Page 22 of Ginjuh

When the last word rang through my mind, I looked up to see Grandpa leaning back and laughing loudly at something Austin had said to him. I looked down and read the poem once more, my heart fluttering in my chest as the smell of Austin lingered in the car. I inhaled deeply, enjoying the last of him inside of the car. When I looked up again, I didn’t see a scrawny, previously pasty, emo kid. I saw a poet. I saw lips and hair and fingers and skin and shoulders and hips and ass and legs and heart and soul.

I folded the notebook shut and ran my fingers over the cover, stroking it as if it were Austin’s cheek as his lips pressed against mine. One more deep breath and I got out of the car.

Later in the day, an even hotter day than we were used to, summer having one last final hurrah before completely giving up, Austin and I were hacking away at the corn. I could see the end of the field in the distance, my face lighting up with a hopeful smile. Finishing this part of the project—the hardest part, I was sure—would be a relief.

“Did you like it?” Austin stopped hacking away at the corn to ask, though he didn’t turn to look at me.

I hacked at the corn a few more times before stopping, turning the scythe so the end of the handle could rest on the ground. Austin mimicked my movements.

“What makes you write?” I asked.

Austin just looked at me.

“I liked it,” I said. “A lot.”

“Okay.” He nodded, then turned.

His sweat covered palm slid down the scythe handle and he started to stumble. Quickly, I reached out, my scythe dropping to the ground, and I found fistfuls of his shirt again. Austin’s scythe tumbled to the ground with a dull “thump” and he was staring into my face again, having finally found his footing. Our mouths were inches apart and I could feel his breath against my mouth. He smelled like energy drink and sandwiches from lunch and cucumbers and sweet tea—and all of the things Austin smelled like.

I swallowed hard. “Be, uh, be careful.”

He nodded, sweat trailing down his temple.

“The, uh, blades are sharp and one slip, and, uh…”

“I’m sorry I said you talk too much, Zach.” He whispered.

My hands tightened in his shirt, bunching up more material. Austin gasped. He wasn’t frightened.

“I’m sorry I called you weird,” I replied lowly.

“I’m gay.”

“I figured you weren’t straight.”

“You’re the first person I’ve told.” He said. “Besides my dad.”

“Is that why you write in the notebook?” I whispered, bringing our mouths closer.

“No.” We were so close I could feel his lips flutter against mine.

I wanted to taste him again. I wanted to taste Austin’s lips every minute of every day, come to know all of the flavors of those lips at all times of the day.

“Why then?”

“You’re strong.”

“Why?”

“I love your freckles.”

“Why?”

“Will you kiss me?”

My lips were against his before he could finish his sentence. We kissed for so long that it was nearly dark when we finished cutting through the corn to make an exit to the “maze”. And we didn’t work silently, though Austin still let me do most of the talking.

Chapter 5