#but that first picture where he looks like one of caravaggio's soft pretty boys has been living rent free in my head for days

[alwayshappyhoursomewhere]

Shoma Uno | Worlds 2024 official practice, Day 1 (1/5)

[bradleycabotlowell]

Happy Birthday

October 1989

There had been girls, of course. Bradley was a good-looking, clean-cut boy from a good family. It only made sense that he’d already had a couple girlfriends by the time he reached his sixteenth birthday. Nothing too glamorous, of course—usually just somebody’s mom dropping off the awkward couple at South Shore Plaza or the movie theater for a few hours after school. As awkward as dating was without a driver’s license, though, a kiss here and there from a pretty girl kept him sufficiently satisfied. Kept his mind from wandering to places he was afraid to explore.

That is, until the new kid in school came along.

Luca Bresciani had just started at Milton Academy that year in Class II, the same class as Bradley. His father was a wealthy Milanese businessman who had moved to Boston for a year to expand the company’s American operations. Bradley had learned all of this on the first day of school, when he had been assigned to show Luca around campus. Though Luca had been on the periphery of his social circle for the past month and a half, Bradley had, puzzlingly, no idea how to talk to him. Seeing him and entering into conversation always tied his tongue in knots like no one else could.

There was something bewildering about Luca. Something that set him apart. He wore a leather jacket. He wrote poetry. He wore his jet black hair long, down to his shoulders, in some sort of shag or mullet style. He had big, earnest dark eyes with long eyelashes, and when he smiled at Bradley, it was such a soft, gentle smile. He looks like someone breathed life into a Caravaggio painting, he once thought, extremely heterosexually and without a hint of pretension. Imagine being close enough to try and count his eyelashes. There was a meanness to Bradley, or perhaps just an aloofness. But he couldn’t bring himself to treat Luca cruelly. He completely, utterly fell apart around him.

Thinking about Luca made every cell in Bradley’s body ache. And that terrified him.

As October drew to a close and the days grew ever shorter, Bradley reached his sixteenth birthday. That day, as the non-boarding students prepared to go home, Luca cornered Bradley in the hallway, biting his lip and not making eye contact. Bradley’s heart lurched. “Hi, Bradley. I heard that today is your birthday. I made you something. I hope you do not dislike it.”

Bradley stared, wide-eyed, as Luca shoved a small package into his hands. “I…uh…thank you. How do you say, ‘happy birthday’ in Italian?”

A tiny, wavering smile. “Buon compleanno.”

Bradley returned the smile, unable to hide his own nervousness. “Grazie.”

He practically ran home, the present from Luca burning a hole in his pocket. Without saying hello as he came in the door, he bolted straight up to his room and locked the door behind him. His parents could never know. They’d never approve. His hands trembled as he tore open the wrapping paper, revealing a cassette tape. The label read, simply “To Bradley From Luca – Oct. 1989.” There was no track listing.

Perplexed, he popped it into his tape player and pressed play. Luca’s mixtape began with The Smiths. A solid enough start, even if they weren’t necessarily the kind of music Bradley tended to enjoy. But, as the mix continued, his heart thudded up to his throat. These were all love songs. Every last one. He continued to sit on the edge of his bed, petrified, as the last song on the second side of the cassette faded out. What was he going to do?

“BRADLEY! SUPPER IS READY.”

“I’LL BE RIGHT DOWN, MOTHER.” He jumped up, ejected the tape from the player, and stuffed it into his pillowcase. They couldn’t know. Nobody could know.

With Bradley’s older brothers and sister away at college, only Bradley and his parents sat down to dinner. Father seemed to be halfway through a story when Bradley reached the table. As Bradley listened, the gist of the story seemed to be that a colleague of his father’s had just been revealed to be gay—a fact that only came to light because of a recent AIDS diagnosis. “Ed’s a smart guy and a good worker. Such a shame he’s going out like this.” Mother mumbled something in agreement, and Father continued. “I mean, you have to pity people like that, but on the other hand, this wouldn’t be happening to them if they didn’t choose to live their lives that way. You know what I mean?”

“Of course,” Mother intoned flatly. She turned to look at Bradley, who was determinedly staring into his mashed potatoes. It was far from the first time Mother or Father spoke this way. They talked this way about gays a lot. But why did it have to be today? “How has your birthday been going so far, Bradley?”

Bradley shrugged, wishing he could either die in a hole or never feel a single emotion ever again. “Oh, can’t complain.”

“That’s good. Please pass the peas.”

As he picked at his dinner and, afterwards, his birthday cake, Bradley reflected upon the mixtape and Luca and how it all made him feel. He couldn’t feel this way. He couldn’t be this way. There was no way he could while living the life he was supposed to live. A life with Harvard and a trust fund and a well-paying job and garden parties and yacht club memberships couldn’t happen without his parents’ support. It couldn’t happen if he openly indulged in his true nature and his parents knew about it. It was like his father said: he could choose not to live his life that way.

In the following weeks and months, Bradley tried to avoid Luca at school. At first, Luca looked at him hopefully from across classrooms and courtyards. Honestly, the hope lasted longer than Bradley thought it would. Then, by Christmas, the hope withered away into sadness. Both the hope and the sadness broke Bradley’s heart to see, but he was utterly determined not to listen to his heart anymore. Not about this sort of thing. Luca had softened him for a brief glimmer of a moment, but he’d softened him far too much.

The school year ended. Luca Bresciani moved back to Italy. Bradley Cabot Lowell put the mixtape away somewhere and tried to convince himself that he didn’t care. They never spoke to each other again.

--------------------------------------------

October 2019

Bradley spent his 46th birthday cleaning out the attic. As he reorganized some of his high school and college things, his hand brushed against something small and plastic at the bottom of the box. Pulling it out, he saw something he had not seen in thirty years.

“To Bradley From Luca – Oct. 1989.”

Curiosity got the better of Bradley and he got his phone out. Swiping over to Facebook, he searched for Luca there for the first time. Sure enough, a Luca Bresciani appeared in the results. He listed his location as “London, United Kingdom” and he and Bradley shared some mutual friends. He looked older now, of course: his hair was short and graying and he had a few new lines on his face. Luca had an arm wrapped around another man, equally handsome and happy-looking, in his profile picture. Bradley noticed their wedding rings. Opening the profile picture, he saw a few comments, in both English and Italian. “You and Steven look so happy together,” and things to that effect. He closed the profile picture and hovered over the “Add Friend” button for a good ten seconds.

Shaking his head, Bradley exited the app and returned his phone to his pocket. He went looking for a cassette player instead.

He felt the old ache again, but different now. Had it been worth it to hide yourself away, Lowell? Wife you despise, kids you resent, and all the money in the world? Had it all been fucking worth it? Another sullen thought occurred to him as he found a cassette player, dusted it off, and plugged it in: He probably doesn’t even remember me. Internally at war with himself and trying to repress this sudden groundswell of emotion, he made matters worse by popping in the tape and pressing the play button against his better judgment.

Take me out tonight

Where there’s music and there’s people

And they’re young and alive…