Call Me By Your Name

by André Aciman

I was seventeen that year and, being the youngest at the table and the least likely to be listened to, I had developed the habit of smuggling as much information into the fewest possible words. I spoke fast, which gave people the impression that I was always flustered and muffling my words.

I get that.

I was thrilled to see he still remembered who I was, that he didn’t ignore me, and that, therefore, I could allow myself the luxury of passing him on my way to the garden and not having to pretend I was unaware of him.

P.S. We are not written for one instrument alone; I am not, neither are you.

It never occurred to me that what had totally panicked me when he touched me was exactly what startles virgins on being touched for the first time by the person they desire: he stirs nerves in them they never knew existed and that produce far, far more disturbing pleasures than they are used to on their own.

namely, the shrewd, devious, guilty pleasure I derived in finding so many imperceptible affinities between us. There may have been nothing there, and I might have invented the whole thing.

Nobody in our household ever asked my opinion about anything. If he hadn’t already figured out why, he would soon enough—it was only a matter of time before he fell in with everyone’s view that I was the baby of the family.

Again, i get that.

There is a law somewhere that says that when one person is thoroughly smitten with the other, the other must unavoidably be smitten as well.

No, she would say, this one is too young still, youth has no shame, shame comes with age.

When had it started? And how was it that I hadn’t been there when it started?

How is it that some people go through hell trying to get close to you, while you haven’t the haziest notion

They had always said I got too easily attached to people.

Did I want to be like him? Did I want to be him? Or did I just want to have him?

I wanted to be with someone. But it didn’t trouble me that I was alone.

“People who read are hiders. They hide who they are. People who hide don’t always like who they are.”

“Call me by your name and I’ll call you by mine,”

Perhaps we were friends first and lovers second. But then perhaps this is what lovers are.

I was not always eager to show off my knowledge, especially with someone who could so easily intimidate me.

“After tennis once. I touched you. Just as a way of showing I liked you. The way you reacted made me feel I’d almost molested you. I decided to keep my distance.”

I hated it once I was there and loved it as soon as I left.”

But to feel nothing so as not to feel anything—what a waste!”

and, as you did back then, look me in the face, hold my gaze, and call me by your name.