Your Call

The eve-yawning sky is orange and mauve, and I’m early — some things never change.

Your call surprised me. Your proposal to meet again after these three long years apart. A rendezvous at my old high school, a place so memory-stained from our time together that while anxiously pacing, awaiting your arrival, I trip over more ghosts of our youth than I can count.

You taught me how to kiss in that copse of trees, there by the fence. Even now I can taste the smoky menthol on your lips. The cheap beer on your breath. My foolish rebel man.

And there, behind the sports shed, with my fingers tracing hopes for our future across your chest, you told me your dream was to become a welder, to give your parents at least one son they could be proud of. It felt good to see you feel good. To see you look so determined to make something of yourself. To be someone. My someone.

Did your brother ever get released from prison? I wish I could have met him…

White-fluff clouds drift by on a pine-scented breeze, and I settle myself upon the old knoll where we used to sit and watch the football games together. You used to strut up to me all cocky and grinning, with a water bottle slipped under your jacket half-filled with your dad’s cheapest vodka. I could never recall a game’s score, but I will never forget the way I fit so seamlessly in your arms or the tantalizing itch of your scruff as you’d nuzzle your face into the curve of my neck. I always pestered you about trying beard butter to add a little softness. You never did. I’m not ashamed to admit I still savor the memory of every itch.

You’re ten minutes late, carrying a picnic basket and with a blanket slumped over your shoulder. I’m not sure whether I’m more surprised that you had kept your word, or by the bright glow on your face as your eyes meet mine. You look healthy—like you meant it on the phone when you assured me you were finally taking care of yourself.

My heart flutters as you near. I’m glad to let it.

“You came…”

“You called.”

We roll your blanket out along the slope of the hill and sit ourselves down. There’s quiet, spare the peals of laughter from the middle school kids playing high school.

“You… you look good. Beautiful. You always did.” Your voice trails off and your cheeks redden. I doubt you meant to speak so freely. Then, nodding towards the kids racing across the field you say, “We used to do that too, didn’t we?”

“What? Pretend we were older?”

You chuckle, shake your head. “Pretend we were different.”

“I suppose we did.”

I lean towards you, wanting your eyes to find mine. You smell of cheap spice and nerves, and when our eyes do finally meet, we both smile. Just smile.

“You look good, too,” I say. “Healthier. Stronger.” I mime you flexing, then nudge you playfully in the shoulder.

You pinch your belly.

“I think the only thing stronger about me after getting sober is my appetite. It’s been a ferocious little fucker these last few months. Meant to quit smoking too, but I needed something to rival my sweet tooth. Oh! Speaking of sweet tooth…” You pull a homemade carrot cake loaf and a bottle from the picnic basket.

I wince, seeing the bottle. Memories.

“It’s just sparkling cider.” There’s a subtle nip to your tone. And hurt.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to —”

“No. No, it’s alright.” You cut us each a slice of cake and pour glasses. “I can’t blame you for being cautious. Not after… everything I put you through. Sometimes I don’t know if I can even trust myself.”

We start on the cake. You eat your whole slice in three bites, then smirk when you catch me watching you.

“You always did enjoy when I had more meat on me.”

I shrug, mouth full. “What? Makes for better snuggling.”

Your raspy chuckle and your come-and-get-me wink as you cut yourself another slice nearly sends me swooning. It’s all I can muster to resist the urge to lean into you.

It’s so easy, talking with you again. Like no time has passed. Like nothing has changed… Even though enough has.

“How’ve you been all this time?” You ask.

“I’ve been well. I actually start university this fall. Got into — ”

“Wait,” you interject. “Let me guess.”

You scrunch your brow, fixing your eyes on me as though you can still somehow read my thoughts. Like when we were together. And from that smirk tugging at the corner of your still too-kissable lips, I know you know.

“You’re finally starting on your Bachelor’s in… Social Work.” You chew your lip. “At that university out east, uh… What’s it called?”

“Central Washington University,” we say at the same time.

You snap your fingers in triumph.

“I knew it! Congratulations, man. Truly. I always knew you were going to do great things. I’m happy for you.”

I blush.

“Thanks. That… that means a lot.”

I don’t need you to be proud of me — I didn’t come here for that — but it’s something indescribable to know that you are.

Even though I’m the one who ended things between us. Not you.

You still care…

The kids from earlier collect their things and start off the field as stars blink into place across the night sky. Sweet birdsong echoes through the school buildings behind us, and a warm wind blows in, rustling your hair. You look younger.

“And what about you?” I ask. “What have you been up to?”

Such a thoughtless question. I realize that as your nostrils flare and your bright eyes darken. Addiction — that’s what you’ve been “up to.” I wish I could to suck my words back into me.

But you answer. Brave and calm.

“I, uh, started working with my dad last month. At his mechanic shop. He’s been showing me the ropes. Real patient. I’m hoping to save up and get into trade school.” You glance at the stars, knees tucked to your chest. “I like the work well enough. Keeps my hands busy. My mind, too.”

“Sounds like things are looking up for you.” I hope I sound sincere. I am.

“They are. They sure are.”

You finish your second slice of cake and wash it down with a hearty gulp of sparkling cider. And as you pull your cup away, I spot a smudge of frosting caught in your beard. Without thinking, I wipe it away but then pull my hand to your cheek, nuzzle your beard into my palm. It’s so soft.

“You…”

“Finally got around to finding a half-decent beard butter…? Yeah.”

You remembered…

“I thought about you every day,” you say in a rush.

My stomach clenches. I… can’t say the same.

“I don’t expect you to have thought about me. It’s okay if you didn’t. But if you have… I don’t know. Maybe do you think there’s a chance that you could forgive me? That you could be willing to give us another try? I know I wasn’t always good to you — and you’ll never know how sorry I am for that. But if you could ever be open to us again… I swear I’m a better man now. I’d do right by you.”

I forget how to breathe.

“You… sweet, foolish rebel man.”

You beam at me.

And I know my answer. I had known it from the moment you called.

“Listen. We’re both doing well right now. We’re… doing things. For ourselves. And I don’t think now is the time to…”

You deflate. And it’s that day from three years ago all over again.

I shouldn’t have come…

But then you surprise me, saying, “Thank you. For coming. For letting me see you again.” I look into your eyes, so big and brown and beautiful. And I truly am sorry. “I can’t imagine that any of this has been easy for you. And I understand that you probably still hate me and — ”

“I never hated you. Never.”

There’s caution in your eyes. You don’t believe me.

“We just weren’t right for each other. I know that now. You needed help. And I didn’t know how to help you. My biggest hurdle at the time was acing my Spanish test. You… you used to cry in your sleep. Do you remember that?”

Tension lines your jaw. “Did I?”

“Our second Halloween together… You picked me up after school and drove us to your parents’ place. I didn’t realize you had been drinking until I saw you fumbling with the key in the front door. We settled on your bed for some movie, then a six-pack later,” I tap my temple, “You were gone — passed out with your arms still wrapped around me. I wiggled around to look at you, hoping you’d look…peaceful.”

I sigh.

“But you weren’t. There was a tear running down your cheek and I… I hated that I didn’t know how to be better for you.”

You won’t look at me. But for some reason I can’t stop.

“I wanted so badly to make you happy — you were never happy… And then your mom stormed in and spotted the empty beer cans, and she screamed and screamed until you bolted up and started screaming right back. I could see in your eyes how much you hated yourself. And it felt like it was somehow my fault. Like I wasn’t loving you enough. I–I was never enough. And I kept making excuses for you, thinking that if I just gave you a little more time, things would work themselves out. But they never did. Nothing really helped…” I fidget with my hands in my lap. “All I ever wanted was to help.”

You throw your arms around me and we cry together. Your warmth all around me is the most stinging, aching comfort. I don’t want it to end.

“You were just a kid. There’s nothing you could have done other than exactly what you did. You got out. I needed you to get out. And I…” You’re shame made manifest, staring straight at me. “I’m sorry. For everything. I’m so, so sorry.”

“We were both kids.”

“Nineteen — legally not a kid.”

I scoff at that and nuzzle my face into your chest.

“I really did love you. I just didn’t know how to love you enough to make you love yourself.”

“You couldn’t have… I’m the only one who can love me enough to never go back to what I was.”

Why do you look so afraid saying that?

It’s quiet again. Just breath and wind.

“Can you lay with me?” you ask. “Just for a while?”

“Of course.” You move the picnic basket and pat the empty space it left for me to fill. We lay back together, my head at home on your chest. “I missed this.”

“Me, too.”

Time trickles by.

“Thank you,” I whisper

“For what?”

“You called.”

“I meant to sooner.”

“I know.”

We spend a lifetime together on the blanket, embracing one another under a thousand smiling stars. Just you. Just me. Happy. But then life calls, and it’s time.

“Can I see you again?”

I take a breath then touch your cheek, give you one last kiss. “Maybe someday. Is that okay?”

You pull me in tight, smiling that sad, beautiful smile. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll answer.”