Nick and Sadie were observant as well, and they departed for the evening. After I walked them out, I came back to the living room and found Ryan on the floor by the Christmas tree. He was on his knees and sat back on his heels. The sight forced depraved thoughts in my mind. I couldn’t tell if this was purely an innocent move or if he purposely and knowingly put himself in a relaxed kneeling position. His expression was an innocent grin, but Ryan was a clever young man.What are you up to, myboy?
He picked up his brown parchment wrapped gift and held it up to me.My happy boy.I took it from him and sat on the ottoman that was next to his toy box. The once lost child in him had surfaced; he was bright-eyed and excited about the gift I was about to open. As I carefully slid my fingers along the mass amount of tape he had used, all that I could think of was how someone could torture thissoul.
“Sorry about all the tape. I wanted to make sure that it stayed on,” helaughed.
“Usually a strip of tape along the end and the back is sufficient. Tape sticks to wrapping paper quite well.” I winked athim.
“Yeah, but,” he ran his hand over the paper and looked up at me. Lord, the visual of Ryan looking up at me with those brown, eager eyes about did me in. “This is a paper bag,” he said. My head had drifted in a filthy direction for a moment, and I quickly got back on target with his comment about the paper bag. He was trying to tell me that his gift wrap was a paper bag. “I didn’t use the part that said the grocery store on it, of course. But when I started with a little tape, it fell off. It’s fuzzy, orsomething.”
God, I loved this youngman.
“I like the brown paper, Ryan. It’s very masculine andtrendy.”
There’s mysmile.
I set the wrapping on the floor and turned over a book with a spiral binding. It was the kind that had been done at an office store or a print shop. It had a navy vinyl cover and was bent on the corner. I looked at him; he was so excited. Ryan reached up and tried to flatten the corner and then looked up at me. It touched me in all the right places to see that he had his collar tag, or what he was calling a keychain, wrapped around hisfinger.
“Open it,” he practicallybegged.
I opened the cover and held the card up. He nodded, silently telling me to open the card. The card was right up Ryan’s alley; a cartoon Santa wearing sunglasses, swim trunks and putting a star on a Christmas tree on the beach. Inside the card was a handwritten note. He genuinely caught me by surprise by a handwritten note. As I opened it, we shared a laugh about both of us writing one another anote.
“Would you like to read it out loud, Mr. Hudson?” I offered him the letter. For a moment, he looked like he wouldn’t, which told me it was most likely heartfelt. Ryan was shy when emotions wereinvolved.
“Okay,” he said and reached for theletter.
I sat very still and gave him my undivided attention as he took a deep breath before beginning toread.
“Russell, this is my very first screenplay that I wrote in college. I wanted you to have it because you are the first person who has seen me forme.”
Ryan quickly glanced at me and then back to hisletter.
“I’m still figuring a lot of it out. Thank you for guiding me, and being patient with me. I’ve been trying to think of what I could get you for Christmas. You’re hard to buy for, but I came up with something that you can’t get in stores;me.”
He looked at me and flashed his million-dollarsmile.
“You know me better than anyone and have cared more than anyone. I want to give you my promise that I’ll approach everything with an open mind and heart. I know that you will know what to do withit.”
He looked up at me again and then back down to hispaper.
“Willingly yours, Ryan,” he saidquietly.
Willingly mine. I balanced the spiral-bound book on my lap, tugged him close by his hair, and kissed him. He made me happy and so proud. I looked down at the title pageinside.
Ryan Hudson’s Adaptationof
The Boys of Summer by RogerKahn
Spring2005
He gave me his very first screenplay. It was something he had a passion for, and he wanted me to havethis.
“See, I told you that I didn’t buy you anything. Well, except the card,” he mused. “Have you read thatbook?”
“I haven’t. What is The Boys of Summerabout?”
“Baseball.” He laughed and reached for a cookie…the ring of his tag surrounded his finger as he clutched it in his hands. “Think of it like what Moby Dick was to fishing. That’s what The Boys of Summer is forbaseball.”
I thumbed through his adaptation andnodded.
