Nostalgia

Five seconds after declaring himself the Unchallengeable Ruler of the Universe, Paul Fleming announced that moving, standing up, or changing positions was against the rules and punishable by excommunication. That applied both to Michael, whose lap Paul was using as a cushion and whose fingers currently rubbed across Paul’s scalp in a soothing and soporific manner, and the sun, whose rays soaked through the windowpane and into Paul’s skin like a glorious, body-sized heat pack.

Of course, he was too relaxed and tired to make the royal proclamation aloud, so while Michael obeyed (because he was a good, loyal subject who did what he was told without even having to be ordered), the sun did not, making a relentless and displeasing march across the couch and away from Paul’s legs. He grumbled and tucked them under himself, attempting to tug his skirt over his feet.

“You’re going to stretch it.” Michael’s voice was a million miles away; Paul batted at it with one hand and missed. Some part of Paul’s mind noted that Michael sounded amused.

“I’ll fix it later,” Paul mumbled. “Make the sun come back.”

Michael chuckled, and his hand stilled. “I think that’s out of my jurisdiction.”

Paul’s face scrunched and he slitted one eye open; Michael’s face was blurry and upside-down, and laughing at him. “You’re a stinky husband, then. I’m going back to the Boy Store and asking for an exchange.”

“I don’t think they’ll take me.” Michael pinched Paul’s nose lightly, only letting go when Paul attempted to force a sneeze. “I think that policy is only for unopened, unused merchandise.”

“Good point.” The banter was slowly drawing Paul away from the edge of sleep, and he curled his fingers on Michael’s stomach, beneath his shirt. “Well, never mind, then. Just do better next time.”

Michael’s hand moved from Paul’s hair to stroke the side of his face; Paul, knowing what was coming, tilted his head so they wouldn’t be at such an odd angle when Michael bent down and brought their lips together. Paul let out a contented noise and held the back of Michael’s neck, pulling him closer.

Eventually he felt Michael’s muscles tighten under his hand, and Paul forced himself to stop before he gave the other an even more painful crick in the neck. Michael’s breathing had kicked up; Paul smiled with poorly hidden satisfaction and burrowed closer.

“You know...” Michael said, voice only shaking a little, “Sometimes I can’t believe you’ve never kissed anybody before.”

Paul was glad they’d been making out a moment ago so he could blame the flush on their activities, if he were questioned. “I learned from the best.”

Michael laughed, a short, half-swallowed giggle that meant he was a mixture of pleased and embarrassed. “I don’t know about that...”

And then, he had it. A smirk began at the corner of Paul’s mouth, quickly morphing into a full-out grin. “No, really. Danny wasn’t bad, as first kisses go.”

In retrospect, that probably wasn’t nice. Paul bit back a snicker as even Michael’s leg muscles tensed. “Who?”

Poker face, poker face, Paul reminded himself. “Danny Sterling. Curly blond hair, blue eyes, an adorable dimple when he smiled. Told me he was going to marry me someday, but then I moved and we couldn’t handle a long-distance relationship. Too young.”

He could hear Michael’s teeth grinding; that was the sign Paul should wrap it up soon, else Michael reached the point where it ceased to be funny and he was cross even after Paul explained the joke. “How old were you?”

Paul hesitated just long enough to prolong the torture before replying, “Six.”

Michael blew out his breath hard enough that Paul felt it on his face; he waited, then, finally, Michael thwapped him lightly on the head with his knuckles. “Jerk!” The relief was evident, though, and Paul felt a momentary stab of guilt. “You like making me jealous, don’t you.”

“Only because it reminds me that you love me enough to be possessive.” Paul winked, then shifted upward so he could cuddle in an upright position. Michael had his cranky face on.

“Did you really have a boy promise to marry you in first grade?” Michael asked, wrapping his arms around Paul’s waist and holding on a little tighter than he usually did. Paul nodded, and Michael snorted. “I wouldn’t have believed it, but I think you just got gayer.”

Paul giggled. “Does it count if he thought I was a girl at the time?”

Michael’s voice sounded like his eyebrows had just gone up, but Paul didn’t feel like twisting around to see. “You didn’t tell him otherwise?”

“It would have blown my cover. I spent most of first grade masquerading as a girl.”

“You realize I’m not letting you get away with that.” Michael moved to a more comfortable position, one where his legs wouldn’t fall asleep five minutes later. “You’re obligated to tell me the whole story now.”

“Ah, the not-so-sordid tale of my first love.” Paul nestled backward against Michael, making sure his arms were free for expansive hand gestures. “Prepare to be dazzled!”

---

The house looked nice, but that didn’t matter. They weren’t going to be here very long anyway. Paul’s fingers tightened on his backpack straps – Batman, he didn’t even like Batman, but Papa said Barbie was for girls – and he scowled.

“‘Scuse, kid,” one of the movers said. His voice was wound up tight like a yo-yo that got tangled and Paul almost hoped he dropped the couch end he was carrying. Paul shuffled out of the way, waited ‘til the men were inside, and pouted outside on the lawn instead.

Papa helped Mama out of the car, holding her around the back. Mama’s belly wasn’t big yet but the doctor said there was another baby coming. He said Mama was so young she should be careful, ‘specially ‘cause she had three already. Paul had pretended he didn’t understand a lot of it, but he knew more. He knew this baby wasn’t Mama’s idea either.

And neither was moving. Car trips were bad for Mama, they made her sick, but they had to move a lot. Papa’s job said so. The last house, they were only there for a couple of months and Mama was tired of moving. But Papa said it didn’t really matter, she had to stay home with the babies so it’s not like she had friends to leave behind anyway.

Mama lifted Bethy, four, out of her car seat and set her on the ground. Elizabeth, brown hair like Papa’s but not curly, held on to Mama’s skirt and patted her leg. “You stay over there with Pauly,” Mama said. “Don’t get in the big men’s way. Pauly-baby, could you take Tiffany for me?”

Paul trotted over and took Tiffany when Mama handed her to him. He saw the movers give him funny looks but that was because he was only six. They didn’t know how good he was with babies.

Elizabeth was sitting on the grass, looking at one of Paul’s picture books. She couldn’t read yet but pretended she could. Tiffany squirmed, pulled at Paul’s hair and said “Down!” Paul waited ‘til they were off the gravel driveway before he let her. The little girl, looking a lot like baby pictures of Paul but bigger and stronger, stuck out her arms and toddled around in circles. She spit a lot, trying to make airplane noises.

Paul watched Tiff for a bit. She didn’t know they kept moving around. She didn’t know this house didn’t have a big tree in the backyard, that Paul had to leave his tire swing behind three houses ago. She didn’t know Mama didn’t want her. It must be nice to be little.

“Read me a story, Pauly?” Bethy shuffled closer and sat on her hands. That was so she didn’t suck on her thumb. Her dentist said she’d get crooked teeth if she didn’t stop.

Paul wrinkled his forehead and took the book into his lap. It was an easy one, which was good. He wasn’t very fast at reading. Papa said he didn’t know why he was having all that trouble, but Mama said it was probably ‘cause he hadn’t been able to stay at one school for more than a few months. Paul didn’t know about that, he just knew he was bad at it.

Tiffany wouldn’t sit down long enough to hear the story. Paul made sure he could see her while he read. Bethy smelled like cookies and baby shampoo as she cuddled up against him.

Paul’s shorts itched his legs and he fidgeted. Bethy had lots of pretty skirts and she could only wear one at a time. She wouldn’t care if he borrowed one, but Papa would.

“You’re going to have a good day at school,” Mama said. She looked tired – Paul had heard her throwing up earlier, before Papa left for work.

It doesn’t matter, Paul thought. We’ll be gone ‘fore Christmas anyhow. If it was Papa he would have said it, but this was Mama. She’d even gotten up to make his lunch today, because it was his first day. Usually Paul made his own so she could sleep.

“I’ll try,” Paul said. He looked down at his shirt – it had a bulldozer on it, why would anyone want that? – and pouted. “I’d have a better day if I could wear what I want.”

Mama smiled a little. She knelt down and petted his hair, kissed his forehead. “Papa just doesn’t want you to get teased, baby. That’s all. Kids can be mean.”

Paul stuck out his lower lip and scuffed his sock against the floor. “Sure,” he muttered.

Mama stood up again and her face went white. “Can you put yourself on the bus?” she asked, holding a hand to her stomach. “I’m sorry, Pauly –“

“It’s okay.” Paul picked up his lunchbox and backpack and tried to make himself look taller. “You can go back to bed, Mama.”

“Have a good day,” she said again, and kissed him one more time.

She left, and Paul headed for the door. It was still early, but the morning was pretty and the sun was yellow and warm. Halfway through putting on his shoes, Paul stopped. Papa had already left; he wouldn’t be home until almost supper. Mama was in bed, and so was Bethy.

He stood there a moment longer, then dropped his things quietly and raced to the room he shared with his sister. Paul grabbed a pretty shirt with a unicorn on it and a skirt and changed into them. He squished his boy clothes into a ball and shoved them into the bottom of his backpack, under his pencil case and indoor sneakers.

Paul ran all the way to the end of the driveway and hid behind a tree in case Mama looked out the window. He could change back after school before coming inside and nobody would know.

The bus was crowded; Paul had to share a seat with two kindergarteners. They had sticky, crumby mouths and jammy fingers, and Paul sighed and pulled out a tissue to clean them up. Their mama must be busy, too.

Once they were on the playground it was easier. Paul had never ridden the bus before but he knew playgrounds, knew the rules and which people he should ask if he could join. So many schools but they were still all the same. He found a group of girls playing jump rope: Paul asked if he could hold an end. Since most people wanted to jump, not turn, they let him right away.

When the bell rang, Paul showed the girls the piece of paper with his teacher’s name on it. A girl with blonde curls and cute overalls said Paul was in her class and she’d be happy to lead the way. Paul linked hands with her and giggled as they skipped inside.

The teacher, a tall woman with short brown hair and clothes that Paul would never wear ever, looked at him when everyone was sitting down and the morning announcements were over. “We have a new student,” the teacher said, looking at something on her desk. “But it says your name is Paul.”

Paul hadn’t thought of that. He felt his ears going red. Everybody was looking at him, at his skirt and the sparkly clip that was holding his hair back. He stood up. His palms were sweaty. “That’s a mistake,” Paul said, his heart trying to escape. “It’s Pauly. P-a-u-l-y. It’s okay, people get it wrong all the time.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” The teacher made a note on her paper and smiled at him. “It’s an unusual spelling.”

“I’m unusual,” Paul said primly. Some of the girls giggled, and he tossed them quick smiles. He sat back down in his seat and took out his pencil case. In the middle of math, the boy behind him passed Paul a note asking if he wanted to share his lunch. Paul wrote ‘I’ll trade you’ and passed it back.

The boy’s name was Danny. He liked dogs and circuses and playing games and he thought ‘Pauly’ was really pretty. Paul traded his pudding for Danny’s cookies and let the boy hold his hand at recess. By the end of the week they’d promised to marry each other one day. Danny still didn’t know Paul was a boy. None of them did.

Hallowe’en came and Paul hadn’t moved away yet. He was starting to get good at the whole girl thing, but he wasn’t stupid. Paul knew the longer you kept up a pretend, the closer you were to getting caught. It was just a good thing that Mama had to take care of the kids and Papa worked a lot. That way the teachers didn’t ever get to meet them.

Paul went Trick Or Treating with Danny’s family and Bethy came with them. She pretended she didn’t want to, said she should stay home and help Mama with Tiffany, but Paul knew better. She dressed up like a butterfly. Paul was a fairy princess and Danny was a pirate. They held hands most of the time even though pirates probably didn’t hold hands with fairies. At the end of the night Danny gave Paul his biggest candy bar.

“You keep it!” Paul insisted. Danny’s dad was waiting in the car and Bethy had already gone inside. He could hear her squealing and showing Mama all the treats she had.

“No.” Danny grinned. He was cute even with his face all painted with a fake beard. “You have it. I want you to keep it.”

Paul shuffled his feet, then smiled and put the chocolate in his bag. “Thanks,” he said. “You’re the bestest boyfriend ever.”

“And you’re the best girl,” Danny said. Paul’s stomach twitched a little – he’d forgotten, just for a second, that it was pretend. But he didn’t have time to think about it much because Danny was bouncing on his toes, and before Paul could ask why he was so excited Danny leaned forward and kissed him. He was giggling and running back to the car by the time Paul realized what had happened.

“Did you have fun?” Mama asked. Bethy was stretched out on the couch, fast asleep. She had chocolate all around her mouth. Paul guessed she’d collapsed in the middle of a sentence, too excited to stay awake any more. At least she wouldn’t get a tummy ache like if she stayed up all night eating. That happened to him last year.

“Yes.” Paul put down his bag and did a twirl, holding out his sparkly wand. “I got lots of candy. You’ll have to help me eat it,” he said diplomatically.

Mama smiled. She gathered Bethy into her arms and stood up; Bethy mumbled something and stuck her thumb in her mouth. “Let’s get you undressed and into bed,” she said.

“Okay.” Paul skipped most of the way to his room. He was glad Papa was working overtime. Papa would have made him dress up as something like Danny. Something tough. “Will you be able to come next year, Mama?”

“Well, next year this one will be born,” Mama said, and when Paul looked up at her she seemed a little sad. “So I’ll be home looking after him or her. But the year after that, when she’s a bit bigger, maybe we can all go.”

Paul nodded. He changed out of his costume himself while Mama put Bethy into bed, and was ready by the time she turned around. “You’re a big boy,” Mama said, looking down at him. She rumpled his hair.

“It’s only ‘cause you’re small,” Paul said. “Like a fairy queen.”

Mama looked surprised for a second before she laughed. Papa wasn’t home and Tiff was already in bed so she had her hair down. Paul thought she was probably younger than Miss Sinesac, his teacher, and he’d heard somebody say she was the youngest teacher in school. “You’re a darling, Pauly.”

Paul let Mama kiss him and tuck him in, but he didn’t cuddle with Bethy like they usually did. Mama had forgotten to wash her hands and she was all sticky with melted candy.

After Hallowe’en, Danny kissed Paul a few more times. Always when the teachers weren’t looking, because they weren’t supposed to do that. Paul liked it, it made him feel special. He never kissed Danny, though; his friends said girls let boys make the moves. Paul thought, privately, that he’d like to kiss a boy without having to wait, but okay. Those were the rules.

They stayed through Christmas, Valentine’s Day – they each drew each other a card – and even Easter. For the first time it looked like Paul would spend an entire year at the same school. Maybe they’d even stay there forever. Maybe he and Danny could grow up and get married for real –

Except Paul knew that wouldn’t happen. One day Danny would find out that Paul was lying. He just hoped it wouldn’t happen for a long, long time.

One day, near the end of the school year, Paul was waiting for the bus. Danny was with him, even though he walked home, holding Paul’s backpack and telling him about the train set his grandpa bought him. He said Paul should come over and see it some time.

“That would be fun,” Paul said. He never invited Danny over to his house, obviously, but Danny didn’t seem to mind. “Maybe –“ and then he stopped.

“What?”

Paul snatched his backpack away and put it on. It took three tries because his hands were shaking.

“What’s the matter?” Danny’s eyes were wide.

“My Papa’s here,” Paul said. It was hard to talk; his throat felt like a toilet paper tube that somebody had stepped on. He couldn’t breathe.

“Is that bad?” Danny frowned. He stood on tiptoes, trying to see where Paul was looking. “You don’t talk about him much.”

“I have to go.” Paul wanted to hug Danny or something, but Papa was watching. He looked mad enough that Paul was wearing Bethy’s clothes. He was in enough trouble already.

He ran away from the lines of children waiting for the buses, toward the parking lot where parents were allowed to wait. Papa stood beside the car. His fists were closed and his fingers white and red.

“What the hell are you wearing, Paul?” Papa demanded. He kept his voice quiet instead of yelling, but somehow that was scarier.

Paul was shaking so hard he almost tripped getting into the car. “Clothes,” he said. He swallowed hard. He’d always been a bad liar. “It was a, a dare, some of the boys said –“

“It was not a dare.” They were inside the car now and driving away and Papa didn’t have to keep his voice down anymore. “Damn it, Paul, I thought I’d told you to stop with this stuff!”

“I like being pretty,” Paul said. His shoes had mud on them. He couldn’t make himself look up. “I’m sorry. I know you don’t like it.”

“Then you shouldn’t do it!” Papa was yelling now. Paul’s lower lip started to wobble and he bit it so he wouldn’t cry. It made his nostrils flare. “The hell do I have to tell you, to make you listen to me? I’m your father!”

Danny’s dad said that sometimes, when Danny broke something. But Danny’s dad was a lot older than Papa. He could probably almost be Papa’s father. Paul curled his hands in Bethy’s skirt. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn right you’re sorry. You look like a fucking pansy!”

“Mama says you’re not supposed to use that word –“

“Does Mama know you keep stealing your sister’s clothes, huh?”

Paul shook his head. “No,” he said quietly.

“And how come none of the teachers have said anything?” Papa paused, and Paul imagined the look on his face. It wasn’t a nice one. “God... You told them you’re a girl, didn’t you.”

“I didn’t think we’d be here that long!” Paul was crying now even though he didn’t want to. Crying always made Papa madder because Paul was supposed to be tough. “It was just for fun! I thought we’d be gone!”

Papa just kept shouting, and Paul stopped listening. He went into a room in his head, where he had toys and pretty things and nobody told him he couldn’t. Later that night Mama and Papa had a real loud fight, one that woke up Tiff and made Bethy cry. Paul wanted to sit there with his hands over his ears but couldn’t. He got Tiffany and brought her into his room and got her calmed down, and when she was asleep again he held Bethy until she felt better.

---

Michael was quiet for a long time; Paul’s head felt taut, like a tire pumped over its capacity, and when he touched his face he found he was crying. He hadn’t thought about that in years, and even then, it was in amusement at the prank he’d pulled.

“So what happened?” Michael asked, finally. His arms had tightened.

Paul sighed. “He kept me home for the rest of the year – it was only a month or two, so it didn’t really matter. I wasn’t allowed to talk to anyone from school or say goodbye or anything. When summer started, we moved away again.” He turned over so he could press his face to Michael’s chest. “I wonder what they thought. If they ever looked for me.”

He heard the unpleasant crunching noise that meant Michael was grinding his teeth, but Paul was too tired to tell him to stop. And, if he were to be honest, he liked having someone else upset on his behalf.

“I’m glad I never met him,” Michael said suddenly. “If I saw him – and knew all the things he’d done to you – I don’t know what I’d’ve done.”

“Mm.” Suddenly, Paul didn’t want to think about it anymore. Not when he had Michael, not when it didn’t matter anymore.

“I’ll tell you something else, though, if you promise not to laugh.”

It was obvious Michael was trying to lighten the mood, but Paul loved him all the more for attempting. “What’s that?”

Michael bent and kissed him behind the ear. “I’m still jealous.”

Paul laughed aloud; if Michael complained, he’d point out that he never actually said he wouldn’t. “Of Danny?”

“I thought I was the only one who was ever allowed to kiss you.”

Michael was pouting, but Paul knew he did have a strong possessive streak. He rolled his eyes, making sure Michael couldn’t see him do it. “If that’s the way you feel, maybe I should start getting cranky at how many people you kissed before me.”

He wasn’t sure how Michael would respond to that, and Paul didn’t really feel like banter anymore, so he scooted up and kissed Michael before he could answer. Whatever Michael’s planned retort, it turned into a content moan and Paul liked that better. Michael’s fingers threaded into his hair, and if the hand between his shoulder blades pressed harder than usual, Paul didn’t care.

“He wasn’t allowed to do this though, I bet,” Michael said, voice low and with the kind of resonance that sent little chills through Paul’s body. He traced circles on Paul’s back, beneath his shirt; the other hand travelled down the length of his side and up the inside of his thigh.

Paul tilted his head back and tried to arch into both touches at once; he almost fell off the couch for his efforts, but Michael caught him just in time, chuckling. “No,” Paul said when he trusted his voice again. “He definitely wasn’t.”

“Good.” And then Michael was worrying less about talking and more about getting Paul’s skirt out of the way, and Paul was so busy trying to help him that he forgot all about the uncomfortable feelings that had been pressing against his chest.

He remembered later, when they lay tangled and sticky, and the breeze was just starting to chill the drying sweat rather than provide a comforting coolness. But by then, it no longer mattered.