#brooklynanonwrites

No one would expect a 15 year old to know much about cigars. But then again, Albert DeSavilla was always an unexpected kind of kid. His family owned a smoke shop tucked away in the depths of Manhattan. Had Albert wanted to get involved in the cigar business? No. But his grandmother down in the Bronx got sick and someone had to step in to help keep the shop standing while his parents took care of her.

It was a spring day just like any other when a scrawny little blonde walked into the shop. The ginger haired boy frowned. What was this kid doing inside a cigar shop? Instead of calling the blonde out, Al chose to sit and watch him. He didn't seem to know exactly what he was doing. He never came over to ask for help though. He just searched the shelves with a focus and drive he had never seen in young person before. Apparently he found what he was looking for though, because the boy gave out a little cheer and came bounding over to pay for it.

“Uh….. How old are you?” Albert asked as he calculated the total. This kid was way too young to have a smoking problem…..

“15.” He answered. “It’s for my mom. My dad kind of sucks and it helps her deal with him.” Albert nodded and handed the paper bag over the counter. “Do you always work at this time?”

“Only on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays, and Saturdays.”

“I guess I’ll see ya tomorrow then.” Without ACTUALLY introducing himself, the blonde boy was out the door. Albert stared at the door with a small smile on his lips. Huh. What a kid…….

The next day had Al bouncing up and down. He was anxious for the boy from yesterday to come back in. Why??? Honestly he wasn't sure. There was something about him that was…… intriguing. The sound of the door shutting pulled him from his trance. The blonde boy from the day before bounced up to the desk.

“Hiya!” His blue eyes sparkled and his lips twisted into a huge smile. His smile was infectious apparently because he found himself smiling back.

“Hey there!” Al leaned one elbow on the counter and rested his chin on his fist. “So, I didn't catch your name yesterday.”

“My real name doesnt matter. Just call me Racetrack. And what name can I call my favorite ginger boy?” Wait…… was he flirting? Um…. Uh…. How…. Response?

“Albert.” His response was short. He was afraid that if he said anything more he might start rambling. Why was he nervous?!

“Well Albert, I'm going to take the same thing I did yesterday and be on my way.” Just the same as the day before, Albert rang a single cigar up and handed the bag across the counter. This time though, the boys fingers brushed. The copper top yanked his hand back and bit his lip. What was this?! These feelings things??? This wasn't supposed to be how he felt….. 

Race looked down at his feet and smiled a bit. Alright Albert. Get yourself together. Whatever this was, might as well embrace it. As Race walked backwards he waved at his new friend. Taking a giant leap of faith, Albert winked at his friend and waved back. A red tint perked up his pale cheeks as he stumbled backwards out the door.

This continued on for almost a year. Race would come in a few times a week and buy a cigar for his mom. Every once in awhile the boys would flirt back and forth. Race would compliment Albert on how nice his hair looked (and how great it must feel to have someone run their fingers through it) and Albert always noticed when Race was freshly showered because of how incredible he would smell.

The first time they kissed was on Christmas. Albert watched from the window of his apartment, which was above the shop, for Racetrack. It was a Saturday after all. When he saw the familiar blonde boy, he had ran downstairs to great him. A very cold and out of breath Race pushed a small box in his hands, pressed his lips to Al’s, and whispered merry christmas. Albert yanked him back to kiss him again before his friend (friend????) ran off again. That day would forever be engraved into the ginger boys mind. The pink color of Race’s nose and cheeks from the bitter cold. The dark gray hat that concealed his blonde curls. Winter seemingly stole colors away and blanketed them in white, so the blue of his eyes popped more than usual. The fact that his lips were warm despite the freezing temperatures. Inside the box he had been gifted sat a hat like Race’s. It was brown and a little wrinkled, but it was perfect the way it was. 

That was the last time Albert saw Race for a few weeks. The first day he wasn't there wasn't a big deal. The second day made him a little nervous. One week went by and Al was panicking. He knew about Racetrack’s father. He knew what an awful man he was. Did something happen? Was Race okay? Was his mom okay? What in the world had happened? Weeks passed and the ginger boy gave up on ever seeing his friend again. If he hadn’t been back in over a month, he wasn’t coming back at all.

That changed on a dreary Monday. A torrential downpour of rain was coming down outside. The streets of New York were dead. Well, dead for NYC. The only people outside were tourists. Albert was sitting behind the counter, as he did every Monday, with his feet propped up on the counter and his hat covering his eyes. No one was coming in, so he was using it as a chance to get a nap in. He was right about to fall asleep when the front door opened. The freshly turned 16 year old didn’t even have time to groan when he heard the voice of an angel.

“That cap suits you better than I thought it would.” His feet came off the counter so quickly, the poor boy nearly fell over. He turned his cap backwards and stared at the person in his shop. Racetrack looked taller, but carried himself differently than before. His eyes were red, but not from the cold. Oh no…. This was something else. Albert jumped over the counter and walked over to the boy he was convinced he had lost. Was……. Was he really here? “Backwards. That suits you even better.” He tried to laugh, but he knew that the boy before him could see right through the act. So, instead of fighting it, he reached out to bury his face in his boy’s neck and just cry.

Albert, who was not at all good with emotions, stood motionless for the longest time. What was he supposed to do?! Wait……. Ever so slowly, he wrapped his arms firmly around the lanky boy’s frame. He felt Race lean into his arms, a sign that he was doing the right thing. He could feel cold drops of rain dripping off the ends of the blonde curls and dripping down the back of his shirt. He could also feel the hot tears dripping on the front of his shirt. Soon, he was gently rubbing Racetrack’s back and assuring him that everything was going to be okay. All he had to do was calm down, breathe, and explain what happened.

“My mom’s gone.” He eventually said. “She caught pneumonia and on top of her smoking, she just couldn’t-” Race choked on the last few words. “I feel awful Al. If I didn’t help her smoking along, this might not have happened. And the only reason she stuck ‘round so long with my pops was because of my sister and I and he’s the reason she smoked. I can’t help thinkin’ that this is my fault, or I could have at least done somethin’ different.” Albert quickly hushed him and pushed his friend (who wasn’t a friend but sort of a friend) back far enough to press their lips together softly. The blonde clung onto his ginger like his life depended on it. And while his life may not depend on it, his emotional stability sure did.

“There is nothing you could have done differently. And this ain’t your fault. If you’re father wasn’t such a piece of shit then she might not have smoked. She still might have, though. And getting sick is Mother Nature’s fault. Don’t you dare put this on you.” Racetrack ended up hanging around the shop all day long. He hadn’t known where else to go, and his feet took him to the shop before his mind could think it through. And now he didn’t want to go anywhere else. So the boys sat on the ground and played cards all day, sharing little touches and lots of laughs as the storm raged on above them. 

“Hey, can I get a box of cigars, plus one loose one? I want my mom to be buried with the thing that helped her get through the pain for all those years. And I want one for myself so I have a piece of her with me all the time.”

“As long as you promise me you’ll never light it. Coronas?”

“I promise. And yeah, Coronas.”

Race left that day with a box of cigars in his hands, and one hanging so perfectly from his lips that Albert knew he would never look at a Corona cigar the same again.

Tragedy struck in the DeSavilla family not even two weeks later. Due to the shop not doing well enough, the family had no choice but to close and sell it. Albert’s parents were heartbroken. They said that they were going to go move in with his grandmother. A huge fight broke out in the family over that idea. Albert wanted to stay. He never once said that the reason he wanted to stay was because of a pair of blue eyes and a cigar, but he fought to stay for a million other reasons. His parents fought to leave. They pulled every single reason out of the book, straight down to “you live under our roof so you will do as we say.” But he still fought.

Al was sitting on the steps of the smoke shop on Saturday when his regular visitor stopped by, cigar between his lips. Just like the ginger had done for him, he knew that something was wrong. But he didn’t pry. Just sat and waited for him to open up and talk on his own.

“The shop’s closed. We’s’ll be moving to the Bronx next week. And I don’t want to go. I love…. Manhattan, and I uh, can’t imagine living anywhere else.” Real smooth Albert.... Real smooth.

“Come live with me.” Race said without missing a beat. Albert whipped around to stare at the boy beside him. WAS HE INSANE?! “No, no, sorry! I live in a lodging house. Me and a bunch’a other boys sell papes on the streets and live off that. It really ain’t a fine life, but it could at least be halfway decent if ya came along. Maybe you’d even get to be my partner.”

“Selling partner,” Albert asked, “or…. Partner partner?

“Whatever kind of partner you want to be.”

The idea was pitched to his parents. He could stay back and sell papers. Make a living for himself. He was only two years away from being an adult. Maybe it would get him a good job, and he would be able to afford to get a shop open again, or at least a nice place to live. He would save up so they could just blow some dough and go full on delux. Albert’s mother and father had grown tired of his persistent pleading, and the two never really did have that great of a relationship with their boy. If he wanted to live on the streets so badly, then fine.

Racetrack brought him to the Manhattan lodging house that night. They ignored all the boys who jumped up to ask who he was. They pushed past half naked teenagers, twelve year olds learning how to gamble, and more than a few things being slingshot across a room. All the way on top of the roof, a boy in hat just like the one Race wore and had given him for Christmas stood to greet them.

The first time you sat down with Race to work out details was at a little coffee shop right on campus. You poured over youtube videos, Spotify playlists, and pages of notes for over an hour. Both of you downed at least two cups of coffee in that time. All was worth it though. You came to agree that a contemporary piece to the classic Elvis song “Cant Help Falling in Love with You” was a good route to take. Your professors all loved it and you were given private studio time immediately.

You were not falling for Racetrack Higgins. This was a fact you told yourself every day. You were not in love with him. You admired his passion for dance, was in awe of his fluidity when he moved, and thankful that he was at least cute, but you were not in love with him. Little did you know, he had similar thoughts. Race tried to convince himself he wasn’t in love with you.You were pretty, and graceful, and funny, and determined. But he wasn’t in love. It would be stupid to fall in love with someone that could be his competition someday. He had to be wise and not rush into things.

Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can’t help falling in love with you.

You had debated dropping the showcase. You believed you had enough talent to stand out amongst the crowd. The talent agent would be offering a scholarship to your school as well as lessons with a Broadway choreographer. It was rumoured however that they only would be picking one student to receive it. As many times as you denied it, you knew you had feelings for your partner. Feelings that grew every single rehearsal. If you dropped the showcase, you could put all your focus into your dancing and not worry about a pair of pretty blue eyes staring at you. But no. You wanted the talent scout to notice you. You would have to fight how you felt.

“Alright (Y/N) we have a problem.” Race was already in the studio when you got there on Valentine’s eve. He was dropped into a split on the ground, his hands stretched out in front of him. “You don’t trust me.”

“What? Of course I do!” You had to. There was way too many times when you placed your safety in his hands for you not to trust him.

“No ya don’t. You’re stiff. So I gots ya something.” He stood up and pulled a bandana from his pocket. “I’m gonna blindfold ya. That’away you have no choice but ta trust me and relax.”

Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be. Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you.

He was helping you? He could have let you be stiff and tense and lose points in the showcase. But no….. He chose to help…. Huh.

A hand gently grabbed yours and led you blindly to a place on the floor. The music started only a moment later. Race was gentle with you. He knew you knew every step of the dance forward and backwards. You’re movements were so jerky though. He had seen you do so much better so many times in class. If you were the better dancer and got the scholarship, so be it. That’s just how life went. Maybe you were meant to be the lead in the next Broadway smash hit musical. And this showcase could be the opportunity to do that. Of course, Race thought the same thing of himself. But he didn’t want to win unfairly. You both had to dance to the best of your abilities. And if he was being honest with himself, you were even more beautiful than usual when you fully danced from the heart.

The first lift was rough. You were so scared he would drop you or you would misstep. But when your feet landed smoothly back on the ground and you were led into the next step, you visibly relaxed. Race’s hands smoothly ran across your skin as he moved your arms, gripped your waist, or held you in the air. You were falling in love with his touch every passing moment. He handled you perfectly. He was commanding and dominant with his touch and movement when he was supposed to be, yet let his fingers dance around you, light as butterflies, when it was your moment to shine. He held you securely when you were lifted onto his shoulder and when you stood on his thighs. His embrace was warm and comforting as he spun you around. And he held himself a safe distance from you as he rolled overtop of you on the floor.

Like a river flows surely to the sea, darling so it goes, some things are meant to be. Take my hand, take my whole life too. For I can't help falling in love with you.

Every single touch was filled with love and care. You could feel that now that your focus was fully in the dance. Race could tell that you could feel it as well. It was honestly about time. How long had you been dancing together and you were only just now getting around to seeing how much love he poured into this dance in particular. And it made his heart soar when you actually reacted back. Your touch felt so much more genuine this time around. Instead of just brushing your hand against his face it felt more like a loving caress. You leaned into his touch more and left yourself smile instead of keeping a straight face.

This. This is what he had been waiting for. Your heart and soul were finally on the dance floor. You were so beautiful. Spinning, leaping, bending, smiling. You were giving everything you possibly could, and it gave you a radiating glow that you had never had before.

Your piece ended with Race standing behind you , his arms around your waist, and one of your hands pressed up to his cheek. A wide grin hit your face as you felt the familiar hug. Instead of stepping away like you usually did, you allowed yourself to stand there in his arms for a few moments. Race’s heart was….. Well, racing. Was it because of the explosive chemistry in your work? Or something else? Your hands reached up to untie the bandana when a pair of soft hands moved from holding you to turning you around. Your blindfold didn’t make it off before a  pair of lips found your own. They were hesitant at first, only making themselves known for a second. They returned with much more confidence when you tried to lean into the kiss. Race held your face in both hands and feverishly molded his mouth against yours. He tasted like sweat and mint gum. The mint gum he was always chewing……

Valentine’s day, the next day, came and passed in a blur. You spent all day on a “date” with Race. You rushed around for coffee, your costumes, makeup, your dance bags, a quick homework drop off, a ride to the theater, and a run of the entire show. Oh, and plenty of kisses were shared throughout the day.

A week after your showcase, you and Race both received an envelope in the mail. You opened them together, then gathered all of your friends in one room to share the news. The talent scout hadn’t recruited just one person. Both of you were chosen for their program. Every single one of your friends agreed that after the showcase you had performed, they would be stupid not to take you both. 

I can’t help falling in love with you.

“I have a secret for you. I love you Racetrack Higgins.” You whispered in his ear that night during your celebration of being accepted. Various containers of Chinese take out and solo cups of champagne littered the floor of Jack and Davey’s dorm room. 

“He tugs my hand just slightly. It's a question. I know, and I look up from the miracle of our hands to the miracle of his face and eyes and lips loving closer to mine. Did I move? Did he?”

The sun was shining, a warm breeze blew by, and you and your boyfriend were laying underneath a tree in Central Park. This had become a regular thing. You and Crutchie would take a small picnic to the park and read under a tree. His reading voice was smooth. Words rolled off of his tongue like he was speaking symphonies into existence. Emotions flowed naturally when necessary. He was a magical reader honestly. 

He laid with his head propped up against the tree trunk and body out on the red and white checkered blanket you’d been reading on all summer. You were laying on your side, head resting on his chest. The warm July sun peeked through the leaves above you. It was a perfect day. Lunch had consisted of sandwiches and fruit, and now you were reading through Everything Everything by Nicola Yoon.

“His breath and then his lips are brushing butterfly-soft against mine. My eyes close on their own. The romantic comedies are right about this part. You have to close your eyes. He pulls away and my lips are cold. Am I doing it wrong? My eyes fly open and crash into the darkening blue of his. He kisses me like he’s afraid to continue and he’s afraid to stop. I grip the front of his shirt and hold on tight.”

This part made you want to reach out and kiss the beautiful boy beside you. The silky smooth words came pouring from his mouth with such love in his voice that you wanted nothing more than to kiss him. Crutchie looked over at you and smiled. It was almost as if  he knew what you were thinking. You pushed yourself up just enough to press your lips to your boyfriend’s.

Olly reminded you of Crutchie. He was gentle and careful, like he may break you if he pushed too hard. But, he was also strong and protective. He’d take a beating from a demon itself if it meant a finger wasn’t laid on you. He seemed like someone you had known all your life, yeet you constantly learned new things about him. He was both an adventure and a home at the same time.

“Can I keep reading or do you want to continue to gross tourists out with public displays of affection?” You chuckled and moved your head back to his chest to listen to him read again. “My butterflies are rioting.” You couldn't help but laugh. That very easily could have been a book line, or an admittance of feelings. “He squeezes my hand and my lips part and we’re tasting each other. He tastes like salted caramel and sunshine. Or at least what I think salted caramel and sunshine taste like. He tastes like nothing I’ve ever experienced, like hope and possibility and the future.”

How the author so perfectly captured the essence of a boy they had never met was astonishing. Crutchie really was like Olly. He represented the good in the world. Sunshine on a cloudless day, warm sand between your toes, salted caramels, the thunderous applause during a standing ovation, a trip you had only dreamed of before, or a well worn book.  He was all those things, in one blonde boy. It was one of the reasons you loved this book so much. Because while you were not much of a Maddy, Crutchie was an Olly.

“I pull away this time,” he continues to read, “but only because I need air. If I could, I would kiss him every second of every day for all the days.” Wasn’t that just a big, fat, giant MOOD!? “He leans his forehead against mine. His breath is warm against my nose and cheeks. It’s slightly sweet. The kind of sweet that makes you want more. Is it always like that? I ask breathlessly. No, he says. It's never like that. I hear the wonder in his voice. And just like that, everything changes.”

Crutchie closes the book and runs his fingers through your hair. Neither of you say anything for a long time. His hand finds yours to hold. You just lay there in pure happiness. People pass. People with kids. With dogs. Every time a dog passes, whoever saw it first would squeeze the other’s hand to make sure they saw it. It was your own special kind of communication.

“Hey (Y/N)?” Crutchie asks after nearly 10 minutes of silence. You just hum in return. “Can we pull an Ollie and Maddy? Let’s go somewhere. Take a spontaneous trip to wherever we feel like it. Just to breath a fresh of breath air.”

“I would love to do that. We can go to end our summer. Where do you want to go?”