Griffin had ugly cried at the end of ‘Til the Morning Sun (but he didn’t tell Charlie that).
He watched it twice in the same night, huddled beneath the bed covers with his phone in his hands, restarting it as soon as the credits had finished.
Charlie had been right – the film was beautiful, and the writing was just pitch-perfect from start to finish. The shots were full of longing and aching. The dialogue was layered with unspoken meanings. It seemed to capture something Griffin had never before realized was eluding him.
He felt like he had the first time he read Dip. It was like tuning the radio to a crisp, clear channel after a lifetime of listening to static and interference.
He didn’t tell Charlie any of that. He thought about it. He wrote it out as a text message a dozen times, but always deleted it before hitting send.
Like the leads in ‘Til the Morning Sun, he and Charlie were communicating in unspoken layers.
They’d had a few more driving lessons in the parking lot before graduating full-time to the street. Now when Charlie picked Griffin up, they worked the neighborhood roads and minor streets. They hadn’t exchanged new books or movies with each other. They hadn’t even really discussed the ones they’d traded before, other than to say that they enjoyed them, or were still going through them to take notes for their project.
In truth, Griffin was afraid to move past the point where they were. He didn’t have another book that spoke to him like Dip did. And giving Charlie anything else at this point would feel like a step backward. Like the unspoken layers that lingered in the air between them would be lost, and they’d be left with flat, meaningless words.
He wondered if Charlie was feeling the same way. He hadn’t offered another movie yet. Maybe he was waiting for Griffin to say something more about ‘Til the Morning Sun. He wanted to. But speaking threatened to bury the unspoken.
When Charlie pulled up – a bit later than usual – for their latest lesson, Griffin stepped into the passenger seat resolved to find the right words.
“Evenin’, partner,” Charlie said energetically. It was his favorite greeting, though he’d dropped the cartoonishly gruff cowboy impression a few days ago.
“Evenin’,” Griffin replied.
“Have you got about two hours to spare tonight?” Charlie asked.
“I’m not driving on the highway, Charlie. Not yet.”
He feigned a gasp of indignation. “I can’t believe you think I’d endanger both our lives like that.”
Griffin rolled his eyes. “I’m not that bad.”
Charlie nudged him on the shoulder with his knuckles. “We’ll see, but not today.”
Charlie put the car into drive and pulled away from the curb.
“What do we need two hours for, then?” Griffin asked.
“I’d like to watch a movie with you.”
Griffin smiled. Charlie had done it yet again – he’d found the perfect words while Griffin was still spinning his gears.
They pulled down the same street they used to take towards the church, and after a few blocks, into the church itself.
“Aren’t we watching a movie?” Griffin asked. “Besides, I thought I graduated from the parking lot.”
Charlie shushed him in a playful, giggly way. He took the car around the parking lot and behind the main church building to a back area tucked away from the road.
Griffin gasped.
There were string lights hanging aglow above one of the blank, exterior walls of the church. A projector sat in the low grass at the base of the wall, tilted upwards, and projecting a black rectangle along the length of the wall. Charlie backed the car into a parking space across from the building so that they faced the makeshift movie screen.
Charlie unclicked his seat belt and stepped out of the car. He jogged around to Griffin’s passenger door and opened it. He held out his hand. “Brave the cold with me?” he asked.
Griffin took his hand – excitement jolting up his arm at the touch – and stepped out of the car. Charlie led him to the front of the car, and then placed his other hand on Griffin’s waist. He was buzzing with anticipation.
“Hop up onto the hood,” Charlie said. “It’s the best seat in the house.”
Griffin did, reveling in the pressure of Charlie’s hand on his hip as he helped him hop up and back onto the car hood. Charlie let go once he was up there, and dashed to the back of the car. “Get comfortable!” he shouted from the trunk.
Griffin slid back and leaned up against the windshield with his legs laid out in front of him. Charlie came dashing back over and dropped a cardboard box onto the hood before climbing up himself. He took the box onto his lap and wiggled back up against the windshield shoulder to shoulder with Griffin.
Opening the box, he pulled out a large navy blanket, a jumbo bag of pre-popped popcorn, and two pullover hoodies. He stashed the box behind him on the roof of the car and held a hoodie out for Griffin to take. “I didn’t want to ruin the surprise by telling you to wear a jacket, so I brought you one.”
Griffin, feeling eternally grateful that he’d stepped out of the house tonight in a t-shirt, took it happily. It was dark grey and soft, and when he pulled it over his head, he found that it smelled like Charlie. He hadn’t realized that Charlie had a smell, but being submerged in it seemed to unlock some forgotten depth of familiarity – like his brain had filed away this unnoticed piece of information, and now he was excavating it.
He took a deep breath to let himself absorb the smell, and the moment, and the fact that he was almost definitely on an unspoken date with Charlie Hess right now.
Charlie kicked off his sneakers and let them fall to the side of the car. He leaned forward and pointed to Griffin’s shoes. “May I have the honor?” he asked with faux formality.
Griffin nodded, and Charlie untied his shoelaces and pulled each of his shoes off. Rather than drop them to the ground, he leaned back and twisted around to place them in the box behind them.
Then Charlie unfurled the blanket over both of them and wiggled up against Griffin’s shoulder. His leg was against Griffin’s, and their socked feet – now free of their shoes – touched lightly beneath the blanket. Charlie opened the bag of popcorn and placed it on Griffin’s lap. “Hope you don’t mind sharing,” he said with a smile.
Griffin smiled back. “I can’t believe you did all this.”
“Well, we had to celebrate you graduating from the parking lot somehow,” Charlie said, bumping his shoulder up against Griffin’s. “Ready to watch?”
“What are we watching?”
“Inspiration,” Charlie said simply. He pulled a coiled pair of headphones out of his pocket, unwrapped them, and handed one earpiece to Griffin. They each placed their headphone in an ear, then he plugged them into his phone and hit play.
The screen came alive with the title Paradise Highway in neon letters. Eighties synth-pop music played as the letters dissolved away to reveal a lime green sports car zooming down a freeway, and the boys nestled up together beneath the blanket.
Griffin felt warm, inside and out. He took a deep breath – for the smell of Charlie’s pullover, for the feeling of their legs resting against each other, for Charlie’s kindness, and for the unspoken layers of meaning that hung in the night air.
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