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“No,” Avery says. “It’s just me.” He appreciates what Ryan’s just done; instead of changing the subject, Ryan’s broadened it. It’s not dismissive at all of what Avery’s just told him, but instead acknowledges there’s more to knowing Avery than knowing his gender history.
They talk about being only children, including how weird it is to have their parents to themselves. Both Avery and Ryan have wished for siblings, if only to share the spotlight, fraction the focus.
As their conversation drifts, so, too, does the boat. Avery expresses a brief concern about this, but Ryan assures him it’s fine; there aren’t any dangerous waters to cross into, no threat that awaits if they drift too far. So Avery settles into the drift, maybe not as naturally as Ryan, but close. The sun makes his skin feel a little glow. The breeze and the water seem to be following the same languid metronome. It’s somuch easier to not have a care in the world when the world doesn’t seem to have much of a care, either.
“Take it all in,” Ryan suggests. He closes his eyes and indulges his senses. It’s not a perfect peace—someone is mowing or plowing in the distance, a thrum of machinery that revs and falls, and the sun can’t stay away from the clouds, performing a shadow play that turns the temperature indecisive. He wishes Avery was on his side of the boat, his back against Ryan’s chest, Ryan’s arms around him.
Avery watches the light play in Ryan’s hair, sees the blue shift from day sky to night sky, glimpses the roots as the ground beneath those skies.
When Ryan opens his eyes, he catches Avery looking.
“Your hair,” Avery says, knowing he’s been caught. “I was checking out your hair.”
“I was checking out yours earlier. It’s fun in the light. Why so pink?”
How many times has Avery gotten this question?
So many times.
And most of the times, it’s asked with an ax behind it, or at least with an edge. That’s not how Ryan is asking, but the usual response instincts kick in.
“I know, strange color choice, right?” Avery says. “For a boy once seen as a girl who wants to be seen as a boy. But think about it—it just shows how arbitrary gender is. Pink is female—but why? Are girls any more pink than boys? Are boys any more blue than girls? It’s something that has beensold to us, mostly so other things can be sold to us. My hair can be pink because I’m a boy. Yours can be blue because you’re a girl. If you free yourself from all the stupid arbitrary shit that society controls us with, you feel more free, and if you feel more free, you can be happier.”
“My hair’s blue because I like blue,” Ryan says.
“And mine is pink because I like pink. And I totally didn’t mean to lecture you. It just makes me mad. All the stupid arbitrary shit.”
“It makes you want to overthrow the world.”
“On a daily basis,” Avery says. Then he looks at the river, looks at Ryan on the other side of the boat, really takes him in as the water gently rocks them both. “The world from here isn’t that bad, though. This right now is a world I can live in.”
“Shall we explore some more?” Ryan asks.
“Yes,” Avery replies. “Let’s.”
Ryan picks Avery’s paddle up from the bottom of the boat and hands it to him, then takes up his own. He’s sorry when Avery has to turn around to get things moving again, but not sorry when the movement really kicks in, when they are gliding at something that feels like true speed. There’s no talking now, just the tandem of their arms, the common delight of their effort. What better race than one with no competitors, no spectators but the trees and the houses and the memories forming? Time loosens from its spool. Thought gives way to sensation. Avery, who rarely lets himself feel strong, feels Olympian as his paddle wrestles thewater. Ryan, who rarely lets himself feel in control, watches the point of the bow and course-corrects when needed. When he senses it’s time to turn around, he calls on Avery to slow, then veers them so they align with the current. They begin their way home, with the same fervor they used for the way out.
By the time they return to the makeshift dock, the sun is well beyond the halfway mark in the sky. It’s only when they stop paddling that they can truly feel the exertion of their effort.
When they get back to Caitlyn’s yard, they both have to wipe the sweat from their foreheads. Ryan jumps out first and holds out his hand to Avery. Even though he’s an overheated mess, Avery takes it. Ryan pulls him onto land and keeps hold. They stand there, face to face, toe to toe.
“That was fun,” the blue-haired boy says.
“It was,” the pink-haired boy replies.
Both feel these words are inadequate.
For hours, Avery has been thinking about kissing Ryan. Impossible to do in the boat without a lot of awkward rocking to get there. But now…now…
Ryan thinks it’s like they never left the dance last night. It’s like they’re still dancing.
“Hey!” a voice calls out—Aunt Caitlin, coming down from the house. “How was the river?”
She walks a little closer, sees how they’ve moved a little bit apart, but are still holding hands. They’re not looking at each other now; they’re looking at her.
“So, Ryan,” she says, “are you going to introduce me to your friend? I’m guessing you boys are thirsty. I have just the thing. Pull that canoe up to where it was, okay?”
The canoe. Ryan feels like an idiot; they left it in the water, and it’s fortunate the current was so gentle that it wasn’t carried off. After Ryan makes a quick introduction between his aunt and his date, Caitlin goes back inside and he and Avery lift the canoe and dock it in the enclosure where Caitlin keeps it.
