by L. A. Witt
More than that, religious beliefs aside, everything within those two verses and everything I’d seen and heard in the time I’d spent with Darren boiled down to the kind of human being I wanted in my life. The kind of person I could….
I swallowed hard and raked my fingers through my hair.
He was the kind of human being I could fall in love with.
And that scared the hell out of me.
Chapter Eight
AT EIGHT o’clock sharp on Monday morning, Darren knocked on my front door.
“Ready to go?” he asked when I opened it.
“Just about. Come on in.” As I shut the door behind him, I said, “Just throwing a few things into a backpack, and I need to feed the cat and put on my boots. Then I’m ready to roll.”
“Speaking of which, will these work?” He pointed at his tennis shoes. “I don’t have hiking boots.”
“We’re not going to be on a terribly technical trail today,” I said. “As long as they’re comfortable for walking for a few hours.”
“They’re fine for that.”
“Then they should work. If you want to hit up some of the harder trails, I highly recommend coughing up some money for a solid pair of hiking boots.”
“Like those?” He nodded toward the pair sitting next to my coffee table.
“Exactly.” I sat on the couch and picked up one of the boots. “They’re worth the money, believe me.”
“I’m sure. A rolled ankle isn’t fun even on a flat trail.”
“Yeah, well”—I pulled on the boot—“you haven’t lived until you’ve half carried some idiot with a sprain down a damn mountain.”
He wrinkled his nose. “I’ll pass.”
I laughed. “You’re not going to carry me down the mountain if I hurt myself?”
“Nope.” He gestured at my boots again. “So lace those up good and watch your step.”
“Hmph.” I pulled on my other boot. “See if I call Search and Rescue when you’re the one with a jacked-up foot.”
Darren rolled his eyes and huffed. “Jeez, Seth. I just said I wouldn’t carry you down the mountain. Not calling Search and Rescue?” Clicking his tongue, he shook his head. “That’s just cold.”
“Damn right.” I paused. “By the way, how’s that tattoo healing?”
He shifted a little like the tattoo was suddenly irritating him. “Still hurts a little. Starting to itch, though.”
“Yeah, that’ll happen.”
“It’s not bad. Definitely not as bad as the first night.”
“I would hope not.” I paused. “Oh, I almost forgot. I made some sandwiches and got a few bottles of water.” As I laced up my boot, I nodded toward the kitchen. “Would you mind grabbing them out of the fridge?”
“Sure.” He took a step but paused. “Oh, hello.”
I turned my head and laughed when I saw Stanley sitting in the middle of the hallway. “Hey. Move it, roadblock.”
“He’s okay.” Darren knelt, holding out his hand. “Hi, kitty.”
Stanley glared at him for a moment but then came toward him. He sniffed Darren’s hand—audibly, thanks to his smooshed nose—and then bumped his head against Darren’s fingers.
“I think he likes you,” I said.
“He seems like a nice cat. I’m assuming his name isn’t really Roadblock?”
“No. Stanley.”
“Hi, Stanley.” Darren petted him, which instantly made him Stanley’s best friend in the universe. The cat walked in circles with his tail straight up, purring loudly. “You are friendly, aren’t you?”
“Until he earns your trust.” I started lacing up my other boot. “He’s lucky I don’t believe in declawing, I’ll tell you.”
“Yeah?” Darren laughed.
Stanley flopped over on his back, paws outstretched and belly exposed.
“Oh, don’t fall for that,” I said. “If you want to keep your hand, I wouldn’t.”
“Duly noted.” To Stanley, Darren said, “I’d like to keep my hand, buddy. Sorry.” He scratched behind Stanley’s ear, which earned him a swat. Then Stanley got up and stormed away before crouching beside the bookcase, scowling at both of us.
“Told you,” I said.
“He’s a cat.” Darren shrugged. “I wouldn’t expect any less. Anyway, I’ll go get the sandwiches.”
He went into the kitchen, and I exchanged glances with Stanley. I had a soft spot for guys who liked animals. Especially cats. Especially my cantankerous, unpredictable cat. Something about a guy who’d talk to an animal, stop and pet it rather than keep walking, just got to me.
Once my boots were on, the cat was fed, and our lunches were in the backpack, we headed out of my apartment. Downstairs, I tossed the backpack behind the driver’s seat, we climbed into my truck, and I drove us out of Tucker Springs and up into the foothills just beyond the edge of town.
“So is there actually a spring?” Darren asked.
“Not one that’s worth visiting. My friend calls it Tucker Mud Puddle.”
He chuckled. “A bit anticlimactic?”
“Just a bit. The only time it’s actually worth seeing is usually when the snowmelt has the river so high, half the trails get washed out. It’s cool to see, but not when you have to risk your neck just to get out to it.”
“So what is worth seeing out there?”
“Depends on what you like.” I rested one hand on top of the wheel and the other on the gearshift as the highway wound into the heavily forested hills. “There’s some waterfalls, a few historic sites here and there. Stuff like that. I kind of prefer the places where you see more animals.”
“Really? I didn’t realize you were a critter person.”
I smiled. “I think I’m sometimes more of an animal person than a people person.”
“I’ve noticed that about a lot of people who have cats. Something about antisocial creatures being attracted to each other.”
“I’m not antisocial,” I said with mock indignation. “I just… sometimes need to not be around people.”
“And instead prefer the company of a creature that also likes to not be around people?”
“Hey, Stanley’s friendly.” I chuckled at Darren’s skeptical expression.
“He’s a cat, Seth,” he said. “Even the friendly ones have an evil streak.”
“Okay, fine, so he’s an asshole. But I still like him. Even if he does shed all over everything I own.”
Darren laughed.
“And you two seemed to get along pretty well too,” I said. “So there.”
“I like animals too, what can I say?”
Yes, I know you do. Bastard.
I tapped my fingers on top of the gearshift. “Well, if you want to see some critters, I know a really good trail.”
“Sounds perfect. Lead the way.”
About fifteen minutes later, I parked in the gravel lot beside the trailhead. It being a weekday and still a bit early in the year for tourists, there wasn’t another car in sight. My favorite hiking conditions: deserted.
I pulled the backpack onto my shoulders, and we started our hike. As the trail sloped gently upward, I said, “This part gets a little technical. If you need some ropes or oxygen tanks—”
“Very funny,” he muttered.
We followed the winding, well-worn path into the woods. It wasn’t terribly steep, mostly wrapping around the smallish mountain rather than taking us straight to the top. The day was cool but comfortable. Early spring meant some of winter’s briskness still stuck around, particularly in the higher altitudes, but we were low enough we didn’t encounter any lingering snowpack. If the afternoon got warm, which it likely would, the evergreen canopy would keep us shaded. Perfect weather, as far as I was concerned.
On the way up the trail, we shot the shit about whatever came to mind. Small talk, mostly. Bantering. Sometimes we didn’t talk at all. Darren was the kind of hiking partner I liked: he enjoyed carrying on a conversation but didn’t feel the need to fill every
silence.
A slight movement caught my eye, and I turned. Then stopped dead and put up a hand for Darren to do the same.
“Hey, check it out,” I whispered, pointing through the trees.
Darren craned his neck. “What am I look—oh.”
On the other side of the ravine, picking their way over some rocks and a fallen tree, were several bighorn sheep. Mostly females, with the smaller, straighter horns, but at least one ram sported an enormous set of those distinctive curved horns.
“You see a lot of those out here?” Darren asked.
“Oh, they’re around, but you won’t see them all the time. Last summer, though, I got a picture of a couple of the rams fighting. Cool as shit. Remind me one of these days and I’ll show it to you.”
“I’d love to see that,” he said.
We watched the sheep for a few more minutes, and as the herd wandered into the woods and out of sight, we continued up the trail.
“Doing okay?” I asked. “Altitude not bothering you?”
Darren laughed. “I’ll be fine, thanks. But if you’re getting tired, we can slow down.”
“Very funny. I was pacing myself for you, plains boy.”
“Oh, is that why we’re going so slow?”
We both laughed and kept walking.
“Man, it’s gorgeous out here,” he said after a while. “The scenery’s just unbelievable.”
“One of my favorite things about Colorado.”
“The whole state like this?”
I shook my head. “Head east and it starts resembling Nebraska as you get close to, well, Nebraska. Much more civilized out here.”
“Civilized?” He quirked an eyebrow. “Is that what you call it?”
“What would you call it?”
He looked around. “Well, it’s… bumpier.”
I snorted. “Bumpier? Really?”
“Yeah. Oklahoma’s nice and smooth.” He made a circle with his hand like he was running it over an imaginary flat surface. “Now that is civilized.”
“Uh-huh. Says the man who was just saying how gorgeous it is out here.” I shook my head. “So no mountains anywhere? How did you not go insane in a place like that?”
“Would you believe I didn’t see an actual mountain until I was ten?”
My jaw dropped. “Seriously? Dude, I went rock climbing for the first time before I was in first grade.”
“Yeah, well, some of us were deprived youth who were forced to live in the flatlands.”
“I’ll say you were deprived.”
“Quite,” he said. “So do you still do rock climbing?”
“Not for a good many years, no. It was something I did with my dad and brother, so….”
“Oh. Point taken.”
“But I might try it again someday.” I shrugged. “You know, if I ever find someone willing to dangle off a rock wall by a few ropes.”
He laughed. “Well, if you’re ever willing to take a novice up there with you, I’d love to give it a try.”
“Maybe I will.” Our eyes met, and the silence threatened to take an awkward turn, so I gestured up the trail. “There’s a place around that bend where we can stop and eat if you’re hungry. Couple of picnic tables and all that.”
“I could eat.”
“Let’s go, then.”
Fortunately that was enough to get us back on the path of casual small talk, and we continued up and around the bend to a clearing beside the river. Parks and Recreation had installed a picnic area a decade or so ago, and at first glance the weathered old tables appeared to have been attacked by termites. On closer inspection, though, all the grooves and holes formed sharper, more deliberate patterns.
I dropped the backpack on top of a few inscriptions about M.R. was here and Casey loves Jordan. We pulled out our lunch and sat on the weathered benches.
As we ate, Darren said, “I have a question for you.”
“Yeah?”
“I’ve always been curious about this, but I think I can ask you without it turning into a nasty argument where one of us eventually tries to drown the other in the river.”
Laughing, I unscrewed the cap on my water bottle. “Well, now I’m definitely curious, so go ahead.”
“You believe in evolution, yes? The Big Bang? All of that?”
“I do.”
“And you were a believer at one time, right?”
I nodded.
He stuffed the empty sandwich bag into the pack. “So back then, when you saw all of this”—he waved a hand at our surroundings—“you believed it was created.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is this where you ask me how can I not believe when there’s so much amazing stuff around me?”
Darren laughed. “Well, in a not-so-passive-aggressive way, yes. I’m just curious. I’ve always believed, but I still want to understand how things look to someone who doesn’t. It’s hard for me to fathom that any of this happened by accident, you know? Doesn’t mean I’m not a believer in the scientific theories; I just don’t think things like the Big Bang happened randomly.”
“Really?”
He nodded. “I don’t see science as discrediting God. I see it as explaining the universe that He made, not one that just randomly came into existence.”
I took a drink and set the bottle aside. “I think it’s even more amazing that it all happened by chance. The whole planet. Us. All of this.” I gestured around us. “The odds were billions to one, but it happened, and for maybe the better part of a century if I’m lucky, I get to be a part of it.”
“Interesting.” He smiled. “Kind of kills that whole theory that atheists think life is meaningless.”
“Just a bit,” I said with a quiet laugh. “And I’ll admit, I believed that myself, back before I became one. But then I realized it’s kind of hard to see something as meaningless when it’s finite. When I was a believer, it was all about eternity, and it seemed like this life was just, well, a formality. Something you did before you got to the good part.” I faced him. “But when it’s all you get, you make damn sure you enjoy the hell out of it.”
“Interesting,” he said again, more to himself this time.
I took another drink. As I capped the bottle, I said, “While we’re on the subject of touchy things that might get one of us drowned in the river, I’m curious about something too.”
Darren smirked. “Should we get further away from the river?”
“I’ll take my chances.”
“Fire away, then.”
“You said you’ve been a believer all your life. Was that an issue when you figured out you were gay?”
“Oh yeah. That was a… process.” Darren exhaled slowly. “Denial, anger, more denial. Took me a long time to deal with it and realize I couldn’t change it, and my family….” He whistled and shook his head.
“I’m guessing they didn’t take it well.”
“Not at all. We were very fundamentalist. Dad was a pastor, and all of us kids were gung ho about doing missionary work. So there was a lot of soul-searching in the Romero household, believe me.”
“I can imagine.”
“Especially my dad. He was furious. Absolutely furious. In fact, he kicked me out.”
“How old were you?”
“Sixteen. He just, he blew a gasket and threw me out. I didn’t have a job or a car, so I went and stayed with my aunt.” Darren met my eyes. “But would you believe it was my dad who eventually helped me find peace with my beliefs and my sexuality?”
I blinked. “You’re kidding.”
He shook his head.
“Even after he kicked you out? How?”
“Well, even before I came out and wound up living with my aunt, I’d been really angry about my sexuality for a long time. At myself, mostly, because I felt like I should have been able to overcome it, but I couldn’t. Sometimes I was mad at God because I was sure He’d made me this way and then condemned me for it. Which then made me feel guilty and unfaithful, and I’d get angrier and
….” He waved a hand. “It was just a vicious cycle. But I realized it was who I was, and God wouldn’t reject me for that. And then I told my parents and got thrown out.”
Darren fell silent. He shifted his gaze toward the scenery for a moment, his eyes distant. Finally he went on. “One Sunday night, Dad came over to my aunt’s house and he sat me down. I remember being terrified when he told me we needed to talk one-on-one. I was sure he was going to give me an ultimatum. When he sat across from me and put that Bible on the table, I was so, so scared that this was it and I was about to be disowned.”
I swallowed, an all-too-familiar sick feeling burning in my gut. “So what happened?”
“Do you know the parable of the Prodigal Son?”
Oh, yes. I may have been beaten over the head with that one a time or twelve.
I just nodded.
“Dad read that passage to me. And I just felt guiltier and guiltier, like he was trying to tell me I needed to be like the son in the parable and come beg forgiveness from the family. That if I did, they’d absolutely forgive me, and they’d all celebrate because that would mean the son who they thought was dead—spiritually, anyway—had come back.”
Sounds familiar. I scowled but didn’t say anything.
Darren watched the river rolling past. “So then he closed the book. And he got really quiet. So of course I’m sitting there, bracing myself and preparing for the worst.” He combed his fingers through his hair. “He said exactly what I thought he would. That he’d thought since the day I came out that I should, and eventually would, repent and beg forgiveness just like the prodigal son. And to this day, I don’t know if I was about to do exactly that or if I was going to fly off the handle and tell him where he could shove that parable, but he… I don’t know, I just saw something in my dad’s eyes that I’d never seen before, and so I didn’t say anything. I just waited.”
“What did he say?”
“He told me he’d been called to that part of the Scripture when he’d prayed after I came out, and he hadn’t realized until that night that he was the one in the role of the prodigal son.”
