False Start (Boyxboy)

29: SUB ROSA

Now that I knew Keiji was gay, I couldn't stop staring at him. It's like I was searching for a hint, a glimpse of it in a delicate hand gesture or lisp in his voice. But nothing revealed itself.  He looked at me more closely too, our eye contact frequent, and I realized that he was probably doing the same thing.  As we took our seats, I prepped myself to spread my attention evenly around the table and act like always. 

"When I was your age, living in Norway, I could already drink beer and wine," Mrs. Fujikawa said, setting a pair of nice glasses in front of us.  "But this is something called glühwein.  It's seasonal and much stronger."

"Consider it a rite of passage into manhood!"  Mr. Fujikawa guffawed.

Beneath the kitchen's fluorescent lighting, their faces seemed drained of color.  Their dispositions were stiffer, too.  My palms became sweaty.  Something was off, and I hoped it had nothing to do with me.

Keiji and I watched with furtive gazes as our glasses were filled halfway with the dark red, pungent liquid.  I didn't want to appear overeager to take the first sip, didn't even know how to pick up the glass, but he tasted his without hesitation.

"It's like really bad grape juice," he said, scrunching up his nose.

That didn't sound awful.  Everyone's eyes were on me, presumably awaiting my own reaction, so I copied my friend and took a sip.  It was thick and bitter on my tongue and warm going down, but in a much more pleasant way than the liquor had been at camp. Some spice hid the harshness of the alcohol. I could manage it down without making a face.

"Yeah," I agreed, swallowing the aftertaste. "Adult grape juice."

His parents chuckled, beaming fondly, if not a little fakely, at us.

"Don't drink too fast though," Mrs. Fujikawa warned. "I don't want you two getting sick your first time."

Keiji and I glanced at each other, passing a silent laugh between us.

First time. Haha.

The true first time I drank, beneath the gazebo, my skin became hyper-sensitive, waves of warmth massaging me from the inside out.  Had Hiro made a move, I don't think I would have resisted, curiosity outweighing any apprehension I had towards being with another guy.  At the thought, I shifted in my seat.

Keiji was already taking a second sip of the stuff while his mom prepared our plates.  Hunched over the table like that, his body seemed so big and strong, shoulders pulling taut the cloth of his shirt, which rode up his back.

He seems so straight.

How he wagged his leg side to side and ran a hand through his drying hair, the wavy tufts springing back into place one at a time. How his throat looked as he swallowed the wine, and the rough way he wiped at the bit that dribbled down his chin.  So "guy-ish".

How does he hide it so well?

I'd felt a little hesitant to see him tonight when he'd first invited me over.  It was the same nervous feeling I'd gotten that made me duck from his hug outside the playground.  But now that I was beside him, his energy pulled me in, and I wanted us to be alone again so that we could continue our conversation from last night.  At least, I was curious to hear him talk about himself some more.

Food was a welcome distraction.  Thin wisps of steam floated up toward my nose, carrying the tang of ketchup and creamy egg fried to golden perfection.  The omurice, and the nostalgic memories it represented, calmed me down a notch.