Ah, Wilderness

LaVieEnRose

Justin was cross-legged in the passenger seat of the 'vette, concentrating on the map open over his lap like he'd never fucking heard of GPS. “You're going to go left up here,” he said.

All right. Quick question, though. Where the fuck are we going?

I told you, it's a surprise. Do you not know what this sign means? I can fingerspell it for you.

I flicked him on the shoulder—I don't knock his head around anymore, because the slightest fucking nudge will send him into a migraine nowadays—and he laughed. His laugh has changed some over the years, lacks restraint and self-consciousness now, and it's mesmerizing.

Does it count as you taking me somewhere if I'm the one driving? I said.

Well, that's the hazard of only one of us having a valid driver's license. Left again.

He'd woken me up that morning with his ugly-ass duffel bag already packed and told me it was time for me to get a belated birthday present. We'd gone down to the garage where the Corvette lived and I'd been driving ever since. We were on some backwoods road in upstate New York, an hour and change outside the city. There were trees on either side of us as far as the eye could see, and Justin had already worked his way through most of a bag of gummi worms and half a pack of travel tissues.

If this is some fucking fairy gathering... I said.

This is a present for you, remember? You'll like it.

I like the city, too. And your face leaks less there.

Turn here.

A couple more turns and I pulled into a tiny, empty campground. I looked at Justin, thinking this must be a mistake, but he grinned at me and got out of the car.

Camping, I said.

He shrugged.

You hate camping! I said.

I don't hate camping.

I counted off items on the fingers of my left hand. You hate the outdoors. You hate being dirty. You hate bugs. I don't know how you feel about peeing oudoors, but I'm going to guess it's not your favorite.

He laughed. “All of that is true for you too, and yet you inexplicably love camping. And we've never done it.”

No, we haven't, because you—bless you. Exactly. You are allergic to everything that grows, crawls, bites, and stings.

I took a Benadryl.

Seems to be doing a bang-up job.

He spread his arms out wide. “It's a present! I love you! You like camping, I brought you camping! Christ, shut the fuck up about something for once in your miserable life!”

It's so hard to keep my fucking composure when this kid gets bossy. Did you even pack a tent? Have you heard of tents?

It's in the trunk, asshole.

Can I fuck you in it?

If you can set it up. You may have mentioned I'm not the outdoorsy type.

Oh, I can fucking set it up, I said, and I grabbed him and grinned.

He took me camping. What the fuck are you supposed to do with this, huh?

**

Justin was, definitely, not the ourdoorsy type, but he looked kind of hot in his hiking boots and insulated vest he'd packed for the occasion, even though it was pushing ninety damn degrees out here. He was holding a stake for me to drive when his hand started twitching and I paused, hammer at the ready. Do you want me to take off a finger? Use your left hand.

He switched, tucking his right hand protectively against his chest in that way that really shouldn't make me feel things. “So why do you like camping anyway?” he said. “It seems like the kind of thing people with functional fathers like, so that'd rule us out.”

How did you even find out about this place? I signed one-handed as I hammered, instead of answering.

“Molly. Came here with some guy.”

And he didn't murder her?

“I was disappointed too. Hang on,” he said, then sneezed so hard he almost fell over. I tried not to laugh, and he pointed at me. Shut up.

Didn't say a word, promise. And I'm done hammering this anyway. You want to collect some firewood while I finish setting this up?

So rugged. He kissed me. Okay.

By the time I had the tent set up, Justin had gathered a decent amount of sticks, and we were both hot and dirty and batting gnats away from our face. I gave the tent an appreciative once-over, feeling primal in a way I didn't quite mind. Look at me, fuckin' providing.

I looked at Justin and his eyes starting to swell and his hair curling at his neck with sweat. Like a fucking Renaissance painting. I cleared my throat and looked away.

“What?” he said.

Nothing. I wanted to get him clean, out of the air, in that very urgent sort of way that makes me want to run for the fucking hills, even after all these years. Want to go swimming?

I didn't pack swimsuits.

I don't see anyone around.

The lake was cold as hell, even in July, and it took me a minute to catch my breath after I jumped off the dock. Justin stood buck-ass naked at the end, lowering one foot into the water. What if there are leeches or something?

I brought my hands up above the water, treading water with my legs. You really aren't the outdoorsy type, are you?

I went straight from Catholic school to your loft, what do you think? He swiped his foot through the water and shivered.

I grabbed his ankle and gave him a tug.

He caught himself. “Don't,” he said, that kind of pseudo-stern where he's trying not smile, and God, is there anything in the world less convincing? I grabbed him around the legs and pulled him into the water. He came up, sputtering, and slapped at me while I eased his legs around my waist. “Oh my God, it's fucking freezing, you fucking jerk!”

I grinned.

“I hate you. I hate you so much.” He took a deep breath, adjusting, and settled down, wrapping his arms loosely around my neck. He sighed just a little, like he didn't know he was doing it, and I listened to the water stilling around us.

“How are your eyes?” I asked him.

He watched my lips. “How are...something.”

I took one hand off his back and touched next to his eye.

“Oh.” He readjusted his legs around me. “Good.” He scrunched his nose up and rubbed it against the back of my hand.

“Wow, thank you,” I said.

“Yeah, any time.”

He backed us up against the dock and I kissed him for a long time, the sun lighting up gold in his hair, the water warmer and warmer by the minute.

**

Dare me to eat that? Justin said, pointing at some kind of berry.

No. Stop telling me to dare you to eat things.

I can't believe you got me to hike, he said.

Neither can I. Doing okay?

He nodded. Nowadays Justin is always in pain, has been since that last concussion. He has drugs for when it gets bad—not narcotics, but close to it—but most of the time it's at a low level he can live around, and he doesn't like to talk about it even when it's bad. I think it makes him feel worse to focus on it.

You wouldn't think it to look at him. That whole 'look at this brave sick person' thing makes us both equally nauseous, but it's not him trying to prove anything or deny something, he just...does what he needs to do. He's functional.

Christ. Functional. It's a word that had been coming to me lately, when he picked up my dry cleaning and I picked up his prescriptions, when we cut vegetables side by side or brushed our teeth at one mirror, because...I mean look, obviously the probability of me ever being in any sort of relationship was an asymptote creeping as close it possibly could to zero, but if you'd asked me, however the fuck many years ago, to try to imagine it, if you'd said hey, Brian, I'm from the fucking future and I can somehow guarantee that you will find yourself waking up next to one guy every morning and not wanting to blow your brains out...look, if you'd somehow convinced me to believe that shit and asked me to describe what I thought that relationship would be like, I think I would have been pretty on the mark for quite a bit of things about this little thing me and Justin have going.

The sex, that would be a given. If you'd have gotten me to wrap my head around cuffing myself, I hope I'd have the common sense to figure that the sex would be goddamn interstellar. The fights, sure. The laughter, if I'd been uncynical enough to really think about it, yeah, I would have reasoned I'd be with someone who makes me laugh, even though, or maybe because, not all that many people do, though I think I'm getting easier in my old age. I think I would have imagined I'd be with someone like Justin, too, if you'd asked me to pick someone out of the ether, and I'm not talking physically here, I just mean a creative type, a younger guy, a brat, a genius, someone to keep me alive.

So all of that I think I actually would have sussed out—I do have an ounce more self-awareness than it says on the tin, for better or for worse—but I'm not sure I ever would have imagined the goddamn functionality of the thing. The fact that it's not just sex and fights and laughter, that there's a steadiness, a fucking drumbeat keeping time to the whole mess...it doesn't sound like me, and let's not give him too much credit because on his own it doesn't sound much like Justin either. This is something we created from nothing, some kind of sustainable relationship we made up with no role models, fucking sprang it from our collective mind like Athena out of Zeus. And God knows I can do a lot of bellyaching about how what Justin and I have is a ridiculous drag through some traumatic goddamn mud, is torture and heartbreak and goddamn Sisyphean, so it's probably fucking significant that I'm also the one telling you that every single minute of my life is easier with Justin than without Justin and God have mercy on the boy, every part of his is easier with me than without me...when he is sick, when I am a miserable bastard, that is not nothing.

He rested his hand on my arm as we kept moving uphill. “I still can't believe you like hiking. This is a very new, butch Brian.”

I'm surprised you even knew I liked camping.

Michael mentioned it once and I tucked it away for future use.

I knew you still had your stalker instincts in there somewhere.

He nodded and coughed a little. Air is like...thick, he said.

Just to you. I hope the kid doesn't get your fucking allergies.

Yeah, me too. He paused. I feel better than I have in a while.

I looked him over. Could have fooled me.

He laughed, ducking his head, and now I had to catch my breath for a second. I just mean I feel...I don't know. I was worried coming back to New York would feel like going backwards. With the baby I feel like...okay. Something's different. I'm not just stepping back into the same old life.

So fuck the baby and its hypothetical allergies, basically.

Exactly. This is about me. He sneezed and shook his head a little like he was trying to clear it. Damn.

Non-hypothetical allergies?

Yeah, I'm getting my ass kicked. He was starting to wheeze.

We can stop right up here.

Okay.

Doing great, I said, then rolled my eyes at myself. Jesus.

Justin rolled his eyes at me too. Go team.

We got the the observation point and I gave Justin some space and explored the edge and checked out the strength of the railing—this is shit you learn to do, you don't really think about it—while he sat on a rock and caught his breath. I came back to him eventually, nudging him with my hip until he made room for me, and let him rub his eyes on the rough cuff of my windbreaker.

He looked out at the sunset, tangling his feet up with mine. Wow.

Yeah, it's not bad.

Wish I had an easel up here.

Kind of trite.

Yeah, but look at that orange, he said, and he took his phone out and got a few pictures.

We started back to camp before it got too dark. Justin was hanging in there but beginning to get a little wobbly, and I kept a hand hovered behind his back. But we made it down without incident, and I squeezed his shoulders as he sat heavily and started working on lighting the fire.

Okay, Sunshine?

He nodded. I am fucking starving, though. There's a cooler in the car, can you get it? He slapped a mosquito off his arm.

You really did come prepared. I watched his hand shake around the matches. You got this?

“Yeah, I'm good.”

Okay.

We speared hot dogs on sticks because, you know, what's a little tetanus, and roasted them over the fire. Justin taught me some dumb campfire song he knew, complete with hand motions, and even though I steadfastly refused to do it because Christ, I still have a limit or two, I get a kick out of his awful tuneless singing.

Where did you even learn that? I asked him.

I went camping! When I was a kid. Hiking, fishing, the whole ordeal.

I nibbled on his neck. Were you a boy scout?

No, thank God. Though that probably would have been better than just me and Craig out in the wilderness. At least in boy scouts you get hand jobs in the cabins, I assume.

Father son bonding, huh?

Oh yeah. Justin looked into the fire. Dad throwing a fit because he could never set the tent up right. Talking about how we didn't do this often enough to justify what he spent on sleeping bags, hiking boots, canteens, because I never wanted to do it because I was too much of a sissy. Snapping at me if I dared to complain that I was the most miserably allergic kid on the planet. And then undercooked fish for dinner!

And you don't even like fish.

I do not. But hey, at least he taught me some songs.

I guess Gus should thank me for never making him do this, I said, and I didn't mean for that fucking...twinge of self-loathing to come out, but I guess it did, because Justin's eyes got all soft.

He said, How come you didn't?

The moms did it a few times and he hated it.

He clucked his tongue. You can take the new one.

I snorted. Not if it gets your allergies.

Nah, be like Craig. Tell him it builds character. He smiled at me. So what about you, were you a boy scout?

God, no. Jack said it was queer. Joan said it was for Protestants.

Justin laughed. Which is worse?

God only knows.

And here you are, camping with a queer Protestant.

Clearly they were right to be worried, I said, and I hooked an arm around his neck and pulled him into a slow kiss.

It drives me fucking crazy that Justin's life was shit before I got there. It really...it gets under my skin more than anything has any goddamn right to. I just figure, you know, I'm the only one who's allowed to be mean to him, and honestly the fact that he had the bad luck to throw it all in with such a handful is really enough bad luck for one lifetime, so what the fuck was he doing having shit happen to him before I was even around? Who the fuck okayed that? I just don't have any say over who got to bend and bruise him, who got to change him? That just has nothing to do with me, somehow?

Then again, I show up and eight months later he's got an epidural hematoma, so let's not act like he's all nice and safe with Rage here to save the day or some bullshit.

We made out for a while I listened to crickets and to frogs screaming over by the lake and Justin listened to, I don't know, the blood rushing in his head, if that, and I was just about to say fuck his delicate damn skin and fuck him on the dirty leaves when he pulled away and started rooting around the cooler until he unearthed a bag of marshmallows.

“No,” I said.

Too dark. Can't read your lips.

Liar.

If I'm camping, I'm having s'mores! And you have to make your own because otherwise you're going to say you're going to have a bite of mine and then eat the entire thing.

Christ, we are so fucking married. All right, hand them over.

Justin speared his marshmallow and circled the fire to find a good spot, concentrating like this was a damn scientific procedure, before he eventually settled on a spot on the other side from me. I could see him well in the glow from the flames, and there was a look in his eye I didn't really like, just this...absence of him that I catch sometimes, so I went with my instincts and crossed over to him and pulled him back from the fire with my hands on his waist. I'd barely moved him when his arm spasmed and launched his stick into the fire.

You good? I said.

“Yeah.” It was still shaking pretty badly, and he pulled it into his chest with his left arm. He nodded towards the fire and his burnt to a crisp marshmallow that was a little too symbolic for my tastes. “Thanks for that.”

Anytime.

“You owe me a new marshmallow.”

**

I woke up sometime in pitch black, after some cramped and awkward but not half-bad tent sex, to a sleeping bag with no Justin inside of it. I felt around the tent in case he'd rolled away, but there was no sign of him. I couldn't find the flashlight, either, so he'd probably just gone out to pee somewhere, but when he didn't come back for a while I dragged myself up and out of the tent.

Christ, there were a lot of stars. You forget, living in the city. And I felt fucking fifteen again, for a minute.

There was just enough light from the stars for me to make out Justin sitting by where our fire was before we put it out, his head tilted back watching the sky.

I came over and put my hand on his shoulder, and he jumped. I smiled a little. Sorry.

He clicked on the flashlight and set it up in front of us like a torch. Hi.

Hi. Stargazing?

Yeah. I couldn't sleep. He was hurting, I could tell. Probably his neck.

I sat down next to him. You take anything?

Just some more Benadryl. He was scratching a lot, and I caught his arm and looked at it.

Are these hives or mosquito bites?

I don't even know, he said, and then he laughed a little and covered his face. Okay, you win, all right? I hate camping.

That's all I'm saying.

I hate sleeping on the ground when my back already hurts and breathing in all this smoke when I'm already wheezing, I hate mosquitos, I hate lakes that probably have leeches, and I hate hiking, and I hate outside!

I grabbed him and buried my face in his neck so he couldn't see how hard I was smiling.

“And what's more,” he said, shoving me away. “I don't think anybody in the world should like it, because it's horrible and I totally, totally don't get why you do!”

It was the Novotnys, I said. Debbie...you know, single parent, wanted to prove she could out-dad the dads. She used to take Michael camping all the time, and they started taking me.

He watched me.

Sometimes Vic would come, sometimes not. And...I didn't particularly like the mosquitos and the hiking and the sleeping on the ground either. But, we never...I mean, before them, I'd never done anything like that. This Leave it to Beaver, nuclear family bullshit. And sure, we were an aging gay, a biological drag queen, and two horny fourteen-year-olds, but...I don't know. It felt like a family, when I was out here.

Well, now I feel bad.

I laughed and kissed his cheek, and he settled in against my shoulder.

“I never really felt that until you,” he said softly, and God, what do you do with that, how do you fucking cope when he's pressed up against you and the sky is dripping stars and he's breathing all wheezy and he says this shit? Where's the instruction manual for how to fucking...bottle that up?

Well, it wasn't fucking out there with me in the wilderness, which is why I ended up saying, You know where I feel like a family nowadays?

Where?

New York.

He sighed a little. Where there's air conditioning.

And Thai delivery.

Mattresses.

Showers.

Justin laughed. That sounds good to me..

I looked at his skin fucking glittering in the moonlight. Yeah. I kissed his temple. Me too.