The Days of Bluegrass Love Read online

  * * *

  IT WAS THE MORNING of the eighth day. Breakfast.

  “Congratulations, everyone. We’ve got something to celebrate today. We’ve been together for one week,” Director John said. His T-shirt was too short and the people sitting in the front could see a strip of tummy moving: when the camp director was talking, it looked like his belly button was lip-syncing. “Today we’ll be going into the mountains and having a picnic. Bring your sunscreen and your good mood.”

  They needed to pack sandwiches. Tycho sliced open the rolls, Oliver buttered them, and Sherilynn put ham or cheese on them and then put the tops back on. Donna slid them into plastic bags. They were a well-oiled machine, a junior assistant assembly line—until Oliver had to go help Carol lug some jerricans. He strode out of the kitchen. Donna watched him go, exchanged a glance with Sherilynn, then leaned over the table and said, “Tycho, it’s been one week for you too …”

  “Huh?” Tycho answered. He looked up, his knife hovering in midair.

  “Tick, tock, tick, tock,” Sherilynn said.

  She held up a slice of cheese. There were holes in it.

  “I don’t get it,” Tycho said. Seven bread rolls stared at him openmouthed from down on the table. Sherilynn started humming.

  Oliver came back in.

  “Are they teasing you?” he asked.

  “Not just him,” Donna said, and started laughing. Sherilynn joined in.

  “Girls …!” Oliver said, looking over at Tycho.

  If this is a competition, Tycho thought, then at least we’re on the same team.

  “They’re all kinda scary,” he said, returning Oliver’s gaze.

  Oliver grinned at him behind the girls’ backs. Tycho was the only one who saw.

  * * *

  EVERYONE WAS SITTING IN the beds of pickup trucks. Oliver and Tycho had ended up next to each other. They were jostling over potholes and it was boiling hot. Thankfully they were shielded by trees most of the time. Dappled shadows caressed Oliver’s face. Tycho heard Gary singing a song about “donnadonnadonnadohonna” and he heard Sherilynn laughing her head off in the second truck. But with him, beside him, around him, was Oliver’s voice.

  “They’re different,” Oliver said. Tycho’s foot slipped—the pickup was bouncing all over the place—and accidentally ended up next to Oliver’s. Their sneakers looked for support and found it.

  “And inimitable,” said Oliver. What was he saying? Tycho watched the words coming out of his mouth. His lips and the glinting wetness between them. White teeth.

  “I almost never understand them.” A thin film of sweat covered the side of Oliver’s nose. Makeup for boys. Tycho stared at him and thought: What is he talking about? Girls?

  “They’re aliens,” Oliver said, “or maybe I’m the alien.”

  “Of course not!” Tycho said loudly—too loudly—but Oliver started laughing, and when he gave him a whack on the shoulders—hard, too hard—Tycho thought: If you put a hundred touches together, what you get is a smack.

  * * *

  THE JUNIOR ASSISTANTS DARTED between the picnic tables, serving food. Tycho felt like he was losing his mind. He spun left and right—sometimes because there was someone on the left or on the right who wanted a drink, but most of the time because Oliver was headed that way. He poured an extra drop into a cup Oliver had just filled. He exchanged cheese rolls Oliver had handed out for ham rolls. He ran around and he watched Oliver. When they’d doled out almost all of the food, he paused for a moment, but then he ran on to the next table, bumping into Oliver and saying sorry. “That’s all right,” Oliver said, and Tycho thought: Okay, I’m quitting now.

  He sighed and went over to a table far, far away with a group of girls who were sitting whispering to each other. He sat down next to Josine, who he hadn’t really had a chance to talk to until that point. He asked, “Are you having a good time so far?” and hoped she’d give a long and detailed answer.

  * * *

  THEY’D BEEN TAKEN BACK to the camp in the pickup trucks. They jumped out—the sound of feet landing. Tycho walked over to Donna. He’d spent the entire ride back staring at the side of the road, the trees and the mountains, and finally he decided he should try to hang out with Donna more.

  “What a great day!” Donna shouted.

  “Yeah?”

  “Everything was planned so well. John really is amazing!”

  “Oh yeah?” Tycho said.

  “Don’t you think?”

  “Hm. Maybe. He seems kind of full of himself.”

  “No! Get out of here! John? Everybody loves him!”

  “Well, Oliver says …”

  “That doesn’t count. Of course you’ll say what Oliver says. The way you two spend all day following each other around …”

  Tycho was taken aback. “Really?”

  “Well, not literally, of course. Although … during the picnic …” She giggled.

  Tycho didn’t know what to say. He looked around. The Irish boys came walking by. He was saved. “Hey,” Tycho shouted, “what are you guys up to?”

  “We don’t know yet,” they said.

  “Oh yes you do,” Tycho said gratefully, “we’re going down to the track!”

  He called out “See you later!” to Donna and broke into a run.

  * * *

  THEY WERE SITTING IN the bleachers, all the way at the top. They’d raced each other. They’d done long jumps in the sandpit. Paddy One and Paddy Two had climbed halfway up the lampposts, Tycho had managed to lure them back down again, and now they were sitting side by side, panting.

  “Does anyone know what time it is?” Tycho asked.

  One of the boys showed him his watch.

  “Oh shit!” Tycho yelled and jumped up. “It’s dinnertime. Let’s go!”

  It was much too late, so they ran the whole way back.

  * * *

  YOU HAVE A RESPONSIBILITY!” Gary said.

  Gary, who so often came up with the games they played, who cracked jokes, shot straws out of milkshake cups, that same Gary was now giving Tycho a lecture. Tycho listened, but he didn’t hear anything. He already knew. He’d brought the boys back way too late. Adele, the leader in charge of the Paddys, had been worried. Donna said she’d seen him outside. Oliver had gone looking for them. Brahim had gone looking for them. Dinnertime had come and gone. Carol had kept some food warm for them. When they got back to the camp, Gary had taken him aside, into the staff room. Gary said he was lucky the camp director wasn’t around right then. He told him he had to make him a promise, which Tycho did. “I promise,” he said, and then he was free to go.

  * * *

  IT WAS DARK WHEN he entered the common room after dinner. The Japanese children were giving a slide show. It was their National Evening. Tycho had to cross in front of the overhead projector. For a moment, he was all lit up. He felt people looking at him, or maybe just at what was being projected onto his body in that split second.

  “And this is Junko at her school … and this is Junko in her street … and this is Atsu at his music lesson … this is Atsu with his father … this is Atsu with his mother … here’s Daiji playing football … and this is me,” Yoshi explained.

  Tycho was glad that everything kept going. That they were all given little booklets in Japanese and an origami bird. That they gathered around the flag to squeeze in the Little World song before bedtime. That Paddy One and Paddy Two came up to him demanding a good night hug. That, as usual, the kids made an incredible racket when they were all brushing their teeth. Afterwards the junior assistants had to set the tables again for the next morning. No one mentioned what had happened before dinner, and Oliver gave Tycho a playful punch on the upper arm. Carol brought a load of new candles into the kitchen, and Josine stayed up with them. They talked about music.

  * * *

  IT GRADUALLY GOT QUIETER in the kitchen, on the stools surrounding the fridge. The candles had gone out, and they started speaking more and more softly—less often
too. They were waiting for the word that any one of them might say any second now: “Good night.” Tycho was no longer dreading having to walk beside Oliver down the cool hallways back to their supply closet. He was tired. He didn’t want any more trouble. He could tell that Donna was looking at him, but he chose to ignore that for the time being. “All right, you guys, good night.” He already heard the words in his head. Any moment now he’d be saying them, his tongue, his throat, his vocal cords were already gearing up.

  But then they heard noises out in the hallway. Giggling and laughter and footsteps, way too fast, and way too unruly for this time of night. Singing, getting louder and closer, culminating in the sound of kitchen doors crashing open.

  It was Gary, shouting: “Hiya, gals and pals! Y’all having fun?” Behind him were Director John and all the leaders who hadn’t gone to bed yet. They were giddy with excitement as they grabbed the largest pot they could find, a kind of washtub big enough to fit a person, and filled it with lukewarm water. They’d brought shower gel, small bars of soap and shampoo, and they threw it all in there, whooping loudly. Carol, Josine, and the juniors got up and came closer. Tycho’s curiosity won out over his exhaustion, and he went to the large pot with Oliver and Donna. Sherilynn joined the raucous leaders.

  Suddenly everyone was calling for Gary. They started chanting his name, and he bowed and laughed and held up his hands: no, no, no. Tycho didn’t know what had gotten into everyone. It couldn’t be alcohol—drinking was forbidden on school grounds. The group started clapping, faster and faster, and cheering when they saw Gary’s hands moving toward the edge of the pot. He looked for a moment like he was going to chicken out, laughing, but then Director John shouted “Go!” and Gary’s hairy legs stepped in. Warm water sloshed onto the floor. People shrieked and jumped back. Gary lowered himself. His jeans slowly darkened. His T-shirt was still trying to resist, it started billowing out over the foam, but Gary was fully committed now and pushed it down into the water too. Applause. Director John high-fived him and everyone was howling with laughter. Gary got up, the sound of streaming water rising with him. He stepped out of the pot. His clothes were completely soaked through.

  “Okay,” John shouted, “who’s next?”

  “You!”

  Director John stepped into the foam. More water sloshing over the rim. He was followed by several of the leaders. Everyone got thoroughly splashed; each time there was a round of applause.

  Sherilynn shouted, “And now it’s our little runaway’s turn!”

  Tycho flinched, though he tried not to let it show. He gave a halfhearted protest, already lifting one foot.

  “But not by himself!” Gary shouted. Tycho looked up at him. Now what?

  “Donna! Donna! He should get in there with Donna!”

  Tycho looked for her eyes, for a nod of agreement. But then Carol said, “No! With Sherilynn!”

  “Yeaaaah!” everyone yelled, and Sherilynn was pushed to the front. They had no choice. Together they took the first step. They wrapped their arms around each other so they wouldn’t fall. Then they stepped into the pot with one leg each. They had to stick really close together—there was no other way. They sank into the foam, hugging each other.

  Tycho couldn’t tell whether this was fun or not—too much had gone on that day. As he got out of the pot, he felt his wet pants trying to pull him back down. He watched Oliver go in with Donna, followed by Carol, and then no one. The air-conditioning in the kitchen was blowing cold air onto their wet clothes, so everyone retreated to the dorms, still giggling as they made their way down the hallway.

  * * *

  OLIVER AND TYCHO HAD to be quiet so they wouldn’t wake any of the children. Drops of water plopped onto the floor. We’ll mop up tomorrow, Tycho thought. They were standing in their closet, and Tycho closed the door to the classroom behind him.

  Oliver snapped the light on.

  Their eyes had to get used to the light; their pupils changed back from big to small. They looked at each other, realizing they both faced the same challenge. They had to take their pants off.

  And they couldn’t quite explain why, they weren’t thinking about explanations, they weren’t thinking at all—they both took a step forward, and then another, and another, and just like that their hands slid down and started searching for a button and a zipper—but not their own.

  They undid each other’s jeans and, without saying anything, let their hands wander to the hems of each other’s T-shirts and underwear. They pulled one up, the other down, as if everything had to be peeled open from the center, like an eggshell. After a few seconds—but who was counting? Time no longer existed—they were standing there naked, their bodies almost touching.

  Their fingers sparked. Slowly they slid their hands into and over each other’s, and further, over their wrists, their elbows, upper arms, down each other’s shoulder blades, down each other’s backs. And every place they touched lit up, was transformed, became warmer and richer, and their mouths fit together perfectly and so did their tongues, they tasted fire and water, sea and sky, they moved closer together and clasped their hands around each other’s lower backs.

  * * *

  EVERY NOW AND THEN one of them would lift the other up, as if trying to hoist him into his heart.

  And then the night began. Liftoff.

  WHEN TYCHO WOKE UP the next morning, he saw an ear. He looked at it and thought to himself: I didn’t know an ear could be so beautiful. He stuck his tongue out a little and licked the downy hairs along its edge. The ear moved—a slight jerk, then another, and Oliver woke up. Tycho noticed his arm was hurting. Oliver had been lying on top of it all night. He carefully tried to get it out, but that caused Oliver to roll over onto his side, facing him. Oliver tried to say something, his voice still hoarse with sleep, but nothing came out. They both laughed. It occurred to Tycho that from up close it might be hard to tell whether he was smiling or grimacing, so he puckered his lips and kissed straight ahead of him. Three, four times.

  “D’you think this is what they mean by ‘friendship that crosses borders’?” Oliver seemed to have gotten his voice back.

  “I hope so,” Tycho said. He chuckled and brushed a strand of hair from Oliver’s face.

  “I hope so too,” Oliver said. “What time is it?”

  He lifted his body up slightly. The sheet slipped off his chest, as if he were a statue still to be unveiled. He leaned over Tycho, reaching for the watch that he’d dropped onto the floor the previous night. He looked at it and jumped up.

  “Shit! I was supposed to go jogging with some of the kids!” He flipped back the sheet and swung his legs off the bed, his naked torso brushing past Tycho.

  Tycho watched Oliver begin to get dressed. He propped Oliver’s pillow behind his back and watched him tug on his boxer shorts and sweatpants. He saw Oliver put his bare feet into his sneakers and bend his knees to tie his shoelaces. He saw Oliver walk over to the wardrobe, rummage around, find a T-shirt, and shake it out. But before he put his head through the neck, the door to the classroom opened slightly. One of the children poked his head around the corner and asked softly, “Oliver, you come?”

  “One second!” Oliver shouted. “Have you heard of knocking?” He resolutely pushed the door shut again. He pulled on his T-shirt and gave Tycho a half-apologetic look.

  “They don’t need to know.”

  Tycho nodded.

  Oliver said, “I guess I should go.”

  He grabbed the door handle, then hesitated and turned around again. He walked back over to Tycho and bent down for a brief kiss. I guess that’s what people do in this situation, Tycho thought, feeling surprised all the same.

  * * *

  OLIVER WAS GONE. HE’D closed the door behind him. Tycho was still in bed. He felt his body thrumming with contentment—completely relaxed, as if it had finally arrived somewhere it had wanted to go for a long time. But his mind, which for hours had believed itself to be out of a job—sidelined, just like that—s
uddenly pushed back. Who was allowed to know about this? It helpfully listed the pros and cons: this was so private, no one in the entire Little World needed to know, and besides, how would the entire Little World react? But what about Donna? Donna would be able to tell. She’d seen this coming. She’d been right.

  And all the others? How could you hide that you’d grown, that you’d become more complete? His skin, his posture, his hands, everything about him would say it out loud—to anyone who was listening. He’d need to look again at his reflection in the mirror later, look himself in the eyes, but he already knew they’d give him away. You couldn’t hide something so alive.

  * * *

  THEY SHOULD BE LEFT alone, the two of them, just for a little while. He got out of bed. All that thinking had gotten his body fired up again, but this time it was his head that decided not to worry. He looked for the pants he’d kicked off the previous night and heard something inside of him begin to sing. A new, happy-go-lucky song: “Da da da so what?” He hummed along. So what to his socks and so what to his sleeping bag and so what to the whole room. He did a spontaneous drum solo on Oliver’s mattress, climbed up onto the top bunk, spread his arms, and tried to take flight, even though the floor was much too close to float in the air for even just a moment. Crash! Landed. “Da da da so what?”

  He started composing a message to his parents in his head. He’d send it off to Southampton this afternoon: Mom, Dad, you’ll never guess what happened. He didn’t know how to go on from there. I’m happy. (As long as they knew that, he thought, that was the most important part.) Sorry if that sounds kind of stupid, but it’s true. And then what? X, Tycho.

  * * *

  OLIVER CAME IN. HE was done jogging and his face was red. “Time for breakfast!” Tycho nodded and got up, throwing a towel at Oliver, who pulled off his T-shirt and said, “I thought about it. Let’s keep it just between us.”