Ryan and Avery, page 25
They bring the canoe to the water. They get in.
Ryan passes a paddle to Avery, who takes it with confidence.
They push off from the shore.
* * *
—
Avery has no idea where he is. And he knows exactly where he is:
He’s with Ryan.
* * *
—
The only sounds are the wind and water. They could be anywhere in time. Because there have always been the sounds of wind and water, and there will always be the sounds of wind and water. The personal part, the intimate part, comes from the fact that right now they are the ones hearing this particular whisper, this particular score. They are the ones living in the space between the tide and the breeze.
* * *
—
It is cold on the water, bracing. They ride into it, through it.
* * *
—
The sun shows them which way is west. No matter where they paddle, its glittering trail points their way. It shares some warmth, the closer it gets to the horizon. It fills the air with honeyed light, landing gold on the forest surrounding the lake. Avery and Ryan stop paddling. They know they will only have this light for a very short time. They breathe it in, and the honey spreads through their lungs. Contentment is breathing; breathing is contentment. They touch their knees. They hold their hands. They look in each other’s eyes, and also at the world transforming around them.
The world grants. The world gives. The world offers. Because he is with Avery, Ryan accepts it. And because Avery is with Ryan, he accepts it.
The sun bids them adieu, leaving behind a satisfaction of pink and orange, followed by a deepness of blue.
Ryan reaches up and touches Avery’s cheek. Avery reaches out, pulls Ryan closer. The boat rocks back and forth. But at heart, it’s steady.
Avery kisses Ryan. Ryan kisses Avery. After the first few kisses, it all blurs.
The stars come out to see. First one, then four, then seven, then countless. Ryan and Avery don’t notice…until they do. They feel the peaceful immensity of the stars, the lake, the wind. They marvel together at what they are seeing.
There will be more dates. So many more dates, until it’s simply days, until it’s simply life. Dates and days as countless as the stars. Memories more a blur. Detours and destinations debated. The world acting cruel, the world acting generous. A tide that always goes forward isn’t really a tide. There is always need for navigation. There is always need for steadying.
To ride together in a boat until the dead of night. To ride beneath the stars and attempt to recognize their patterns. To share what you see with the person you most want to see you. To stare into the peaceful immensity and understand how beautiful and small and remarkable your own existence is. To want to share, and share, and share.
To give.
To offer.
To grant.
To receive.
To arrive.
Acknowledgments
Ryan and Avery first appeared in my novel Two Boys Kissing, which is narrated by a chorus of gay men. This book is not narrated by that chorus, but they have been with me the whole decade I’ve been working on the story, marveling.
* * *
—
Thank you, as always, to my parents.
Thank you to the rest of my family, especially Adam, Paige, Matthew, and Hailey.
Thank you to Noah Lee, who asked me at a reading in London whether I was going to keep writing about Ryan and Avery. It wasn’t until I answered yes that I realized I would. This book is the result.
Thank you, Avery, who told me at another reading that the character was the reason he’d chosen the name for himself. Thank you to all the Averys and all the Ryans I’ve met over the years.
Thank you to my friends. Many of the chapters in this book started as valentine stories I shared with my friends. If you ever received one of them, and especially if you sent me encouragement in return, you have not just my gratitude, but also my heartfelt appreciation. Particular thanks to Billy, Nick, Andrew, Zack, Nico, Mike, and Gabriel, who’ve been in the room at various times as I’ve written this book. (For example, right now Gabriel is in the kitchen sipping coffee, having no idea I am typing this.)
Speaking of coffee, thank you to everyone at City of Saints.
Thank you to all my author friends, with a special shoutout to Stephanie, Nina, and David for periodic Zoom check-ins while I was writing this. Also, to Tiernan, Ben, Brian, Ned, and Ben for other meaningful conversations at that time.
Thank you to everyone at Random House Children’s Books, including but in no way limited to Marisa DiNovis, Mary McCue, Melanie Nolan, Barbara Marcus, and Adrienne Waintraub. A special shout-out to Barbara Perris for her copyediting and to Artie Bennett, who has now shepherded my books into grammatically correct pastures for two decades. (I know he will correct this statement if it is factually inaccurate.)
Thank you to everyone I work with at Scholastic.
Thank you to Bill Clegg and everyone at The Clegg Agency.
Thank you to Nancy Hinkel, for always coming back from San Francisco, time after time.
And thank you to two decades’ worth of readers. You’re all somewhere here in this book.
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David Levithan, Ryan and Avery
