Ian sat on the swing in the children’s playground by the L, flicking through the five $10 bills that Monica had sent him in a torn, probably stolen birthday card before folding the wad of money in half and putting them in his inside pocket of his jacket. He looked around the quiet Canaryville neighbourhood and whispered to himself,
“Happy Birthday Ian.” before taking a glug of beer he’d taken from Lips stash.when suddenly two hands covered his eyes and he was plunged into darkness.
“Fiona….”
No reply. Ian sighed, and smiled, “OK, Debbie?”
Silence again.
Ian touched the hands and was surprised to feel them to be rugged and stabbed, and he knew immediately those hands did not belong to either of his sisters.
He curled his fingers around the hands and then turned to see who they belonged to, and when he did, a huge smile spread across his face.
The person-with-the-hands said, “The usual place. In five.”
Ian’s heart flipped. Mickey had remembered.
Ian was exhaling from a cigarette when he saw a shadow appear on the baseball field, walking, looking around or other people, scared. Ian laughed at this and he stood up, ready to greet the person-with-the-hands.
“Happy fucking birthday.” Mickey said, thrusting a joint into Ian’s hands. Ian smiled, “Oh Mick, you shouldn’t have.”
Mickey leant against the wire mesh, hissed, “Fuck off!” and lit a joint himself, exhaling deeply. Ian didn’t know why but Mickey was, was, nervous….
There was silence while Ian and Mickey both took drags from their joints, Ian kept trying to catch his eye but Mickey was having none of it, Ian scrunched up his brow and said with a tone of wariness to his voice, “You ok?”
“Yeah, why you fucking ask?”
“Because you asked me to come all the way here and now you’re ignoring me.”
He watched Mickey gulp and swore he saw his hands shaking. Ian’s tone of voice lowered and he said, “Mickey, what’s wrong?”
Mickey turned and shook the wire mesh and swore loudly, “Fuck Gallagher, I came to give you your fucking birthday present.”
“What?”
“Jesus I can’t believe… Just fucking close your eyes.”
Ian was too scared to argue back and closed his eyes and almost prepared to receive a beat down and winced, bracing himself.
Then it happened. The moment he’d dreamt, fantasised and jerked off at the thought of so many times and all of those times he never thought about how his lips would feel. He would never have thought they would be soft and lingering. Ian kept his hands to his side, although desperate to put them in his hair. Mickey broke off and said, “At least pretend you’re fucking enjoying it Firecrotch.”
And then, he smiled. Ian smiled back almost nervously and then nothing could stop him from filling his fists with Mickeys dark hair and hungrily finding his tongue. It was everything and more that Ian had ever wanted, and he knew how fucking gay that sounded.
Before he knew what was happening Mickey had pushed Ian back onto a partly broken bench that sat flush against the dugouts’ concrete wall and found out of nowhere that he straddled him, pushing Ian against the concrete wall, his breathing desperate, not wanting it to end. Ian had to physically push Mickey off him so he could catch his breath.
He could literally feel Mickeys heart beating in his chest, and looked at this person in front of him that he thought he’d sussed out, but really, didn’t know at all. He closed his eyes and leant in for another kiss when before he could think his cheek was smarting and burning with pain.
“What the fuck, Mickey.”
“Don’t take advantage, Firecrotch, it’s your fucking birthday, that’s all.”
“So I’ll not get that until next year?”
“You got it in one, Gallagher.”