Blood and Lies

 

Blood and Lies

Noel Laflin

7-22-24

 

When I was fifteen, and the boy I had fallen head over heels with was just shy of sixteen, we exchanged a ring for a watch and pressed bloody fingers together - "Blood brothers for life!," we swore.

 

I would have liked to have sealed the deal with a kiss, but he said he wasn't quite ready to do that again due to a lack of cheap alcohol at hand. So, kissing was off the table (due to sobriety), but the nicking and pressing of flesh was okay, apparently - and as the blade was clean (he held it under the flame of a Zippo just to make sure), and it would be another decade or more before the worry of tainted blood would even be a concern, we were good. We were both young and dumb anyway, so, of course, we were more than good. We were now brothers for fuck sake ... and, consequently, invincible.

 

Afterwards, when I took off my ring (it was silver, encircled with mythical thunderbirds) and put it on his right ring finger, and he, in turn, took off his watch (it even showed the date - how cool is that!) and put it on my left wrist, he leaned in close and whispered, "Kissing may be off the table right now, but lips placed elsewhere ... are still okay, just so you know."

 

I nodded enthusiastically and told him that I'd take the compromise.

 

"Kissing is so overrated," I whispered back.

 

Then I snuck one in when he wasn't looking.

 

I can be such a liar.