by M. E. Parker
My cheeks heated, and my heart pounded as I remembered the last time we were really together. I hated remembering that camping trip. Well, mostly I hated it. I hated it because of how I acted. I hated how I treated him. I embarrassed myself, bragging about sexual encounters with Kara that I never really had.
If he only knew. If he only knew that as soon as she offered me her virginity on prom night our senior year, I broke up with her. I wanted to have sex with her. No, that’s not really true. I wanted to want to have sex with her. But my dick wouldn’t cooperate. I was such a fucking fraud. I’m still a fraud.
I shook my head. I had no idea what possessed me to ask Andy to watch that stupid porn movie that night. When Jason sent me that movie, I had no intention of watching it. Maybe I thought that it would somehow prove to Andy that I was straight. Maybe I thought if Andy agreed to watch it with me, it would prove that Andy was straight. I laughed at the absurdity of it all.
I crossed a line that night. I should have known better. But that didn’t change the fact it was the hottest sexual experience I’d ever had, and we didn’t even touch each other. I lied when I told him I wanted to sleep afterward. I really just laid there wrestling with my feelings for him. As soon as his breathing evened out and I knew he was asleep, I scooted over as close as I could to him. He eventually turned on his side, wrapped his arm around me, and nestled up against my back.
When I woke up later that night to his kisses on the back of my neck and his hand on my hard cock, I thought I was dreaming. I wanted him more than anything. But I wasn’t ready. I couldn’t do it. I knew if I let it happen, there’d be no turning back. There’d be no way to deny what I was. As much as I hated the bastard, I still wanted to prove my father wrong.
I let my head fall back on the headrest and squeezed my eyes shut. “I’m sorry, Andy,” I whispered. If only I’d just told him that night. If only I’d just admitted how I was feeling. Things could have been different. But I was a coward. So, I just ended things with him. I threw away over ten years of friendship because I was a big fucking coward. If I ever trusted anyone in my life, it was Andy Michaelson. I wish I could talk to him now. I couldn’t, though. It was too late. At best, I was nothing to him anymore, just some stupid kid he used to hang out with that turned out to be an asshole that wasn’t worth his time. At worst, he hated my guts. I hurt him that night. I knew it. I knew it when he tried to talk to me that next night after football practice. I knew it when I stood there silently when John Lambert called Andy a fucking faggot in the hallway at school the following week. I knew it every day I saw him at school for the rest of the year.
I felt a tear run down my cheek and I wiped it away. I started the car. There was no sense in thinking about it any further. I’d ruined the best part of my life. There was nothing that could be done. I hoped someday, though, that I’d be able to tell him. I wanted him to know. I wanted him to know that I never stopped thinking about him. I wanted him to know how sorry I was. It wouldn’t matter. I knew that. But, someday, I’d tell him.
When I walked in the house, my mother was sitting at the kitchen island in a robe drinking a glass of wine. I was happy to see her. Her eyes lit up as soon as I walked in the door. It felt good to have her arms around my neck. “I was starting to worry,” she said.
“I’m sorry I got such a late start.”
She grabbed my hand and pulled me into the kitchen. “Come sit. Do you want a glass of wine or a beer?”
I chuckled. “You have beer?” I knew my father wasn’t crazy about her drinking wine, but he generally ignored it. I’d never known a time there was beer in the house, though.
“Yeah. I know you and Travis like to drink beer, and you’re twenty-one now. So, I thought I’d buy some just in case.”
I grinned at her and walked over to the fridge. Sure enough, there was a six-pack of Heineken sitting up front. I grabbed one as Mom pulled a bottle opener out of the drawer. “Where’s Dad?” I asked. I looked down at my watch; it was almost eleven o’clock. It was later than I thought.
“He wanted to wait up, but I sent him to bed. He has to be up early for a hospital visit.”
I nodded. I didn’t even ask who was in the hospital. If it was someone I’d been close to, my mother would have told me. It didn’t matter who it was, if someone from Wytheville was sick, Dad would visit them.
“I thought we’d eat tomorrow around one or so,” she said. “That way, you and Dad can watch football for the rest of the afternoon. I’ve done most of the cooking already. I’ll just get up early and put the turkey in the oven.”
I nodded again. “I won’t be able to stay long. I’ll need to get back to campus tomorrow.”
“What? I thought you’d leave Friday morning.”
I smiled at her and lied. “I can’t. I have practice on Friday.” That was true, but technically it wasn’t until Friday afternoon, so I had plenty of time to make it back to Gilcrest on Friday morning, but I didn’t have any interest in spending an entire day and night with my father.
I felt guilty when I saw the disappointed look on her face. She reached out and grabbed my hand. “What’s wrong, Chance?”
“Nothing.”
She sighed. “Honey, something is bothering you. I’ve heard it in your voice for months. I know that football is going well. But I’m worried about you. You can tell me anything. You know that, right? Maybe I can help.”
“Mom, I-I-I’m—” I was so close to saying the words. But I couldn’t do it. I felt sick to my stomach. I nervously peeled the label from my bottle of beer as she waited patiently for me to speak. “I, umm… You know Coach thinks I have a good chance of going pro. I mean, there’s a lot of competition, but he thinks I’ll get an offer. I don’t know how much I’d get to play.”
She sat back in her chair. “Well, that’s good, right? It’s what you’ve always wanted.”
I ran my fingers nervously through my hair. It wasn’t what I wanted to be talking about, but it was better than the alternative. “Yeah, I guess. But the architecture program is a five-year program. If I enter the draft and make a team, I won’t be able to finish, at least right away.” I added, “I really like it, Mom. I don’t know if it’s feasible for me to just come back years later and finish the program.”
She put her hand over her mouth. “I’ve never thought of that. I’m not sure why I hadn’t. It’s a huge decision. No wonder you’re stressed out. You shouldn’t have to make such a big decision while you’re so young. It’s not right.”
She squeezed my hand. “Whatever decision you make, I’ll support you.” I nodded again. “And so will Dad,” she added.
I shook my head and laughed. “I doubt it. Dad has never been interested in me having a career in architecture.”
“Oh, Chance, we both want you to be happy. You should tell him you’re working through a tough decision. I think you’d be surprised how supportive he can be.”
I rolled my eyes. My father was only supportive when things were going according to his plan for me. “I doubt it, Mom. Could you please not say anything until after I leave? I just, I don’t know. I don’t want to talk to him about it tomorrow. I don’t think I’m ready to make a decision.”
She let out a sigh. “I think you’d be surprised, honey. But that’s fine. I won’t tell him.” She reached over and put her hand on my cheek. “In the end, it doesn’t really matter what your dad thinks, Chance.” She paused and added, “Or me.” Her eyes were watery. “You should do whatever your heart is telling you to do, no matter what.”
I nodded and smiled at her. Suddenly, it didn’t feel like we were talking about my career choices anymore. I quickly changed the subject. “So, tell me all the Wytheville gossip I’ve missed out on.”
She hit me on the shoulder. “Oh, Chance, you know I don’t gossip.”
I laughed. “Yeah, right, and bears don’t shit in the woods. Now dish,” I said before taking a sip of my beer.
My mother’s face turned red and she giggled.
“You better not let your father hear you say things like that.” I shook my head and smiled. Sometimes I wondered how she married such a pious man, because she was so not. An hour later, I went to bed knowing who in Wytheville was getting divorced, married, was pregnant, was having an affair, or missed church last Sunday. I didn’t really care, but gossiping was one of my mother’s favorite past times.
I had trouble sleeping that night. It was probably a combination of the fact I knew Andy was so close and that I was dreading sitting through an entire meal with my father. But the dinner was surprisingly uneventful. My father was focused on football, which was fine with me. The biggest game of the year was Saturday. We were playing against UNC. The Tar Heels were an intrastate rival and had the biggest program in the state. We’d lost to them the last two years, but both games had been close. It could be our year, I thought to myself as I snuck out to the garage while Mom was finishing the dishes. We’d grown a lot as a team since my first year at Gilcrest. But the game was away, in Chapel Hill. They’d have the home field advantage.
I filled my camping backpack with all the supplies I’d need and snuck it out to my truck. My mother would be hurt if she knew my plan was to go camping for the night, rather than going back to campus. But ever since the idea struck, it felt right. A night alone in the mountains under the stars to try to figure out why my life felt like such a mess seemed like the perfect way to spend the next twenty-four hours.
I hugged my mother goodbye and my father patted me on the back and promised to be at the game in Chapel Hill on Saturday to cheer me on. As I made the drive up to the winding mountain, I noticed the remnants of the snow from the day before.
chapter eight
Andy
After I gave my mom a long hug and a kiss goodbye, and she headed to her shift at the hospital, I finished cleaning up from brunch, packed up, loaded my car, and got the hell outta Wytheville. I loved seeing my mother. Guilt panged in my chest as I drove away. I could’ve stayed for the weekend and visited with Mom between her shifts. But there was nothing else for me in there. Marci, my only friend from high school, had gone off to college in California and her parents had moved to Ashville after her dad got a new job. There was nothing and no one left in the little town where I grew up. It didn’t help that I’d noticed Chance’s pickup truck in the driveway next door the night before and again before Mom and I sat down for our Thanksgiving brunch.
It was a forty-mile drive to the interstate. I spent most of it convincing myself that I was doing Mom a favor by heading back to school early. At least she’d get plenty of rest between her shifts. Besides, I’d be back for Christmas break in a few weeks, and I hoped I’d be over my breakup with Mark. And more importantly, I’d have put Chance out of my mind completely. It bothered me that the guy still consumed so many of my thoughts after nearly four years.
When I reached the I-40 interchange in Ashville, I headed west. Gilcrest was nearly two hours to the east, but somehow, someway, for no explicable reason, I got on the interstate heading in the opposite direction. At first, I was determined to get off at the next exit and turn around, but then I realized I didn’t want to. I knew where I wanted to go. If I timed it right, I could be back in the car by sundown.
After I pulled into the parking area for the campsite, I emptied the contents of my backpack into the front seat and popped open my glove compartment. I grabbed a flashlight, the first-aid kit my mother had stowed in there before I left for college, and a box of matches. I threw them in my pack, along with a couple of bottles of water and my phone. I stepped out of the car. The sun was beating down on me. I considered taking my winter coat that was in the back seat, but I was already sweating. Even though it had snowed, and the temperatures had been hovering in the thirties, the sun was out, and I was afraid I’d get hot if I wore my coat. Instead, I unzipped my duffle in the back seat and pulled out at fleece pullover and put it on over my t-shirt. I looked down at my feet. I was wearing an old black pair of Converse. They weren’t really the best for hiking, but the trail up to the camp wasn’t that difficult.
As I made my way up the mountain, I second-guessed myself. I’d lived around there long enough to know that it wasn’t smart to hike alone in the Smokies. It didn’t help matters that I hadn’t told anyone where I was going. But I told myself it would be fine and I pressed on. I needed to do it. I needed to see our spot one more time. I needed closure and I wasn’t ever gonna get it from Chance. I wasn’t sure why I thought going back to Black Bear would be the answer. But, for some reason, I felt compelled to go there. I hiked quickly to conserve daylight. I checked my watch when I reached the edge of the campsite. I’d made good time. I thought about wandering over to where we used to set up camp, but then I decided to go straight to the rock. As soon as I made it there, I took off my backpack and sat down. The air was frigid, but I was still warm from the hike.
There were a million things I wanted to say to Chance Wyrick, but the first thing that kept popping into mind was “I’m sorry”. I hated myself for touching him that night without his permission. I hated myself for ruining whatever friendship we had left. I hated myself for still caring about the bastard. I hated him for not letting me say all those things. I hated him. I loved him. I missed him.
I looked down into the river. The rapids were rougher than I remembered. The water was higher. I found a small rock and chucked it into the water. I smiled for a second, thinking about all the times we laughed and played in that very spot. A tear rolled down my cheek and I wiped it away. “Fuck you, Chance,” I whispered.
My mind drifted back to that night. The last night we were together. The last thing he ever said to me was, “Just stay on your side of the bed.” He didn’t utter a single word to me after that. A couple of weeks after that trip, I sat out on my front porch and waited for him to get home from football practice. For three hours. I wanted to tell him I was sorry. When he finally pulled into his driveway and got out of his truck, I jogged across his front yard to catch up with him. He looked up at me when he reached his front door. “Chance,” I called out to him just as I was reaching his front porch. He just shook his head and walked inside. There was no anger in his eyes. Just sadness. And, somehow, I felt like I betrayed him. Like I was the one who’d ruined everything. “Guess what, Chance? It wasn’t me. You didn’t have to be such an asshole. We could’ve fixed things,” I muttered as I threw another rock into the river.
“And now, for some reason, I can’t have a normal relationship and it’s your fucking fault.” I tossed in another rock and thought about how crazy I must have looked, sitting there and talking to myself. It felt good, though. It felt good to say the things I’d always wanted to say out loud.
Maybe things would have been different if he’d just disappeared. But he didn’t. He ghosted me, for sure. There was no question about it. But he still haunted me. Everyday. Every day, for our last year of high school. He was right there, next door. I watched him come and go. Every day, we sat in the same classrooms together. He was there when John Lambert called me a faggot in the hallway. He never spoke to me. He never looked at me. He made me feel invisible but also like he was watching me.
When I got accepted to Gilcrest, I thought I’d finally be rid of him, until my mom told me that he was going there too. He’d gotten scholarship offers from Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, UNC, and even Duke to play football. And for some unknown reason, because God hated me, I guessed, he chose to go to Gilcrest. It wasn’t like we ever crossed paths. I could count on one hand the number of times I’d seen him on campus. But just knowing he was there meant I never felt free of him.
I looked down at the river rushing below me. I glanced up and noticed that the sun had disappeared behind a sea of gray clouds. It was getting dark. My ass was numb from sitting on the freezing rock. I hoped that being there in that place would bring me some sort of peace or closure. But it hadn’t.
I knew I needed to start back before I lost the rest of the daylight. I sifted throug
h my backpack, pulled out my flashlight, and sat it down on the rock beside me. Then I pulled out a bottle of water and stood to take a drink and put my pack on.
The rock must have had a slight incline to it because the flashlight rolled towards the water. I bent down quickly to grab it and lost my footing on the slick surface of the rock—a patch of ice I hadn’t noticed. It all happened in a matter of seconds, but I knew I was going over before I even slid off the rock. Adrenaline coursed through my veins as I managed to stop the fall by grabbing onto a rock jutting out from the edge of the river bank. I quickly moved my free hand over the surface of the rock face until I felt another ledge to grip onto.
My heart pounded in my chest. I barely noticed how cold the water was until I felt the pull of the raging rapids dragging my legs away from the rocks. I glanced down and saw that half my body was emerged in the water. I tried to find footing on the river bank, but the slippery surface of the rocks wasn’t cooperating with the soft rubber on the soles of my Chuck Taylors. I let go of the ledge with my right hand just long enough to see if I could grab on to the top ledge of the big rock to pull myself up. It was too high. There was no way I could reach it. Panic took hold of me. My fingers were starting to feel numb from the coldness and I wasn’t sure how much longer I could hold on. “Fuck!” I screamed at the top of my lungs.
I looked down at the river again. I needed a plan. What if I let go? If I could get to the other side of the river, I could climb ashore. I was a strong swimmer, but I had no idea how hard it would be to swim against the rapids. I didn’t have a clue how deep the water was. I looked down river for a tree limb I could grab onto, but there was nothing. Tears welled in my eyes. It was my only choice. I couldn’t hold on much longer. I decided to use the last bit of time clinging to the rock to call for help.
