The North Down South - 1. 1. (Facing the Sea, waiting for you)

It was as if for an instant, there was only this:

The soft lull of the train, the vibrant green of neverending fields, and the comforting weight of Lauti's head on my shoulder.

I felt the urge to capture that moment and live in it forever, or for as long as it would hold. Was there a camera that could do that?

I felt the boy beside me shuffle awake.

“You’re pensive,” he said. “It’s a good look on you.”

I turned from the window, blinking to adjust my sight from the saturated colors of the passing landscape. A soft smile emerged on Lauti's face, even if his brown eyes were still heavy with fatigue. His hair was a mess.

“Pensive. That's a fancy word.”

“It's not if you're smart like me.”

“You're not smart, you're a smartass.”

He leaned in to kiss me, and I decided to add his lips to the list of things I needed in my life to get by. So very chapped and so very sweet.

“I'm a smartass,” he said. “And yet you love me. Valentín Gómez, you love me.”

I flicked his nose.

It was an incorrigible truth that I loved Lautaro Saez Li.

Too much had happened since that party at Tomi’s place. It had taken me one too many shots of vodka to work up the courage to even get near the boy I liked. It had taken me getting drunk to confront him and the feelings I had for him. And it took a lot more than Smirnoff to acknowledge what happened that night afterwards, to own up to the fact that I’d asked him to kiss me, and that ever since that first kiss all I ever wanted was to have those lips on mine again and again and again.

That was how I found out falling in love made you do things not even booze or weed could make you do. It was insane, really. The things I’d done to be with him. And the things he’d done to be with me.

Part of me still couldn’t believe we’d ended up together. Couldn’t believe he looked at me and saw something worth keeping around. But this moment here: in this train, with this sunburnt boy with a funny accent and twinkling eyes—well, no further proof was needed, was it?

I guess, after all, Lautaro Saez Li loved me too.

Arriving at Constitución Station felt unreal. The city welcomed us back with a slap of reality, all of the noise and muck and urgency a definitive proof our private seaside escape was over. It only took a few steps into the central hall to realize just how much I was going to miss Mar del Tuyú.

Lauti seemed eager to get back home. I knew by then that home was an entirely different thing for him than it was for me. Home was not something he ever felt like running away from. I sort of envied him for that.

I envied Lauti for a lot of things.

In all fairness, despite all, my home was starting to feel like home again. And my dad was starting to feel like my dad, too. But I was still unsure of whether he was making any progress in restoring his image of me as his son. He was always saying it: no matter what, you’ll always be my son. I believe he said it more to himself than to me. Nevertheless, I did want to believe him.

I suppose it was all part of the process.

Lauti and I held hands as we waited for his bus to come. No matter how much time I spent outside with him, I never managed to shake off that feeling when we showed ourselves in public—fear, excitement, shame, pride. All of it together, somehow. That was insane, too: how being with him made me feel so many things that weren’t even supposed to be able to exist at the same time. A world of contradictions.

My heart skipped a beat when I saw the bus turn around the corner, and I felt his grip tighten on my hand.

He said: “Try not to miss me too much.”

I held the back of his head with my hand and pressed my forehead against his, never minding the fact it was far too hot and we were both sweaty and after six hours sitting in that damn train we both desperately needed a shower.

“I just spent a whole week waking up to your face inches away from mine. I think I can manage a few hours without you.”

He flashed a tired smile, and then he kissed me, and then he was gone.

I was already missing Mar del Tuyú, and not just because of the beach.

***
Dad wasn’t home when I arrived, which was a relief. I threw my bags over my bed and ran for the shower. I would’ve killed for Lauti’s AC right then, but I simply had to make do with the old Liliana fan that I was certain would outlive me and my entire bloodline.

I sat on my bed in silence. Silence, for the first time in over a week. Not that Lauti and I chatted ourselves to death when we were together. There’s just a difference between silence when you’re with someone else and silence when you’re alone.

I decided I did not like this silence.

I briefly considered going over to Marian’s, but then I remembered she was out of town, visiting her family down south in Patagonia. I thought of sending a text to the group chat with the guys, but I realized I didn’t really feel like hauling myself all the way to the other side of town. Trying to get them to come over to Lugano had long been a lost cause. I rolled my eyes and set my phone down on the nightstand.

Silence could sometimes be so tremendously loud. So unbearably loud.

After a while of just staring up at the ceiling, I turned to face the books on my desk.

Stranger things have happened.

I stood up, grabbed the Math 1 module book, mixed some orange juice for tereré, and sat down at the kitchen table, the book open before me.

Numbers are easy. They have sets of rules, and once you know those rules and you’ve learned how to play by them, you only have to apply them. There’s a special kind of satisfaction to solving a math problem that I had only recently learned to appreciate—mostly because I had only recently come to learn that I did not, in fact, hate math. I had Lauti to thank for helping me get to that realization, even though he always said that I’d actually always been good at math, and that I’d just got lost at some point and did not get to learn all of the rules. So that’s what we did those last few months of spring before school’s end. Catch me up on the rules.

A few hours must’ve gone by. At some point, all the ice in the juice melted away and the sun had fully disappeared from the sky. I only looked up from the book when I heard the front door open, followed by the familiar ruckus of my dad coming home. He had a talent for amplifying every sound he made: his footsteps, the metallic noises of his toolbox, even his breathing, at times.

He came into the kitchen as if not expecting to see me there. Then came a funny look.

“You’re back,” he said.

“Yeah. Hi.”

“How was the beach?”

“It was nice.”

“And how is...”—he stopped for an instant—“...Lautaro?”

“He went home straight from the station, said he had some stuff to take care of.”

He nodded. I got the feeling that was not the answer he was looking for.

He stood there for a minute, neither of us saying anything. These prolonged awkward silences were not uncommon at home, but they had become way too frequent ever since that event took place.

I squirmed in my seat.

Finally, he cleared his throat.

“You’re serious about this studying thing, huh.”

I shrugged.

“Engineering. Valentín, the engineer.”

I tried to decipher the tone in which he said those words. It was always hard, trying to figure out what my father was thinking. Sincerity sounded odd from his mouth—sarcasm was his preferred language instead. Sometimes I thought it was his mother tongue.

He finally moved from his spot. I figured the conversation was over. I was about to turn my attention back to the numbers on the book when he said:

“I’m glad you kept that kid around, you know? He’s a good influence on you.”

I waited until he was gone to allow myself a smile.