by TJ Klune
He grins, and it’s the Otter grin. “Why? Why do I think that? Why did I come crawling back, practically begging for forgiveness? I thought you were smarter than that. I thought you knew.”
“Say it!” I cry at him.
He leans in and kisses me, long and deep. I press back, hard and blind. When he pulls away, it’s only slightly, and his lips are still touching mine. I feel them move when he speaks.
“Oh, Bear. It’s always been you. It will always be you. I love you, and that’s why it will always be enough.”
8.
Where Bear Stares
into the Sun
I KNOW you’re probably wondering if I said anything back to him. I didn’t, but before you get all angry and are all, like, Oh my God, Bear, but he was so sweet and cute and vulnerable, just know that I have my reasons. The clouds might have been gone, and the ocean might have gone back to wherever it came from, but I knew they were still there, somewhere. Trying to reconcile with this complete change that I’ve been going through has been more taxing that I’d first thought. For days now, I’ve wanted nothing more than to sleep either in my bed alone or with him. Even when it’s with him, I’m usually asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. My body is lethargic and my thoughts muddled, but it’s not so very bad. Hearing him say what he said has brought new understanding to who I am and who I want to be. If someone can care about me that deeply, despite all my faults, despite all my refutations, despite all my everythings, then that makes all the storms and all the oceans worth it. I just hope that I can remember this. It’s a thought I fall asleep to, and it’s there when I wake. It’s my mantra, and I repeat it so I know that I know he is real.
But do I love him? I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always loved Otter, but not in the way that we’re talking about now. If I do love-love him (God, how lame does that sound?), it’s in a way that I’ve never done before. I think often about how I felt about Anna. I try to compare the feelings, but it’s just not possible. There are so many differences between the two (aside from the fact that one has a penis) that it’s like I can never feel the same for Anna as I do for Otter. But I know I could never feel for Otter what Anna and I had. I think back to what Ty said, on that day that we went to Portland to pick up Creed. It’s only been weeks, but it seems like years. He said that he thought it was like your stomach was on fire, but in a good way. He said it’s like you could not go on another day without the person. I had told him I thought it was when all the stupid love songs on the radio started making sense. The only reason I think we’re both right is because his makes sense, but I found myself singing along to a Celine Dion song on the radio.
And I got it.
So what does it all mean? I wish I knew. I still can’t seem to shake the dark senseless jealousy I felt when he was talking about Jonah. I know Otter is here with me now, and he says he’s not going anywhere, but I can’t help feeling like his past is not as over as I’d like it to be. He said it perfectly when he said you can’t just wipe away your history like that, and whether I like it or not, Jonah is a part of Otter. Maybe not a current part but there nonetheless. Otter hasn’t given me a reason to doubt him since we started whatever it is we’re doing. I try to concentrate on that. Sometimes, though, I feel the waves lapping at my feet and hear the rumble of a storm, just off in the distance. It never comes closer, but it’s always there. I am strangely exhilarated by this whole thing. It feels dangerous and secret and wrong but oh so good. It’s like doing something bad but knowing you won’t get caught. It’s like winning for no reason but to win.
It’s like swimming in the ocean with lightning flashing overhead.
Ty survived his overnight with flying colors, much to my bemusement. Otter and I picked him up the next day, and Mrs. Herrera told me he was a perfect gentleman, welcome back at their house anytime. She told me that she and her husband were taking Alex on a camping trip as soon as school was out and wanted to invite Ty along. I told her I would think about it. What I was really thinking was that there was no way in hell I would let anyone take him out of town. Both the Kid and Otter chided me the entire way home as my thoughts were evidently splayed across my face, a disdained scowl that I was sure I had smothered.
“Am I really being that unreasonable?” I complained to Otter that night on the phone after Ty had gone to bed. “I think I’m doing pretty good here.”
He laughed into the phone. “I think you both need to take baby steps,” he told me. “I’m sure that this is just as hard on him as it is on you.”
I wish I could have believed him, but the Kid seemed to be taking leaps and bounds. In those few short days following his foray into normalcy, Ty seemed to realize everything he had been missing. He wasn’t clinging like he used to and kept hounding me to let him go on this damn camping trip. I told him that we would see when it got closer, and he would grin happily and then bring it up again an hour later. It’s selfish of me to not just say yes, I know, but I can’t help but feel that we are being pulled in opposite directions, him with his burgeoning freedom and me with my newfound appreciation for anything and everything Otter. I wonder often now if most parents go through this, watching their charges discover what life has to offer and not being able to stop it. I’m not his dad, but I’m the closest thing he’s got so I think my feelings are justified; at least, this is what I tell myself when I lay awake after all have fallen asleep. He and I both know all too well that this world has teeth and will attack when it seems the most docile.
So there we went: Ty finding himself for the first time in three years, me finding myself for the first time in my life. Those few days we had left before Creed came home were the best and worst of my life. I relished in having Otter all to myself and not having to answer questions. I cringed as I saw Ty skip off to school into throngs of waiting friends. I groaned as Otter found this one place on the inside of my thigh that made me forget my name. I sighed as I got to work and saw that Anna did not come in until after I had left. I worried as Creed’s return got closer and closer and nothing would be the same unless I was willing to admit to something that I had been fighting since that night. Over these past days I’ve had shuddering orgasms, deep stretches of cavernous despair, and lengths of peace like I’ve never known. Experiencing so much so fast is enough to drive a person over the edge.
“So what time will you be back?” I ask Creed now as I watch Otter and Ty play chess at our house. Otter has told me that he’s pretty good, but from what I have seen, the vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training is apparently also Bobby Fischer in disguise. I don’t know how he learned; I’ve never picked up a chess piece in my life. I watch as he breaks a five-minute stretch of silence by moving a castle thing up a square thing, and Otter groans.
“Probably early,” Creed says in my ear. “I want to get back and never look at vodka ever again. It’s the devil’s drink.”
“What are you doing right now?”
“Shots of vodka. Did you know they make raspberry-flavored?”
I snort.
“Anyways,” he says, “I promise not to go anywhere until I have to go back to school. We can hang out all you want.”
“Great,” I say, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. “That sounds… great.”
Creed laughs. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t mean that? What’s been going on since I’ve been gone?”
“Nothing,” I tell him. “Same old, same old. You know how Seafare is.”
“Uh-huh,” he says. “Seriously, Papa Bear. You okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say, sweat glistening on my brow. “Never better.”
“If you say so.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Is Otter there?”
“Uh, yeah. Did you want to talk to him? He’s currently losing to a nine-year-old at chess.” Otter shoots me an evil look.
“Nah,” Creed says. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”
“Cool. Have fun with your vodka.”
“Hey,” he says.
He hesitates, and I don’t want to know what’s going through his head. “Never mind. We can talk when I get back. Later, dude.” He sounds funny. I sweat some more.
“Bye,” I say, making up my mind to tell him everything, but then he’s gone.
I look down at my watch as I set down my phone. “Ty, it’s time for bed.”
He sighs and pushes back from the table. “That’s fine. Otter was getting decimated. I was going to win in the next four moves.”
“I was not getting decimated,” Otter says indignantly. Ty reaches up to the chess set and shows him the next four moves. Otter rolls his eyes. “Is there anything you’re not good at?” he asks the Kid.
Ty shrugs. “Not that I’ve seen. I’m sure there’s something.”
I laugh quietly as Otter scowls down at the table. I’m about to tell the Kid to get his butt in gear when his face scrunches up like it was before he made a move, like it does when he’s thinking heavy things. I groan inwardly, not really up to answering Ty’s questions about why people believe aliens make crop circles when it’s obviously bored farmers or how to solve world hunger the vegan way. I shake my head and wait. Otter looks at him and then back at me and then sits back in his chair. He knows.
“Derrick?” the Kid finally says.
“Yes, Ty?” I say.
“Can I ask you a question?”
I can’t help but smile. “You always do,” I say, teasing him.
“You have to promise not to get mad,” he tells me, which is a first. The Kid has never prefaced any question like that before. Thoughts run through my head, trying to pick out every possible scenario in which he thinks I would be angry with him. Nothing comes to mind, and I have no choice but to promise. He says nothing for a while, as if gauging the truthfulness of my words. He glances casually at Otter and then back at me, and right when he opens his mouth and before he speaks, I know what’s going to come out, what he’s going to say, and I only have seconds to choose whether to lie or to be honest to one of the only people who thinks what I say matters.
“Is Otter your boyfriend?” he asks.
“What?” I say, stalling for time. Otter suddenly sits up very straight in his chair. His eyes go wide, and he cocks his head at the Kid, as if trying to figure out if he’d really heard what Ty had just said. “What?”
“Is Otter your boyfriend?” the Kid repeats.
The blood rushes from my face as I say, “Why do you ask that?” The guilt I feel at not being able to answer his question right then is easily outweighed by the mounting sense of horror I feel. But all of that is eclipsed by the word boyfriend. I’ve never even thought of it like that. Is that what Otter is to me? My… boyfriend? Sure, Otter is someone I care about (Care about? the voice asks. Oh, Bear), but I’d never really put that association with what we have. I don’t even know what we have. Sure he does things to me that make my head spin, and I sing along with Celine Dion, but that doesn’t make him my… make me his… you know. I look to Otter for help, but he’s still staring at the Kid, his mouth now hanging open on its hinge.
“It’s just something I’ve been thinking about the last few days,” Ty said. “I didn’t know if I should ask, but then I figured it’s always better to ask something than to just wonder.” He unscrunches his face and smiles cautiously at me. “Is that okay?”
I don’t know what to say.
I should reassure him that of course it’s okay to ask questions. I should tell him that he can always come to me when he has something on his mind. All these words and more form in my mind but derail and die on their way to my mouth. I think absurdly for a moment about how he hadn’t asked me if I was gay like when he’d asked if Otter was. He’d not seen to label me in that regard but to ask, in his own way, if Otter was mine and I was his. This races and dances around my skull, and I think again on how I wished I’d thought of what Otter was to me.
Then why can’t you answer him? it asks. Why are you sitting there silent like it’s all going to go away if you ignore it? It you’re so strangely excited at the thought of him belonging to you, then why can’t you answer the fucking question? He’s nine years old! He’s nine years old and has the guts to ask the things that you can never bring yourself to think of in the first place.
“It’s okay,” I tell the Kid quietly, and he looks instantly relieved. He hazards a glance back at Otter, who has now focused his attention on me, a look of wonder and naked adoration upon his face. If only he could see how very close the storm has gotten.
“Ty,” Otter says, tearing his gaze from me to concentrate on the Kid. “Bear and I haven’t really… talked about what we are. This is something that is very new for the both of us.”
“Is that why he and Anna broke up?” the Kid asks him.
Otter shakes his head. “It wasn’t just that. There was a lot of grown-up stuff going on between them, stuff that had nothing to do with you or me. Sometimes that happens to people.”
“I know that,” the Kid says smartly. “Some people are just not meant to be together. But that doesn’t mean you still can’t love them.”
Otter laughs shakily. “That’s true. And Bear and Anna love each other very much, and we love you very much.” He grins quietly. “But hell, Kid. You caught me off guard with that one.”
The Kid looks down at his hands. “Does that mean you love Bear too?”
“Yes,” Otter says without hesitation. “It means I love Bear.”
“So then he’s your boyfriend.”
“Ty, he told you we haven’t talked about that yet,” I say, harsher than I mean to. “This is something for me and Otter to figure out.”
Ty doesn’t catch on and doesn’t let it drop. “But, Bear,” he tells me, “If Otter loves you and you love him, then why don’t you call him your boyfriend?” His eyes narrow. “You do love Otter, don’t you?”
“I- I- I-,” I say, finding out how great I am at stuttering.
Otter comes to my rescue yet again: “Like I said, Kid: we’re still trying to figure things out. This is all very new for Papa Bear, and we’ve got to let him think things through for himself.”
Ty shakes his head and looks at Otter sadly. “I hope you know,” he tells him, “that just because he can’t say it, doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel it. He’s always been like that and whatever he needs to work out, I hope that you can let him.” I want to rush over to the Kid and scoop him in my arms. I want to bury him in everything I can give because he keeps finding ways to show me he knows me better than I know myself.
“I do know,” Otter says, patting Ty’s hands. “And I haven’t forgotten my promise to you. But I think you know that.”
Ty nods and gets up from the table and walks around to Otter and lays his head on his shoulder. Otter wraps his big arms around him and pulls him in tight and kisses his head. From where I stand, I can hear the Kid whispering to Otter. He says, “Thank you for taking care of Bear. He’s needed it for a very long time.” He lets go of Otter and turns to face me, walking slowly in my direction.
“I don’t care who you are,” he tells me, his voice clear and strong. “I don’t care if you love differently than everyone else. It doesn’t matter because you’re still my brother.” He takes my hand, and I stare down at this little Kid, this person who is wiser than I could ever hope to be. I squeeze his hand hard, and he squeezes mine back, and I know he knows all I can’t say. He beckons me down with a finger, and I lean forward, and he whispers in my ear: “I’m glad Otter came back. I’m glad you were able to find him again. But if it’s okay with you, I’m still going to like girls.” With that, he leaves the kitchen, humming quietly to himself.
I think I’ve told you how he is one of the few people in the world that can leave me speechless. But have you ever had all your synapses fire at once and your mind is a literal blank slate? It’s not as if you can’t speak, because generally, in synaptic-firing situations, a billion things run through your head,
and you just can’t pick which one to say. I’m talking about having no singular thought, no retort, rebuttal, negation, nothing that goes through your mind. It’s almost blissful not having anything to say.
Just pure white bliss.
“YOU okay?” Otter asks me. He’s just come back from saying good night to the Kid and has found me in the same place I’ve been standing since Ty started asking his questions. I haven’t been able to move and am still in the process of trying to jump-start my brain into functioning again. All I can do is nod.
Otter smiles at me and steps in front of me, rubbing my arms at my side. “One of these days I am going to figure out how the hell the Kid got so smart,” he tells me, laughter in his voice. “He doesn’t miss a single thing.”
“Let me know when you figure it out,” I say weakly, finally finding my voice. My brain is sluggish, but it has turned over and finally starts to catch. I’m able to take a deep breath, but the reboot has left me unable to process anything.
“I don’t think we’ll ever know,” Otter says, kissing my forehead. “But I guess that’s okay too. He’s going to be one of those people that says one thing and will instantly have a million followers.” He laughs again. “I know I’m already one of them.”
I roll my eyes. “What? Like the Gospel According To The Kid? He’ll be able to tell you whatever it is you never knew you were thinking about?”
Otter arches his eyebrow. “You never thought about it?” he chides. “Any of it?”
I scowl at him. “Stop it. You know what I mean. How the hell did he pick up on any of this? We’ve been careful, for Christ’s sake.” My eyes narrow as I glare up at him. “Did you tell him anything?”
“Oh, come on,” he scoffs. “Do you really think I would do something like that?”
“No,” I say grudgingly. “But it can’t be that blatantly obvious, can it? He’s just really fucking perceptive or something.”
