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wanderingsoul
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I was sitting on the big flat rock, my legs dangling over the edge, my feet not even close to touching the few inches of water that pooled at the bottom of what had once been a deep swimming hole. The waterfall was silent; no water ran over the three ledges. It was like someone had turned off a tap somewhere.
I heard him coming, but I didn’t look up as he approached. Of course, I knew it was him. After the conversation in the lodge last night about “special places,” I had almost expected to see him here. I had certainly hoped. Except now, looking at things, I almost wished I hadn’t come, that I had just let the memories stay memories.
“They put a dam in upstream to make a lake for the new housing development,” he said as he sat down beside me. “It gets about four feet deep in the center in the spring, from the runoff. It’s the only time the creek runs at all.”
I could hear the sadness in his voice. And I understood. It was more than just a loss of a swimming hole.
“We fought it, Dad and I. Had the environmentalists on our side and everything.” He sighed. “But money talks and after three years of fighting, the money ran out and the developers got their lake.”
I looked at him. He was staring ahead, into the space where the quiet, calming water had once been. “Dad died that same year. Felt like he had broken his promise to my mom. Had to sell off half the property just to keep the lodge open.”
I remembered when he had told me about his mom and how his dad had promised her he would keep things as they had always been.
“I saw you go into the woods. Figured you were going here.”
I smiled. “Watching me?”
He smiled, too. “Yeah,” he said simply and without explanation.
“After that conversation last night…” I began.
He nodded. “Special places.”
“Yeah.”
Neither of us said anything for a few moments. We both just stared into the nearly empty swimming hole. I figured he was seeing pretty much the same things I was.
“How’d you manage to get away from your wife and the others?” he asked after a bit.
I smiled. “I pretended I was sick.” I was prone to migraines, so it was a fairly easy excuse to use.
He laughed. “You do that a lot? Become a habit, has it?”
I knew he was referring to my bout of “sickness” sixteen years ago. And the fact that he remembered that made my stomach flutter a bit. It was a long time to remember such a small thing. Though the reason for that bout of “sickness” had been anything but small.
“It was either go shopping at the mall or have a ‘terrible migraine.’ A ‘terrible migraine’ is much more enjoyable than shopping with Ellen and Jane and listening to Ed ***** about how much Jane is spending.”
He laughed. “Guess I can see your point there. You and Ellen been together long?”
I nodded. “We’ve been married twelve years now. Met her in college. Married her six months later. We have a son, Jared. He’s eleven.” I smiled. “He’s been spending the week across the lake at the campgrounds with Ed and Jane’s son, Jimmy.”
“Ellen seems very nice. You seem good together.” He paused for a moment. “Are you happy, Lee?” He asked the question quietly, and I could tell it wasn’t an idle question, not something he asked like some might ask “How are you?”
“I have a good life. Ellen’s great. I couldn’t ask for better. She loves me in spite of my faults, which never ceases to amaze me, really. And Jared, he’s smart as hell. And a good kid, too.” I nodded. “Things are good. We have our ups and downs like any other family, but we’re a family. And I have a good job. Things are comfortable, no financial worries. I suppose everything’s turned out pretty much like everyone wanted and expected it to.”
“And you are happy?”
I turned to look at him. He was looking at me with that same look he always had. And I couldn’t read his expression any more now than I could sixteen years ago. But I suppose I didn’t really need to read it. I knew what he was asking. He was asking me if I was “happy.” Not if my life was good and comfortable, but if I was truly happy at the very center of myself. I wasn’t sure I could answer that. Mostly because I wasn’t any more sure now than I had been sixteen years ago about what I really wanted and needed to be happy.
“How long have you and Steve been together?” I asked, hoping he would let me leave the question unanswered.
He smiled and I could see understanding in his eyes. “We’ve been together almost 4 years now.”
I smiled. “And things are good?” I hoped they were. They looked like they were.
He nodded and his smile touched his eyes. “Yeah. I think I’ve finally found someone I can be happy with.”
“That’s great, Dean.” I realized that it was the first time I had said his name in sixteen years. It felt good on my tongue. “He seems really nice, easy going.”
Dean laughed. “He is SO easy going. It is hard as hell to rile him. He’s completely comfortable in his own skin. Nothing fazes him.” He looked at me and his eyes sparkled with a touch of wickedness. “You set off his radar, though, even if he wouldn’t admit it.”
So I had not been mistaken about the “look.” I shook my head and smiled. “He’s good. Did you tell him anything? About…anything?”
He shook his head. “No. I love him dearly, but what goes in his ears tends to come out of his mouth; and I got the impression you probably hadn’t said anything to anyone.”
I nodded. “Yeah, I haven’t. I didn’t see the point. It would just…complicate things. And it was sixteen years ago.”
He nodded and leaned back on his hands. “Yeah, it was a long time ago.”
We sat in silence for a bit. Then he spoke. “Did you ever think of…” he hesitated, “…of things later, of me?”
I hadn’t in a long time. But for a while, a very long while, I had. “I had dreams about you for the longest time.”
He smiled. “Did you? Good dreams?”
I smiled. “Wet dreams.”
He laughed. “Yeah, had those about you, too.” He sighed and I glanced at him and saw his eyes were closed. “You know, I used to imagine that you would come back.” He laughed again, and maybe there was a touch of bitterness in the laugh, or maybe it was just a little self-mocking. “And you would tell me that you loved me and that nothing else mattered—not your brother, not what anyone thought, nothing.”
He sat up then stood up, picked up a rock and tossed it into what little water there was. “You didn’t, of course. And I knew you wouldn’t…couldn’t.”
I sat there and looked down at my hands. I could picture him. I could picture the seventeen year old boy sitting on this very rock, lost in daydreams and fantasies. And I felt guilty. Not because I had left—I had to leave. I hadn’t had a choice in that. And not even because I hadn’t come back—because I had been fifteen and while you might imagine things like that at fifteen, you didn’t actually do them.
What made me feel guilty was how I had made what had happened between us into something that was wrong, something to be forgotten. When I had gotten home I had thrown myself into being what I saw as a “normal guy.” When Deb and I broke up, I went out with just about every girl who blinked at me. I had something to prove, to my brother, to my dad, to just about everyone—and mostly to myself. I had fallen for another boy. I hadn’t just had sex with him—I had fallen for him. And that didn’t fit with how things were supposed to be. And I convinced myself it had been just a one-time thing, an experimental thing. I convinced myself that it had been nothing.
And it had been anything BUT nothing. And THAT was what made my stomach clench and my eyes burn. I had taken something beautiful and made it into something that had never existed.
Except now, sixteen years later, I knew what I hadn’t known then.
“I did, you know.”
He looked at me. “What?”
“Love you.” I laughed shortly, bitterly. “I would have dreams—not just the wet ones—but ones where I would run away from home and no one would know where to find me and I would be with you.” I ran my hand across my eyes and through my hair. “And when I would wake up I would call the girl of the moment and we would meet up and I would **** you out of my mind.”
But I hadn’t managed—not then, not now—to **** him out of my heart.
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/22/2006, 11:58 pm
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wanderingsoul
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He held out his hand to me. I stared at it for a moment, wondering why he even wanted that much contact with someone who had betrayed him in such a way—because that was what I had done. I had betrayed all that he was by denying all that I felt.
But I put my hand in his and he pulled me to my feet. He raised my hand and held it against his chest and brushed the fingers of his other hand over my cheek. “We were both young,” he said—as if that explained everything, excused everything.
I raised my eyes to his and I could see the softness in them. Gone was the expression I couldn’t read, the one that simply waited. In its place was one of tenderness, of forgiveness and longing—I definitely saw longing. He leaned forward as he slipped his hand around to the back of my neck, and kissed me. And I felt everything I had felt the first time he had kissed me and everything I had felt when he had touched me, when we had made love to each other on that hot afternoon sixteen years ago. Except I wasn’t fifteen and he wasn’t seventeen—we were grown men. I pressed against him and wrapped my fingers in his hair, and the kiss deepened, our tongues hungrily seeking to taste once more the taste that had once held us both captive.
He broke the kiss, was the first one to pull away. My body ached from the sudden separation. Apparently his did, too, because he pulled me hard against him for a moment, groaning as he let me know his body had not forgotten the feeling. I rubbed against him—letting him know mine had not either. Then he let go and pulled away, a small smile on his lips, a smile that held maybe a touch of regret.
“Ellen’s a lucky woman.”
I smiled, a smile that mirrored his. Steve’s a lucky man.”
We walked back to the lodge in silence, our bodies close together, our shoulders touching—but not our hands. And I understood the significance of that. Our hands—especially mine, the one with the ring on the finger—belonged to others and were no longer ours to give.
***
Last edited by wanderingsoul, 6/23/2006, 12:00 am
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/22/2006, 11:58 pm
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wanderingsoul
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My “headache” extended all through the rest of the day and into the night. I managed to pack my suitcase, but told Ellen I didn’t feel up to breakfast.
“I just want to lie down for a bit. I took some ibuprofen so that should have my head feeling better enough to drive home.”
She looked at me carefully, almost curiously. But all she said was, “Ok, hun. But if you aren’t feeling up to driving home, I’ll drive. And you’re going to make an appointment to see the doctor about those migraines. They seem to be getting worse.”
I smiled and asked her to save me a piece of fruit from breakfast, and she seemed happier that I was at least showing an interest in food. I didn’t have a migraine, but my head did feel off. Though I knew it was more the thoughts and memories that were causing the dull ache.
***
“You didn’t come. What’s wrong?”
I was sitting on the dock, dangling my legs over the side. I didn’t look up and he sat down beside me. I turned away. “Nothing. I just…”
He reached out and turned my face to him. His eyes darkened and he swore, something I had never really heard him do before. “What happened?” he asked softly, tracing the bruise around my left eye with his finger.
I shrugged. “Lucky punch. Tony looks worse than I do.”
He put his arms around me and pulled me close against him. I didn’t care who saw.
“My dad’s pissed. He came in while Tony and I were at it. So it’s over. He’s taking us home.” I laughed a little. “Should have heard him. ‘This is what happens when boys are raised without a man in their lives!’”
I shook my head. “The **** forgets that HE is the one who walked out on my mom, not the other way around. Not that what he says is even halfway right.”
I laughed again and wiped my hand across my eyes. “Though maybe he is ‘halfway’ right because ONE of us turned out ‘normal’ and only ONE of us is all wrong. Guess half of two is one, last I knew. So maybe he has a point.”
Dean shook his head and rubbed his cheek against my hair. “No, he doesn’t. There is nothing ‘wrong’ about you. Your brother—and your dad—are the ones who need some serious fixing.”
He held me close for a long moment then sighed. “I’m sorry, Lee. I didn’t mean to cause so much trouble for you.”
I looked up at him and shook my head. “Don’t be sorry. I’m not.”
***
I packed the few things I had brought with me and threw the bag in the car. I wasn’t going to stand around listening to my dad and my brother arguing over why they couldn’t just “send fag boy home on a bus or something.”
Dean was sitting on the steps of the lodge, like he always was at this time, the time I usually came by.
“I’m never going to see you again, am I?” he asked as I sat down on the steps next to him.
I didn’t answer; I just looked down. I knew it was no. So did he. I looked up after a while and he was looking at me in that way, though I could see something else in his eyes—sadness, resignation.
“Be happy, Lee.” And he held out his hands, his palms out, his fingers spread just a little. I knew what he meant. I pressed my hands against his. I knew we both could feel the pane of glass between us.
My dad drove up and I glanced at Dean one last time. He was still sitting there, still holding his hands in that way.
As I got into the car, my brother whispered in my ear, “Faggot.”
***
Ed and Jane had already checked out and had headed on over to the campground to make sure Jimmy and Jared had the tent picked up and had everything ready to go. Ellen was waiting for me at the front desk, talking to Steve.
“I’m sorry to hear about your migraines. Hope you managed to enjoy some of your stay with us.” Steve smiled as openly as always, though I thought I detected a hint of “Glad you are going now” in his eyes. Though maybe I was just looking for that.
“It’s been very nice, even with the migraines,” I smiled back at him.
“Maybe we’ll see you back here sometime?” Dean walked in from the room behind the desk and laid his hands on Steve’s shoulders, standing behind him.
“That would be lovely,” Ellen replied brightly. “You have such a beautiful place here, so nice and relaxing.”
I just met Dean’s eyes and smiled and nodded slightly as I picked up our suitcases and headed toward the door.
As I got into the car I looked up at the lodge and I could have sworn I saw him in the window, his palm pressed against the glass. As I backed the car out of the parking space and turned to head down the driveway, I looked up at the lodge once more.
“Be happy, Dean,” I mouthed silently, and pressed my palm against the car window.
**********************
What Might Have Been
Little Texas
(Porter Howell/Dwayne O'Brien/Brady Seals)
Sure I think about you now and then
But it's been a long, long time
I've got a good life now I've moved on
So when you cross my mind
I try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been
We could sit and talk about this all night long
And wonder why we didn't last
Yes they might be the best days
We will ever know
But we'll have to leave them in the past
So try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been
That same old look in your eyes
It's a beautiful night
I'm so tempted to stay
But too much time has gone by
We should just say goodbye
And turn and walk away
And try not to think about
What might have been
'Cause that was then
And we have taken different roads
We can't go back again
There's no use giving in
And there's no way to know
What might have been
No we'll never know
What might have been
---
And by and by my Soul returned to me, And answered "I Myself amd Heav'n and Hell"
Omar Khayyam
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6/22/2006, 11:59 pm
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