Aristotle and Dante Discover the Secrets of the Universe (28 page)

“What?” I could hear the anger in his voice.

“Don’t be mad.”

“I don’t know what to do, Ari.”

“Remember that time you kissed me?”

“Yeah.”

“Remember I said it didn’t work for me?”

“Why are you bringing this up? I remember. I remember. Dammit to hell, Ari, did you think I’d forgotten?”

“I’ve never seen you this mad.”

“I don’t want to talk about that, Ari. It just makes me feel bad.”

“What did I say when you kissed me?”

“You said it didn’t work for you.”

“I lied.”

He looked at me.

“Don’t play with me, Ari.”

“I’m not.”

I took him by the shoulders. I looked at him. And he looked at me. “You said I wasn’t scared of anything. That’s not true.
You.
That’s what I’m afraid of. I’m afraid of you, Dante.” I took a deep breath. “Try it again,” I said. “Kiss me.”

“No,” he said.

“Kiss me.”

“No.” And then he smiled. “
You
kiss
me
.”

I placed my hand on the back of his neck. I pulled him toward me. And kissed him. I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And I kissed him. And he kept kissing me back.

We laughed and we talked and looked up at the stars.

“I wished it was raining,” he said.

“I don’t need the rain,” I said. “I need you.”

He traced his name on my back. I traced my name on his.

All this time.

This was what was wrong with me. All this time I had been trying to figure out the secrets of the universe, the secrets of my own body, of my own heart. All of the answers had always been so close and yet I had always fought them without even knowing it. From the minute I’d met Dante, I had fallen in love with him. I just didn’t
let myself know it, think it, feel it. My father was right. And it was true what my mother said. We all fight our own private wars.

As Dante and I lay on our backs in the bed of my pickup and gazed out at the summer stars, I was free. Imagine that. Aristotle Mendoza, a free man. I wasn’t afraid anymore. I thought of that look on my mother’s face when I’d told her I was ashamed. I thought of that look of love and compassion that she wore as she looked at me. “Ashamed? Of loving Dante?”

I took Dante’s hand and held it.

How could I have ever been ashamed of loving Dante Quintana?

I had second thoughts about writing this book. In fact, after I finished the first chapter or so, I had almost decided to abandon the project. But I’m lucky and blessed enough to be surrounded by committed, brave, talented, and intelligent people who inspired me to finish what I started. This book would not have been written without them. So here is my small and certainly incomplete list of people I’d like to thank: Patty Moosebrugger, great agent, great friend. Daniel and Sasha Chacon for their great affection and their belief that I needed to write this book. For Hector, Annie, Ginny, and Barbara, who have always been there. My editor, David Gale, who believed in his book and the whole team at Simon & Schuster, especially Navah Wolfe. My colleagues in the Creative Writing Department whose work and generosity continually challenge me to be a better writer and a better person. And finally, I would like to thank my students, past and present, who remind me that language and writing will always matter. My gratitude to all of you.

A
LSO BY
B
ENJAMIN
A
LIRE
S
ÁENZ

P
OETRY

Calendar of Dust
Dark and Perfect Angels
Elegies in Blue
Que Linda la Brisa
Dreaming the End of War
The Book of What Remains

F
ICTION

Flowers for the Broken
Carry Me Like Water
The House of Forgetting
In Perfect Light
Names on a Map

Y
OUNG
A
DULT

Sammy and Juliana in Hollywood
He Forgot to Say Goodbye
Last Night I Sang to the Monster

C
HILDREN’S
B
OOKS

A Gift from Papa Diego
Grandma Fina and Her Wonderful Umbrellas
A Perfect Season for Dreaming
The Dog Who Loved Tortillas