I tried to put it in different terms. "You didn't wake up one morning and realize you were Caucasian. Did you?
"No, of course not. I've always known the colour of my skin."
"Exactly. You always knew you were white. But over time, you grew to understand what it meant to be white, didn't you?"
He nodded.
"Being gay is a lot like that. You know what you are. It just takes time to give it a name, and to learn what it means."
Our gazes were fixed on each other's faces. Bryce indeed had great one; lines creased in all the right places, warm, intelligent eyes. Being that close to someone, so much prettier than you, can do a number on your self-esteem. Then I reminded myself that this beautiful statue of a man, wanted me, and all my less-than-perfectness.
"Didn't you experience something similar when you realized you liked both guys and girls?" I asked him.
He shook his head. "Not really, no. For me, it was different. It was a sudden epiphany. Like a lightbulb going on in my head. Or, more accurately, my groin."
We both laughed at that.
"It was strange, actually," he went on. "I was at a party, making out with Patty Mills. She kissed like my mouth was on fire, and she was trying to put it out with her saliva."
"Gross."
"It was a boner killer, for sure. I was very close to giving up, but then John Stamos popped into my mind, and I was suddenly very aroused again."
That made me laugh heartedly. The sound began as a low rumble in my chest, then bubbled up, spilling over my lips like a wave of water. "John Stamos?"
He smirked, "It was the late nineties. Everybody liked Uncle Jesse."
"I thought you didn't watch TV?"
"I don't anymore, but I was a kid once too. Television was my babysitter."
"That must have been hard."
"Being babysat by the TV?" He was deliberately obtuse, so I rolled my eyes at him. He grinned knowingly. "It was confusing, for sure. Until that point, I had never considered I was attracted to men."
"Hadn't you had some inkling?"
"Looking back on it, yes. I'd always been able to recognize male beauty. I would see a guy and think, 'He's very handsome' or 'I wish I had his abs,' but it had never felt sexual before."
"I'm starting to think I had the easier route. It was never confusing for me."
"You never tried to deny it?"
"Sure, I did. I denied it, tried to fight against it, hoped it would change or go away. But I was never confused. I knew what I felt. I just didn't always like that I felt it."
"What changed?"
"I got very tired of being in the closet. Hiding who you are and what you're thinking and feeling twenty-four-hours a day is exhausting."
He smiled at me, then wrapped his hand around my arm, pulled me toward him, and kissed me. Afterwards, he rose from the log and began to lead me again.
The next trek was longer, by far, and I got the feeling I was slowing him down, but I loafed along. It occurred to me that we hadn't seen a lot of wildlife. That surprised me. Except for birdsong and plenty of deer tracks along the trail, the forest seemed almost abandoned.
We walked along the overgrown path, the tall grass and weeds brushing our legs. The scent of rotting logs and pulp floated in the air around us and caused me to sniffle and sneeze. The trail flattened out toward the bottom, and then we turned right.
I heard the water before I saw it. The deciduous trees finally gave way to reveal the river junction. The water dazzled against the afternoon sun, bouncing perfect crystals of light off the water.
"It's gorgeous."
"I'm shocked you've never been here before," he said, planting himself on a patch of short grass. "During the school months, the teenagers use this place as party central. On quiet nights, I can hear them at the house."
I sat next to him. "This may come as a shock to you, but I didn't attend many parties when I was that age. I wasn't invited."
He pulled me back so that we could lay together, looking up at the blue sky.
"I didn't attend many parties either. I was always the one throwing them." He kissed me on the ear. "I would have invited you to my parties, had we been at school at the same time." He leaned into me; I could smell the fragrance of him.
I rolled my eyes. "No, you wouldn't have. Even if you did, I wouldn't have gone."
"Why not?" he seemed wounded by my admission, even though it was a hypothetical invitation.
"I wouldn't have trusted the invitation to be genuine. When kids would talk to me, they usually had ulterior motives. They'd want me to help them with their homework, or they'd want me to do it for them completely. Sometimes, they would talk to me, just to distract me. Keep me busy, while someone did something heinous to my locker or slapped a cruel sign to my back." There was no anger or sadness in my voice. It was clinical. As though I were reciting random facts. "I learned early not to trust people."
He raised himself on one elbow and looked at me intently. "That's a shitty lesson for a kid to have to learn."
"I suppose so, but it did prepare me for the real world. It's been my experience that most people have their agendas."
"What's your agenda?"
My heart beat a little faster with this question. "In my career, or life in general?"
"Is there a difference?" He countered.
I pressed my lips together. "For some people, but not for me."
"What do you want from life?" he rephrased.
"I want what most people want, I guess. Job security, financial stability, a roof over my head, good health, friends --"
"Family?"
"My friends are my family. Don't get me wrong; I love Lauren. I even love my dad despite his faults. They are family, but they're not my family. I've never felt comfortable with them, or like I could truly be myself around them. To me, unconditional love is what makes a family. With my closest friends, I know I have that. I've never felt like I had that with my dad or Lauren."
"I meant, do you want a family of your own."
"You mean – like – a husband and kids?"
He nodded.
"A husband, maybe someday. Growing up, I never even considered it. For so long, it wasn't a real possibility – laws being what they were. Now, if the right person came along, and he also wanted it, I think I would enjoy marriage. I'm not holding my breath, though."
"And kids?"
"No. They're not for me."
"You don't like kids?" He seemed shocked and disappointed like I had told him there was no Santa Claus.
"No, I do. A few of my friends have children, and I enjoy being around them. But I'm almost forty. I've gotten used to things being a certain way. I like my life and my freedom. Kids would be difficult for me to adjust to." I took a pause. "That makes me sound selfish, doesn't it?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. Too often, people end up with kids they didn't plan on or weren't ready for, and that breeds resentment. It's better, to be honest with yourself about who you are and what you want."
"What do you want?"