Kevin stood back and admired what was at this stage little more than a dent. In this light he could see the possibilities. The sun was low over his backyard. The tyre tracks, where a month before a large truck had backed up to deposit the two large chunks of sandstone, were still visible in the grass. A month of work, of quiet chipping away, and this was all he had to show for it; a sizeable hollow in the first block, halfway up. But that was the thing Kevin loved most about sculpting: there was never any hurry. Somewhere in amongst those two pieces of stone his work was already complete. It was just a matter of uncovering it, slowly, one chip at a time.
If you are ever given the choice between talent and patience, Kevin, his mother had once told him, you must always choose patience. At the end of the day talent all comes down to perception. Talent can be faked. But patience, patience is a true gift.
Well Kevin had patience, outstanding patience, the sort of patience other patiences talked about at parties, when the time was right. He had optimism too, quiet patient optimism, and in its own unexcitable way that could be a formidable weapon. It was why one day he would reduce the stones in front of him to things of arresting beauty. It was also why, he was sure, he would one day realise his unspoken dream. One day, Brian would be his.
Kevin didn’t know where his love for Brian had come from. He was not the questioning type. It had arrived quite unannounced, a gift, and so he had received it. To do otherwise would be ungrateful.
Other people, less patient, less optimistic people, might have seen only the obstacles ahead and given up on the spot. They might have noted that Brian, like Kevin, was only sixteen, and relationships at sixteen are difficult, fickle beasts. They might have pointed out the problem of Brian’s undoubted attractiveness, drawing in an army of would-be competitors. His skin, perfectly smooth, hot chocolate in summer, by winter faded to a flawless latte. His fine light hair, his dimpled smile, his athletic grace. Other people might have been scared off by the enormity of the task, but not Kevin. His optimism and his patience were such that he was even able to see past the biggest hurdle of them all, the awkward fact that up until this point in time Brian had not shown himself to be anything but boringly, depressingly, heterosexual.
It needn’t matter, Kevin decided. Life is a sculpture, chip, chip, chip. In good time, with good patience, even the most formidable rock can be shaped. And Kevin had a plan. Already he was inching forward, tiny step by tiny step.
Very subtly, over the past six months, Kevin had been working his way into Brian’s life. So subtly that if you asked Brian he would say they went way back, even though half a year before, Kevin had been just another face in the corridor. Stranger to acquaintance, acquaintance to friend, friend to mate, mate to good mate, it was progressing well. Kevin had watched Brian carefully, and learnt his ways. He saw early on that Brian liked to lead, and so Kevin had taken to following, always half a step behind, in his shadow, laughing at his jokes and taking his advice.
From here, Kevin believed, it was all just a matter of patience. One day Brian would realise Kevin was more than a mate, more than even a best mate, that he had become indispensable. And then? Well it wasn’t unheard of, men coming to understand, late in life. It was hardly as simple as it looked, this sexuality thing, and with Kevin always there, chip, chip, chipping away at Brian’s defences, it had to be possible. Possibility, the only fuel Kevin’s obsession needed. One day Brian would be his. One day, Kevin would cure him.
‘Kevin!’ Kevin’s mother’s voice interrupted his thoughts. ‘It’s Brian, on the phone.’
Kevin’s heart gave the now familiar flutter as he raced to the extension in his room.
‘Bri man.’
‘Kevy!’
‘What’s up?’
‘Party tonight. Charlotte’s place.’
‘Who’s Charlotte?’
‘You can’t have forgotten Charlotte. You know, Chaaaarlotte.’
‘Oh yeah. Mate.’
‘Mate. Might have a crack there tonight.’
‘Might beat you to it.’
‘You’re a sly one Kev boy. You’re a sly one.’