Still holding my hand, he led me down a narrow dirt path that cut through a thicket of wild roses. The rosebushes were as high as my shoulders, with simple pink flowers. Each blossom had five petals spread wide to the sun, like the open palm of a tiny hand. I took one between my fingers and sniffed. The fragrance was sweet and robust.
"You're going to love this," he said, pulling me forward, down the path. "I spent whole days out here when I was a kid. It was my special place."
I had one of those growing up too. I think everyone does. In a community as small as Rivers Bluff, privacy was hard to come by. One couldn't be guaranteed it, even in the depths of the forest. Often your 'special place' was also special to several others. Sometimes you would seek refuge, only to discover the space already taken.
"There's a patch of wild raspberries that grow over there," Bryce pointed to the left. "They won't be ready for picking until July, at least. August is better. Last year, they were as big as cherries."
"I love fresh raspberries."
"When I was a boy, I would come home with a giant basket full of them. My mom makes the best raspberry jam."
He guided me deeper into the forest and then under the branches of several aspens. When I thought we were going to hit a wall of bushes, he pushed through, veered to the right and then took me down a steep incline.
Space opened, and I felt the change in temperature immediately. The trees were taller here and created a thick canopy above us. I could hear nesting birds, cooing back and forth to each other. The ground was cool. Moist from the dew and rain that was never able to dry, because of the full awning of trees that blocked the sun's rays.
A naturally formed trail had been carved into the earth, leading down the side of a cliff. Likely created over time, by animals using this route as a passage to their water supply.
I could guess that, during the rainier seasons, this trail would be a slippery, muddy place. Not even the animals would chance to descend it then. Luckily, the rain we had received so far that season had been insignificant. Thus, the ground, while damp, was not dangerous.
"I call this place, the fairy steps," he said, and I could see why.
The way down was distinctly separated into levels like a staircase. Sometimes by large rocks. Sometimes by exposed roots from the giant trees above us. Both designed by Mother Nature, herself. It looked like something described in the pages of a storybook — a land where fairies and nymphs governed the forest with unlimited authority.
"Where does it led?" I asked him.
"Down to where the two rivers meet."
River Bluff was the rendezvous point of two separate rivers. The Lobstick River and the Pembina. When the people of River Bluff spoke about 'the river,' you never knew to which they were referring. The Lobstick was too narrow and shallow for swimming or boating. So, most people considered the Pembina to be the primary. But boating and swimming had a way of scaring away the pike and trout. So, if you were a fisherman, the Lobstick was your river of choice.
"My dad introduced me to this place when I was a kid. He used to take Oliver and me fishing on summer weekends. And this is the route we'd take to get there."
It occurred to me then that, in the brief time we'd known each other, I hadn't inquired much about his youth or his family. Most of our conversation had been around me and mine, and I felt a sting of guilt for not showing an interest earlier.
"What is your dad like?"
"A giant teddy bear."
"That explains why you're so cute."
He chuckled at my lameness. "My dad is a giving, caring person," he continued. "Very sensitive, but without being delicate. You know what I mean?"
I nodded, pretty sure that I understood.
"He was always the fun parent. Letting us do things we shouldn't be doing. Taking us places we shouldn't be going. Giving us things, we had no business getting."
"And your mom?"
"Mom was more disciplined, more responsible -- still is. Dad is the one who's more likely to get you into trouble. Mom is the person you go to for advice on how to get out of said trouble."
I smiled. "It sounds like you had a good upbringing."
"I did. They're both good people and great parents."
"Your family certainly sounds less dysfunctional than mine."
"I wouldn't say that. We're dysfunctional in different ways. That's all."
"Oh?" I probed. "You and Oliver seem so well adjusted and close."
"Oh yeah. Oliver and I are tight, sure, but we're so close in age that we fight and compete over everything. If one of us has something, the other must have it too. If one of us does something, the other has to do it even better. It doesn't matter what it is; sports, girls, or even our parents’ attention."
"You had to fight for your parents’ attention?"
"I wouldn't say we had to, but we did. Every kid wants to be the favourite child."
"Do your parents have a favourite?"
"Sure," he said it like it was common sense. "Every parent does. Whether they act on it or not is a different story."
I wasn't sure if I ultimately agreed.
"Don't get me wrong," he continued. "Most parents love their children equally, but they don't always like their children equally. One, they may have more in common with. One may remind them more of themselves when they were young. Or, one may argue with them more often. It's unreasonable to think parents' feelings about their children, aren't influenced by these things."
"Who's favourite were you?"
"Neither," he shrugged. "They both preferred Oliver."
Even having never met his parents, or seen them interact, I wasn't entirely convinced. It was hard for me to imagine Bryce's charm not working on anyone, even his parents.
"My mom and Oliver are like twins. Both very level-headed, responsible and dependable. They see eye to eye about everything."
"And your dad?"
"He and I are a lot alike, but that isn't always a good thing either. I had a way of getting into trouble and causing them both a lot of stress."
"Does it bother you that they prefer Oliver?"
"Do you care about that kind of thing, once you're grown? I don't think about it, I guess." He smiled the way one does when they no longer want to discuss a particular subject.
At the bottom of the hill, we stopped to take a short break, using a fallen tree trunk as a makeshift bench. Bryce revealed two bottles of water from a bag he had slung over his shoulder and passed one to me. I drank deep, surprised by how tired I was, considering we hadn't been walking all that long.
"When did you know you were gay?" he asked suddenly.
The question took me off guard. I hadn't been expecting it. By instinct, a plethora of clever responses flicked through my brain. But I chose to answer with honesty over wit. "I don't remember ever not knowing. It wasn't like an epiphany I had one day. Even before I knew what gay was, I knew I was different. Being gay was something that I naturally and gradually understood about myself. Like gender or race."
He looked at me speculatively, rubbing his hand over his chin as if he had a beard. "I don't know if I understand."