Aristotle and Dante Dive into the Waters of the World (Aristotle and Dante #2)(8)

“Maybe some people would say I’m not. But I don’t need anybody to tell me how to live my faith.”

“But me, I’m a sin, right?”

“No, you’re not a sin. You’re a young man. You’re a human being.” And then she smiled at me. “And you’re my son.”

We just sat there for a moment, quiet as the still morning light. I hadn’t realized before that I had my mother’s eyes. I looked like my father—but I had her eyes.

“Your father and I were talking last night when you were whispering Dante’s name.”

“It must have been a loud whisper. So what were you talking about?”

“Just that we don’t know what to do. We don’t know how to help you. We have to learn how to be cartographers too, Ari. And we love you so much.”

“I know that, Mom.”

“You’re not such a boy anymore. You’re on the edge of manhood.”

“It feels like I’m at the edge of a cliff.”

“Manhood is a strange country, Ari. And you will enter that country. Very, very soon. But you’ll never be alone. Just remember that.”

I smiled at her. “Dante’s waiting.”

She nodded.

I walked toward the front door—but as I reached for the doorknob, I turned around and walked back into the kitchen. I kissed my mom on the cheek. “Have a good day,” I said.





Fourteen


I WANTED TO GO AWAY with him. Maybe we could go camping. And we would be alone, lost among the trees. Just me and Dante. But wouldn’t our parents know what we were up to? I didn’t want to be ashamed. And yet, the word “shame” was still a word loitering in my body. It was a word that clung to me, a word that didn’t leave easily.





Fifteen


MRS. QUINTANA WAS SITTING ON THE front steps when I walked up the sidewalk. “Hi,” I said.

“Hi, Ari,” she said.

“No work today?”

“I took the day off,” she said. “I have an appointment with the doctor.”

“Everything okay?”

“Prenatal care.”

I nodded.

“Here,” she said, “help me up.” It was strange and beautiful to feel her hand grasp mine and help pull her onto her feet. It made me feel strong and necessary. To feel necessary, that was—wow—something I’d never thought of before.

“Let’s take a walk,” she said. “I need to walk.”

We walked across the street—and as soon as we reached the park, the green grass beneath us, she took off her shoes.

“Now I know where Dante gets that shoeless thing from.”

She shook her head. “I don’t like to go barefoot. It’s just that my feet get swollen. It’s the pregnancy.”

“You and Dante spend a lot of time in this park, don’t you?”

It was strange to be walking through a park with an adult. Not an ordinary occurrence in my life. I asked a question I didn’t really want to ask—especially because I knew the answer already. “Do you think Dante and I will change? I mean. You know what I mean.” God, I was really stupid.

“No, Ari, I don’t think you will. That’s not a problem for me or for Sam or for your parents. But there is this problem—I don’t think most people understand boys like you and Dante. And they don’t want to understand.”

“I’m glad you’re not like most people.”

She smiled at me. “Me too, Ari. I don’t want to be like most people.”

I smiled back at her. “I used to think Dante was more like Mr. Quintana than he was like you. I think maybe I was wrong.”

“You really are a sweet kid.”

“I don’t know you well enough to argue with you.”

“You really are a smart aleck.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I suppose you’re wondering if there was something I wanted to talk to you about?”

I nodded.

“When we came back from Chicago, that first day, when you came over. You looked at me and it was as if something passed between us. It seemed to me that it was something very intimate—and I don’t mean that there was anything inappropriate about it. But you noticed something about me.”

“I did,” I said.

“Did you know I was going to have a baby?”

“Maybe. I mean, yes. I thought about it, and, well, yes. Yes, I did know. There was something different about you.”

“How do you mean?”

“I don’t know. Like you glowed. I know that sounds stupid. But it was like there was so much life—I don’t know how to explain it. It’s not as if I have ESP—nothing like that. Stupid, really.”

“Stupid? Is that your favorite word?”

“I guess today it is.”

She grinned. “It doesn’t sound stupid, Ari, that you noticed something about me that day. You don’t have to have ESP to have a very acute sense of perception. You read people. It’s a gift. And I just wanted you to know that there’s a lot more going on with you than the fact that you like boys.”

We stopped under the shade of an old tree.