road, hands in pockets. "Hey- a shooting star."
"Supposed to make a wish on those right?"
"Yeah."
"Did you?" Bobby shrugged. What could he say? Yes John, I wished I had the balls to kiss you? No. That would not have ended well, if not in an A-Bomb explosion, ending the relationship. They walked in silence until Bobby realized John was humming.
"John?" The humming stopped. "Were you humming?"
"If I was?"
"What was it?"
"A Death Cab song, supposed to be on their new record."
"Sing it." John looked at him
"My voice is shit."
"And I can't dance. Sing it anyway. Won't tell anyone." Bobby gave his best smile. John laughed.
"You look like one of those family pictures sent out for the holidays." Bobby punched his arm slightly. After a moment John sang softly, his voice tight at first and then loosening, "I strain my eyes to see the difference between shooting stars and satellites from the passenger seat as you are driving me home. Do they collide? I ask and you smile. With my feet on the dash the world doesn't matter. When you feel embarrassed I'll be your pride. When you need directions I'll be the guide for all time." He stopped.
"Is that it?" John shrugged. "Was good."
"Thanks. Better when they sing it."
"Never heard you sing before."
"Cause I don't."
"Oh." They walked up the Mansion's lawn, feeling their feet slowly soak up the dew, turning and heading for the side with their window. "You going to bed?"
"No, I don't think so. Thought maybe I'd see if there were any decent movies on. Want to join me? We can make popcorn or something."
"First got to get in." John motioned to and began to climb the drainpipe and after a moment of beaming a quick 'thanks' to whatever saint was paying attention, Bobby climbed up after him, glancing up. John opened the window and offered down his hand to help Bobby inside. He took it, John pulled him in and Bobby smiled as their hands grasped and released.
"What?"
"Nothing."
"What's with the dopey grin face then?" Bobby shrugged.
"Good mood."
John nodded, muttered "drunk," and began to walk out of the room. Bobby followed, still smiling.