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Ryan starts to tense. Avery grips his hand tighter. They think they know what’s coming. Queerness, at this point in time, still means that you wait for tragedy to emerge from any dark corner, that you are sure that hate will inevitably be part of the narrative, that things have to get worse before they get better.
But the photographer and the nurse continue to dance down the street. The camera rushes to catch up with them, to be there for a kiss that lasts and lasts and lasts. A kiss that ends in a smile and the continuation of a song. The dark corners have been empty all along. The only story here is the story of their love and how it came to be.
Avery lets out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding. Ryan hugs him tighter. They both laugh at what they’d been expecting. They recognize each other in this laughter, in the way their breathing has become steady again. This time the smile comes before the kiss. But the kiss is there, as easy to find as the breathing.
I am still learning about you. Which makes sense, since I am still learning about me.
The movie doesn’t end with them dancing in the street. Instead it flashes forward ten years. The photographer and the nurse are asleep in bed, slightly entwined and slightly free. The camera holds on them for a full minute so you can really see them, so you can get a palpable sense of the comfort of their mornings together. Then they wake up. First the photographer, then the nurse. The photographer stretches, turns. The nurse’s eyes open. They look at each other, and the waythey do, you can tell how much they love each other, how well they love each other. They’ve made it. They’ve won.
Now it’s Ryan who tears up. The tenderness of the moment catches him by surprise. It is an illustration of something he’s never tried to picture. It is not something he can relate to, but it’s something he wants to relate to so badly that it’s breathtaking.
Avery sees this play across Ryan’s face, a utopia made of people waking up to each other for a decade and still feeling whole. Avery feels it strongly, too. It’s far too much to contemplate on a fourth date, far too presumptuous to attempt to frame what they’ve found in these terms. But to feel it’s possible…that is a resonant chord, a view that’s become a vista. Avery squeezes Ryan’s hand again. This time to be the grounding. This time because it’s a stirring rather than a storm.
As the credits roll, Avery is astounded by how unalone he feels. He has just kept the company of two characters who are older than him, but still somehow like him. He has kept the company of this boy by his side, who is just as moved by what he’s seen in the reflection. And he has kept the company of the rest of the audience, some of whom are singing or sighing themselves back into their cars, while others linger as the names unfurl across the screen.
Like most people, Avery has always seen the credits as an afterthought, a coda. But now he sees this list as something else, as an accurate representation of how many people it takes to create a simple love story.
He thinks: Here’s to all the people who’ve made the sets, sewn the costumes, provided the lighting and the popcorn and the words already written in his and Ryan’s hearts. Here’s to the separate crew who did all these things for the two girls a few feet away dancing over the end music, lit now by the headlights of departing cars.
“This was such a good idea,” Ryan says, looking around, too. He’s forgotten the idea was his.
Avery thanks him, because he’s forgotten, too.
—
They move theircocoon back into the cab. Once the screen goes dark, they can appreciate the stars that have been watching all along from their seats in the sky. Most cars’ windows are still rolled down, so Ryan and Avery can hear an hour’s worth of songs playing all at once as a slow line trails to the exit. Hip-hop and pop and folk and jazz and country all sharing the queerness of the evening. When Ryan turns the ignition, he looks over at Avery, and Avery has a flash of the first time they saw each other, in an equally queer crowd, much messier and more nervous than this one. He wonders how he can have only met Ryan such a short time ago. He wonders how this can only be their fourth date.
But since it’s a fourth date, he doesn’t wonder this out loud.
It’s later than they thought it would be. Which means they’ll be home later than they said they’d be. Queerness means being worried that it will take only the slightestmovement on your parents’ part to pull the plug. Or maybe that’s not exclusive to queerness. But queerness makes you believe it is, that your actions carry a unique set of repercussions.
They talk a little about the movie, but neither of them can fully articulate what it means to them yet. Nor are they ready to consider the balance of their ownyouandme. It still feels too theoretical, even though it’s theory that’s been applied from the very start.
Eventually the conversation ebbs into the rhythm of the highway. Ryan needs to pay attention to the road, and after a spell of particular concentration, he looks over and sees Avery has fallen asleep.
Ordinarily, this would worry Ryan. They don’t have much time together, and now they’re letting sand fall out of the hourglass. But instead of worrying, Ryan reassures himself.They have plenty of time. They’re going to make plenty of time.
At this point, Ryan could watch Avery sleep for hours. Because maybe this is what turns threads into veins, knowing something so quiet could have such consequence for your heart.
Avery is apologetic when he wakes up, but Ryan tells him it’s fine. They talk a little about the week ahead, and as they near Avery’s house, the clock draws close to midnight. Avery doesn’t tell Ryan about how his parents want to meet him, about how he promised to bring Ryan in after the movie. It’s too late for that, and Avery doesn’t want toswitch this night into anything other than what it already is. Because he knows his parents will undoubtedly be up, he has Ryan pull over a few blocks before his own block, so they can kiss and enjoy themselves without having to worry if anyone’s at a window.
Queerness is stolen moments and stolen victories. It is stolen time and stolen glances. It is the thrill of the theft, for sure, but also the knowledge deep in your heart that none of this stealing is wrong. It is, in fact, the most honest thing you can do.
When Ryan pulls up to Avery’s house, they make plans for Ryan’s return. He’ll come back here, and this time he’ll stay for the day.
It’s only taken them four dates to learn: Parting is much easier when you’ve plotted the return.
There will be no end credits. Not tonight. Just a brief transition. The kind that can make a week pass in a few seconds, and seem like not much time at all.
Practice
(the seventh date)
Three weeks and three days after he was abruptly grounded, Ryan is just as abruptly ungrounded. No reason is given for this timing. Ryan suspects his parents have simply gotten tired of enforcing their own rules.
When he calls Avery to tell him the news, Avery is busy with play practice. But later, when they have time to talk, Avery says, “We need to celebrate.”
They plan a date for Saturday night. This, they feel, is what boyfriends do when they’ve earned their freedom.
