Between These Walls

by John Herrick

  “I have a random memory that replays in my mind year after year: It happened one Friday afternoon when I was eight or nine years old. Dad had been out of town all week and hadn’t gotten home yet. We lived in a two-story house, and I was in my bedroom, which was in the rear of the house, overlooking the backyard. A short while before dinner, I heard noise coming from the backyard. People shouting. I stopped what I was doing and headed toward my window. As I got closer, I realized the noise was a mixture of shouts and laughter, and recognized Bryce’s voice. I heard a second voice shout back to him, and when I opened the blinds, I saw it was Dad. He’d taken off his suit coat and tie, set them on the patio, and had started playing catch with Bryce before dinner, before Dad had even walked into the house to let Mom and me know he was home.

  “I remember standing there, looking out the window, seeing how much fun they had together. Each one tried to challenge the other with how they threw the ball—fastballs, curveballs, breaking balls—to catch each other off guard. And I remember how much I wished I could be part of their club, wishing I could toss better, throw higher, do whatever it took to be one of them. I felt hurt that they’d started their game without me that day, without even thinking of including me, but I also knew it was the norm. I was a kid; I didn’t know how to change the norm. I wanted to go down and join them, ask them to let me play anyway. But then I heard Mom’s voice calling us, telling us dinner was ready.”

  Hunter stared at the tilapia on his plate, which he no longer had the desire to eat. At the corner of his eye, he felt an inkling of a tear, which he wiped away by pretending to scratch an itch.

  “I’ve never told that story to anyone,” he added.

  Raising his head, he met Gabe’s eyes, focused on him with full concentration.

  Hunter forced a quiet chuckle. “Dumb thing for a kid to get hurt about, huh?”

  * * *

  Outside the restaurant, a small boardwalk ran along the edge of Lake Erie. After dinner, Hunter and Gabe lingered beneath the night sky, strolling without a destination in mind. Several other restaurants dotted the boardwalk, each one close in proximity to the next, yet far enough apart to provide a stretch of walking space between them. Hunter noticed a few pedestrians on the boardwalk, who shoved their cold hands into their pockets and hurried from restaurants to the parking lot, seeking refuge in their cozy vehicles.

  “We should’ve ordered some hot coffee to go,” said Gabe. Peering up at the sky as he spoke, he looked as though he had cast a wish toward heaven.

  Hunter zipped his leather coat, which felt snug the way it enveloped his chest. While on any other occasion, he would have considered the air too chilly to loiter, tonight he enjoyed the crispness of late autumn. Flurries swirled in the breeze, plump white clusters dancing against the navy-blue horizon: Hunter’s personal snow globe. He took a deep breath and savored the invigoration that accompanied cold air burning his lungs. As Gabe exhaled, Hunter watched his breath appear, then dissipate.

  They strolled side by side. When Hunter took a moment to listen, he realized he detected no sounds from restaurants, boats or pedestrians. Complete silence, save the thudding of Hunter and Gabe’s feet on the boardwalk and gentle laps of water that teased the shoreline.

  “It’s so calm outside,” Gabe said, his eyes roaming from star to star.

  “It’s like the world slowed down,” Hunter said, his voice gentle. “Tonight was good. I’m glad we decided to do this. This is the most peaceful I’ve felt in a long while.”

  Gabe eased to a halt and Hunter followed suit. Gabe’s eyes widened, the way a child opens his eyes in wonder while watching a butterfly for the first time.

  “Listen,” Gabe said, then paused. He didn’t seem to look at anything in particular. “Can you hear that?”

  Hunter listened a moment, but heard nothing unusual. “Hear what?”

  “Your coat. Listen.”

  Cocking his ear toward his own shoulder, Hunter discovered if he listened closer, he could hear the faint patter of snowflakes as they landed on his coat. Gabe relished details in life that Hunter took for granted. Fascinated at what he now heard, Hunter listened to a few more snowflake taps, then couldn’t help but grin. Without a need for words, he felt accepted and secure in Gabe’s presence. Together they continued their stroll along the boardwalk.

  With no other pedestrians close enough to overhear them, Hunter and Gabe conversed at normal volume in this public setting. For Hunter, the freedom came as a relief.

  Gabe gave Hunter a hesitant glance. As time stood still, Hunter noticed a rarity in the expression on Gabe’s face. Gabe appeared unsure about something.

  “Did you ever consider a same-sex relationship before?” Gabe asked.

  Though the question caught Hunter by surprise, it didn’t set him as far off-kilter as he would have expected. Yet he couldn’t muster the confidence to answer the question. Instead, he opted for the easier route, punting the ball back to Gabe.

  “Did you?” Hunter asked.

  Gabe considered the question, nodding his head to the rhythm of their footsteps. He bit his lower lip as he contemplated his answer. “I hadn’t considered a relationship, per se. But I never felt comfortable around females in a romantic setting. I tried dating females in the past, and each time I was on a date, I’d find myself shrinking back. We’d have great conversations, but it’s like I’d withhold a piece of myself. I couldn’t bring myself to fully engage in the conversation. Each woman would try to draw me out of myself by asking me deeper questions. I think they sensed something was awry but marked it as shyness, so they tried to get me to open up. But the more they tried, the more I shut myself down. I didn’t do it on purpose; it was more like a subconscious reaction, a kneejerk response. It happened before I could decide to stop it or allow it. My heart couldn’t engage—that’s the best way I can describe it.” Gabe held his thumb and forefinger close together: so close, they almost touched, but didn’t quite make contact. “A disconnect. The way an electrical socket goes out when a wire comes loose. It can be one millimeter off, but it’s all you need to prevent the connection.”

  Hunter studied his own feet as he walked, watched his breath disperse before him as he exhaled. In spite of their divergent personalities and backgrounds, Hunter recognized similar aspects in the secret they had in common.

  “In my heart, I knew I’d be more comfortable with a male. I’d have an easier time relaxing if I felt … wanted in that way, I guess,” Gabe continued. “But as a Christian, I didn’t consider it an option. So once I realized the female romantic scenario wouldn’t work out, I expected to spend the rest of my life alone. That sounds melodramatic, but it was reality for me. You always have Jesus walking with you as your permanent companion; at the same time, though, you crave that human partnership, someone who will love and accept you for you. But like I said, it didn’t fit my faith, so I never considered getting to know another guy as more than friends. And as lonely as it made me feel, I had come to terms with it.” He glanced over at Hunter, and the hint of a smile formed along Gabe’s mouth. “Until you entered the picture, that is.”

  Hunter nodded at Gabe, who kept pace at Hunter’s right side. Hunter kept his portfolio under his left arm and hugged it closer against his side.

  “So, what about you?” Gabe asked. “Have you ever considered a relationship with another guy?”

  “I never even allowed myself to think of it.” Hunter studied another pedestrian in the distance, who came in and out of view as she passed beneath the lights of a restaurant. “In those seasons where I felt myself drawn to other guys, I knew being drawn to them was different from acting on those inclinations. So when the mental pull toward another guy tried to draw me in, I didn’t allow myself to cross that initial line. I refused to let myself imagine doing anything with him. Any time the thought of a relationship with another guy entered my mind, I’d shut it down immediately. I told myself, ‘No, you’re not that person. That’s not who you are.’”


  “Like a tug-of-war inside your soul.”

  “That’s exactly how it feels. I spent so many years fighting it. To an extent, the fact that I also felt attracted to females—however strong or weak that attraction was—eased the struggle for me and provided coverage. I tried a bunch of heterosexual relationships over the years, not to hide, but to deny the shame of admitting to myself what was askew in my life. I knew how to perform on a date—the conversation, flirting, humor, displays of affection. But crossing over into a long-term relationship and the vulnerabilities that came with it—that’s what tripped me up. Once she’d want to move the relationship into the next phase, my heart would start to distance itself from her, as if I’d sabotage my relationship before I needed to get too honest with her.

  “But even though I never ventured into long-term territory, I had enough short-term relationships to keep myself moving on the treadmill, cycle after cycle. As a result, I managed to hide my secret so well, I didn’t need to consider a same-sex relationship. I’d gotten by, day after day, by playing the game the way everybody expected me to.”

  Hunter stared out at the water, honed in on the lights of a dinner-cruise boat, and listened to the lapping of waves below. He inhaled. The air had grown sharper as the minutes passed.

  “I lied to myself for so long,” continued Hunter, “denying the truth that lurked under the surface, that I convinced myself nothing was wrong. One day, I told myself, I’d be cured; it was a matter of time, that was all. And if that was the case—if I’d be cured—then why consider a same-sex relationship? Why consider the pariah factor, being labeled a misfit and treated like an outcast, if it would all disappear from my life anyway? So I stifled it the best I could.”

  They reached the far end of the boardwalk, where the last restaurant, a small bistro, sat. Turning around, they headed back toward their starting point, where Gabe had parked his car near the seafood restaurant. For a while, neither Hunter nor Gabe spoke. The steady rumble of their footsteps continued along the wooden planks. The fabric of Gabe’s winter coat swished as he moved his arms. Hunter gazed upward, pondered their conversation and considered the individual who walked beside him. As he counted, once again, the years of burdens that had gone unarticulated until tonight, his stomach grew rigid as a wave of anxiety pulsated through him. Overhead, the moon glowed bright; from behind a veil of clouds, the ghostly moon illuminated their edges with electric fire.

  Gabe’s romantic touch didn’t feel the way Hunter had expected, at least not the way he’d imagined it happening beneath the sunlight or on a hot summer night. Tonight, after a ten-minute stroll, both men’s hands felt frigid. Yet Hunter couldn’t mistake the touch of Gabe’s fingers against his own.

  With no one else around, Gabe had taken a quick, fleeting opportunity to stroke his fingers twice along Hunter’s hand. He had kept the action brief enough to where, if anyone witnessed it, they would have assumed Gabe had made random contact, a natural byproduct of two people walking side by side as they conversed.

  But Hunter and Gabe knew better.

  Chancing vulnerability, Hunter peeked up at Gabe, who stared straight ahead but pursed his lips to disguise a grin.

  Hunter’s heart softened.

  Somehow, Gabe’s touch felt right, a perfect fit. At first, it sent Hunter’s belly into a nervous ache and his arms into a quiver; but like a sweet aftertaste, it settled within him in a delightful, welcome way. It rendered in him the desire to spend more time in Gabe’s presence, as if Hunter was supposed to be with him. In that moment, he felt as though he had come home.

  Hunter’s tranquility screeched to a standstill.

  Squinting, he tried to get a better look and told himself it couldn’t be them.

  But sure enough, as they stepped out beneath the exterior lights of an Italian restaurant, Hunter recognized his parents five hundred feet away.

  They weren’t supposed to be there. That’s the whole reason Hunter and Gabe had driven so far from Hudson—to avoid running into anyone they knew.

  Paralyzed from the shock, Hunter went rigid for a few seconds. He flipped through scenarios in his mind, a desperate search for options, as he tried to determine what to do next.

  Gabe halted when he realized Hunter had fallen out of step. Hunter forced himself to resume walking.

  “What happened?” Gabe had a concerned look on his face. “What’s wrong?”

  Careful not to gesture or appear abnormal, Hunter located his voice at last. His first syllable came forth in a croak.

  “Those are my parents over there. Leaving the Italian place.”

  Gabe kept pace as he turned his attention to the couple from the corner of his eye.

  At first, Hunter wondered if he and Gabe might escape the situation without his parents noticing them. That would prove the easiest scenario. As they walked, though, his hopes diminished when he saw his mother squint and lean forward, her hand shielding her eyes from the restaurant’s lights so she could better see the boardwalk in the distance. When she did, she nudged Hunter’s father, and the duo sauntered toward Hunter and Gabe at a casual, yet eager, pace. They had recognized him. His father carried himself with an air of indifference, as if to say, Why wouldn’t we run into you here? The expression on the face of Hunter’s mother, however, exhibited innocent curiosity.

  The couples were now two hundred feet apart. Hunter’s parents closed the distance. His time grew shorter. He had to make a decision.

  “We can’t exactly make a run for it,” Gabe whispered, his eyes focused straight ahead. “Any ideas?”

  “I’ll handle it,” Hunter murmured. “Play it cool and follow my lead.”

  Not that Hunter had a plan. He had no desire to fool anyone. In fact, he would have given anything to drop the façade. At the same time, he knew his parents weren’t ready to hear the truth. For that matter, Hunter himself wasn’t ready to tell them. The purpose of tonight wasn’t to commit to a choice, after all. Its purpose was to appraise how well one option might fit, a first step to discover whether Hunter or Gabe could even consider a second. They needed time while God worked on their hearts and helped them understand how to navigate through their questions.

  Now Hunter’s parents were close enough to see his eyes. Hunter readied his poker face, his defense mechanism. His body stiffened as extra stress settled into his lower back. In his peripheral vision, he caught sight of Gabe and was relieved to find Gabe maintained his steady composure.

  “What a surprise!” his mother called out from a few steps away. “Your father thought it looked like you, but I told him, ‘It couldn’t be. Hunter wouldn’t have come all the way up here!’”

  Hunter’s parents arrived arm in arm. His mother looked like a stereotypical suburban wife, with short blond hair and a figure that indicated she had birthed two children but had kept an admirable balance afterward. Under the lights that lined the boardwalk, Hunter could see his father’s cheeks had already reddened in the outside air.

  “Chilly night to wander around,” said his father. “You here for dinner?”

  “Just grabbed a quick bite to eat,” Hunter said with a dismissive wave.

  “Kinda far north.”

  “Oh, you know how it is when you’re in the mood for seafood. Remember how I always loved that place?” Hunter nodded toward the seafood restaurant. “I’ve had a craving for years, so I finally bit the bullet and went.”

  “We decided to try the Italian place back there,” said Hunter’s mother. “We’d heard wonderful rumors about it—all true, by the way. Where’s Kara?”

  “Traveling for two weeks. Isn’t she always, right?”

  His parents chuckled, well aware of Kara’s career and the schedule that accompanied it.

  “So I’m a bachelor for the weekend, hanging out, living a life of boredom,” Hunter continued.

  His mother turned to Gabe with a smile of greeting. “Who’s this?”

  “Oh, I almost forgot. This is Gabe. He’s a buddy from the office, from m
y old job.” Hunter winced. He wasn’t a liar and, under normal circumstances, would have found it difficult to tell a white lie, much less a blatant one like this. “Gabe meets a lot of people and offered to help me polish my resume.” With that, Hunter remembered the portfolio he held under his arm, which he grabbed and waved, grateful for the implied evidence. Gabe followed suit, waving his own portfolio with a nervous laugh.

  “Hi, Gabe. I’m Cindy, Hunter’s mother.” She reached out and shook Gabe’s hand.

  While Gabe handled himself well, Hunter sensed the deception made him uncomfortable, too. Gabe revealed no outward signals of discomfort, but over the course of tonight’s date, Hunter and Gabe had begun to communicate on a common wavelength.

  “Ed Carlisle,” said Hunter’s father without a smile, which Hunter knew to be a feature of the man’s detached exterior. Nothing personal against Gabe. Hunter also knew people misinterpreted his father’s detachment as displeasure. The man had a shaved head which reflected the boardwalk lights.

  Ed offered a handshake, and though Gabe had large hands, Ed Carlisle’s hand seemed to engulf Gabe’s in his own. The man had gained a few pounds over the years, yet his build contained remnants of a football player from a bygone era. His voice had a gruff edge to it, and he had an unintentional habit of staring down any person to whom he spoke. All of these qualities projected the misleading first impression that Ed Carlisle was an intimidator. Gabe retrieved his hand from Ed’s grip as soon as he could. Gabe offered Hunter’s father a polite half-smile, then immediately shifted his focus to Hunter’s mother, who came across as the more charming of the two.

  “Tough job market out there,” said Hunter’s father.

  “The right position will come through,” his mother chimed in. “You never know who will cross your path and what it might lead to. Right, Gabe?”