First Night

AT THE FRONT DOOR OF THE boardinghouse, Ronny turned the doorknob and Ben pushed the frame hard and burst in. Churning, jaw grinding, as if he were about to burst. Ronny touched his arm and he grew still, his body nearly shaking. Anger? Or what?

“Be quiet down here,” Ronny said. “That poor old lady will be scared of you.”

It was the physicality of him, the crispness, his body made of force, his breathing rapid, nostrils flared, dark brows folded together. But he glanced at Mrs. Delacy’s door and changed stance, jaw set, lips in a line. Had he been drinking? Maybe. Ben took a deep breath and blew it out. When he spoke his voice was intense, restrained in volume only. “Fine. What do you want to do?”

“We can go up to my room or we can take a walk somewhere.”

“Let’s go to your room.”

Ronny had learned better than to show any fear. “Come on,” he said, and they went upstairs. Ben crowded behind him, looming over him, as if he wanted his body to force Ronny up the steps.

Ben stopped on the stair landing to look at the doors with a scowl. In Ronny’s room he glanced from wall to wall briefly and touched the books on the desk. He paced up and down the room, hardly four steps in any direction, but he had to move. When he spoke some of his strain had eased. “You don’t have much more room here than you did in the dorm.”

“I don’t need that much. I’m just here for the summer. How did you find out where I am?”

“I got the address from Kelly.” He looked at Ronny, then plopped down on his bed. He said, “You pissed me off.”

Ronny sat in the desk chair. “Yeah?”

“I am not teasing you about anything. I’m not.” This was what had stung him, that Ronny had accused him of that. Once he said the words, his level of upset diminished visibly. “You need to fucking take that back.”

“All right. I take it back.”

He glared at Ronny, still breathing hard. “You should have given me some warning. You knew damn well I’d want to see you before I went home.”

It made him flush, thrilled him really, that Ben would say so, intently, speaking as if with his whole body. “I tried to find you. I would have kept trying,” Ronny said.

“You tried. How? You came to my room a couple of times.”

“What was I supposed to do?”

“I don’t know. You could have stayed in the dorm till you could talk to me about it.” Ben was looking at Ronny, waiting for Ronny to look at him. The feeling was the same as always, wondering which way Ben would go. “You picked a pretty good place, though.”

“Why do I need to talk to you about moving?”

Ben had relaxed now, grinned from the bed, and folded his arms behind his head—but there was something wounded in his bravado. “You know why. Because you’re my pet faggot.”