October 2010 – fifteen years old.
They laid in the field, the beat up paddock basher a dead carcass beside them, it’s rumbling, sickly purrs having given out about half an hour ago.
They would get it running again, of that Ant was sure. He had a fairly good idea of what the problem was, but fixing it would require parts—which he would only get when Tim had cooled off enough to not try and set fire to the old, rusted out car.
So for now they lay sprawled in the grass, enjoying the late afternoon air.
Ant shifted. He kicked his shoes off. Rolled to one side. Rolled to the other side. Bent his knees and buried his toes in the top layer of soil. Laid a hand over his eyes. Scratched at the spot on his elbow the grass kept tickling—
‘For god’s sake Ant, stay still wouldja? I can’t relax with you twitching every five seconds. Spit it out already!’
‘Sorry, I… what? Spit what out?’
‘Whatever it is that has you twitching like a cain toad struck on the head.’
Ant winced at the mental image. ‘I’m not twitching.’
‘Are so. It’s driving me mental. Now what is it?’
Ant was quiet for a moment. Tim had his stubborn voice on, which meant that one way or another Ant had to figure out something to say. Why was he twitchy?
Well, that was obvious.
He sighed, shifted about in the grass and sighed again when he realised what he was doing.
‘I…alright…’ he said, and he swallowed, glancing over at Tim before deciding to keep his gaze firmly on the lazy white clouds above. ‘I…um…I think…see the thing is…I might be…er…That is I think, that I might be…well…gay.’
Wind swished through the grass, swirling in small, gentle, miniature tornadoes around them. Ant waited for the explosion. For Tim go get upset, or to sit up and rage or for him to cast Ant off as a friend.
Instead, what he got was a soft, faint snuffle. He frowned. Another beat of silence and…yep, there it was, a distinctive snore. Ant leaned up on one elbow, peering over at Tim just to be sure.
He flopped back into the grass with a sigh. Of course the idiot had fallen asleep.