Burying the Past - 1. Chapter 1

I turned the car into the once familiar lane and watched for the drive. “David don’t go too fast or you’ll miss it.” My mother said quietly from the other side of the car.

“I know mom, I use to live there too.” I said and smiled.

I turned into the drive and looked over the fields where I once spent my days. The farm was leased to the neighbors who only wanted the fields. We’d come because my mom missed the place and wanted to see it once again. We’d also come back to bury my Dad. He’d finally lost his long battle with the effects of too many cigarettes. I hadn’t been back since college 20 years ago. I’d landed a job near the coast and had settled into the perpetual warmth of south Florida. The folks had always come to me on the holidays as it gave them a break in winter to come to the beach. I married and settled there. When Dad’s lungs started giving out he retired and they moved to be near me. I’m their only child so it made sense. The years had slipped by as they do when you’re busy with a career and a new family.

During Dad’s last illness he’d told Mom and me that he wanted to be buried back home, next to his parents in the family plot on the farm. I remember as a child walking across the pasture, wading the stream at its edge to climb the hill on the other side to the graveyard. People thought it was odd but my family had been on the farm for eight generations. They’d taken the land from the Indians according to legend, and there they all were lined up in neat rows. Surrounded by wove wire fence. In summer the grass would grow long and Dad use to bring an old hand scythe to mow it with. The rows of neat stones some faded and hand carved, the latest, my Grandparents I remembered their funeral. To bring the caskets up there we loaded them on a wagon and pulled them there with a tractor. The pallbearers had to manhandle them up the last stretch to the grave. I wasn’t planning on driving the rental car up there I didn’t think I’d get much farther than the house.

“Are you sure you want to try to walk up to the cemetery Mom?” I asked her. It would be a long cold walk. “I trust the funeral home to make all the arrangements.”

“I trust them David, I just want to be sure. “ She said with a sniff.

“Ok, so you stay here in the car where it’s warm and I’ll walk over to the cemetery and check.” I said already dreading the chilly wind.

I left her settled in the car and I walked through the partially opened gate and down the dirt track across the pasture. All I could remember as I walked was a perpetual summer of childhood. I’d loved the farm and missed it now that I was again walking across it. We’d raised corn and soy, Dad always had a few cattle. It was a small operation but had provided us with a living. The trees seemed smaller and the walk didn’t take as long as I anticipated. When I came down to the creek bank I realized that it was nearly dry and what water there was held a crust of ice. I picked my way across from stone to stone. I’d worn jeans and a pair of hiking boots. I’d had to buy a topcoat before leaving home. On the other bank I stopped and looked down the valley, the fields that we’d once raised crops on were in grass now. The neighbors needed the hay for the dairy. The Whiting’s next door had the lease. They’d been dairy farmers since my childhood. Their son Rick had been my best friend. As I stood there I heard a tractor and saw a relatively new one moving up the bottom from where I knew the family’s properties joined.

I climbed the hill and opened the gate. I’d noticed the tent with the funeral home’s name on it. The grave was a gaping hole the yellow clay looking dank and cold. I felt tears again; I remembered his rough callused hand on my shoulder telling me things that would eventually make sense. While he was distant and not demonstrative with those he loved, he always radiated calm strength. I somehow longed for those warm summer days of my youth. At 45, my own children were finishing up high school, and it seemed I‘d spent the last 20 years being the decision maker. They had stayed home because of school and my wife had had to stay with them. They had said their goodbyes to him there. I looked down over the valley and waved at the figure driving the tractor I assumed it was old man Whiting, but I couldn’t tell.

I hadn’t thought about Rick in a long time. When we were kids we had been inseparable, often spending our days helping each other do our chores and generally sneaking off and doing the things all boys do. We played cowboys and indians in the woods, and pirates in the creek. When we got older we helped fix up each others first cars and double dated. At the time it had seemed so ordinary, but now with half my life lived it seemed all too rare and somehow magical. Why had we let it slip away? The old guilt and pain once again surfaced and I pushed it from my mind out of habit.

Mom met me at the car and said she wanted to see inside the house one more time. I tried to talk her out of it and offered it being locked as a good excuse. I should’ve known better as she pulled out the old key. “I still have one with me.” She said and smirked. I followed her up on the old porch the crumbling concrete floor that still bore the chips and cracks I remembered and had sometimes caused. The old storm door, with its white chipped paint looked dilapidated. It didn’t’ take a house long to loose that lived in look and no one had lived here in a few years.

Entering the Kitchen was like going back in time the nostalgia that had hit me at the cemetery hit me again. Memories of dinners and laughter, or neighbors gathered for funerals. The pictures of our lives that create a movie in our minds flicked past. The room was empty and dusty but I could still see the chrome table and chairs that had centered the room and the old Frigidaire with the curved top. Through the archway and into the living room, the old outline of the gas stove that had once heated the place on the old wood floors now bare, the wallpaper that had always been there. Mom was standing at the kitchen sink as she always seemed to be in my memories looking out at the old garden. I wandered up the staircase and found my old room. It was under the gable so its ceiling sloped away on each side. I could still make out the faint squares where the pictures had hung. The cross which had hung over my bed at the end, the picture of the Indian looking out over a western desert, which had come from a calendar and Mom had spent all one Saturday framing. So many memories, and everywhere I looked Rick would be hiding at the edge of memory. Rick spending the night in this room our shared secrets and silly contests. As the only child I’d been a bit lonely, and Rick as the only boy in a family of six girls was as well. In the end our parents would comment we were more like brothers than friends and smile.

I went back out in the hall; Mom was standing at the open door of her and Dad’s bedroom. She turned and I could see the tears welling up. I went to her and put my arm across her shoulder.

“So many good memories David, we had a good life here. We never had much but always seemed to have just enough. They were happy times for me.” She sniffed.

“Happy for me too, Mom” I said and we went back down and out of the house. We went back to the motel and rested, the visitation would be this evening and the funeral tomorrow. Alone in my room I answered my cell phone and talked to my wife. It was routine, like the rest of our lives. I don’t’ know when I stopped loving her, I’m not really sure I ever did. But the passion certainly died a few years ago. We talked about the kids and I chatted with each of them for a few minutes, promising to call later when we got back from the funeral home. I hung up and looked up at the ceiling.

The phone ringing woke me up. “Shouldn’t we get something to eat on the way over to the funeral home?” Mom’s voice sounded in my ear. I glanced at the clock radio on the nightstand.

“Sure Mom I fell asleep. Let me grab a quick shower and change clothes.” I said and hung up. I looked at myself in the mirror, 6’ 3”, 200lbs, dark brown hair going grey, blue eyes behind glasses. I wasn’t bad looking but I felt old and tired.

I remembered standing side by side with Rick looking at ourselves in the mirror, we were about 12. He was sleeping over and he had told me to take off all my clothes and stand in front of the mirror. He had taken his clothes off as well. Nothing new in our being naked together we’d often went splashing in the creek and had taken our clothes off to fool our mom’s. I remember though for the first time really looking at our bodies. I felt my dick starting to get hard, it had started doing that a lot about that age.

“There you see, yours does it too.” Rick had said and laughed as his own dick had stuck first straight out then straight up. He was shorter than I with black hair and blue eyes.

“Yeah so what?” I’d said.

“So watch this.” He said and put his hand on my small dick and squeezed. “What’re doing that for?” I said suddenly nervous.

His hand slowly fluttered up and down my shaft. “Just wait.” He said.

The intense feeling seemed to grab me at the base of my stomach and suddenly burst across every particle of my body. I felt the dry jerks of my small dick and suddenly sat down. “Told you, he said. Now do me.” He stood in front of me and I touched his dick and started rubbing as he had done.

“That’s it.” He said and sighed, I felt his dick start the rhythmic jerking that I’d felt my own do.

That was the first time we’d jacked off, of course at the time we wouldn’t have known what that meant. How like Rick to lead me into that, it established the pattern of our relationship through the rest of our childhood and adolescence.

I ushered Mom into the funeral home. Carl, the director, who of course knew us, ushered us into the viewing room. We looked dad over and the flowers and Mom said, “Carl you’ve done well, he looks fine.” She said and then took my hand and sat down. I sat with her while Carl went to mind the door.

It wasn’t long before what seemed like half the county started coming through. I remembered coming here throughout my childhood. A neighbor died and we went to the funeral home and Mom usually sent food over by Dad and latter me. That’s just the way it works in a small country town. Some of the crowd I remembered, Mr. Crowley from down the road, who always threatened me with a switch when I would invariably get caught cutting across his field of turkeys. Miss Chambers, my third grade teacher who still wore her glasses on a chain. They were all familiar but different and much smaller; I guessed it was that 20 years and my adult life separated my last memory of them and the current meeting. I managed to shake hands and murmur gratitude for their having come out on a cold windy evening.

I was coming out of the men’s room when I bumped into him. I didn’t recognize him at first, same black hair, same blue eyes. I realized I was staring. I put out my hand automatically and was met by his heavily callused one. His grip was firm.

“Sorry about your Dad, Dave.” Rick said and looked down at his feet suddenly, realizing he’d been staring as well.

“Thanks Rick, I almost didn’t’ recognize you. It’s been a long time. I’m glad you could make it.” I said. I continued to look at the top of his head, same thick hair now touched with grey. He had heavy 5 o’clock shadow, I remembered him getting really hairy in High School. Like me he’d gained a few pounds, but same broad shoulders.

He looked up at me, his eyes clouded with some emotion that I didn’t’ understand, “You and your folks were like my second family. I wanted to stop by.”

Just then a small slightly over weight woman came up beside him. She put out her hand as well and I shook it, “Sorry about your Dad.” She said and nudged Rick with her elbow.

“Dave this is my wife Jill. Not sure you remember her she was a couple years behind us in school.” He said by way of introduction.

“Glad to meet you, “I said, “I think I remember you, you were a Frazier weren’t you, Tony’s sister.”

She glowed at my having remembered her and chattered away about her family and their kids. “Where’s your wife?” She asked.

“Oh our kids couldn’t miss school, its testing week. Sheila stayed down in Florida with them. It’s just me and Mom.” I said and turning, “I need to get back to Mom.”

I saw Rick’s folks sitting on either side of her, Dorothy rose and hugged me when I approached and Mr. Whiting, I could never call him Roger, shook my hand. “It’s been so long, Davie,” She said, “You look tired. Sit down.” She commanded.

I realized suddenly I was tired. The meeting with Rick had been stilted and distant and so unlike what I’d thought, but twenty years, marriage and kids changes you. I sat down and let her fuss. Carl brought me and Mom a cup of tea and Dorothy took a turn at the casket greeting people. Rick came by and hugged Mom and introduced Jill and their three boys. They were so like Rick they could’ve been his brothers. How many times over the intervening years had I wondered about his life? Odd moments when I’d not really be thinking about anything my mind would wander and I’d wonder. Now the reality made it all bitter sweet somehow.

I gathered up Mom’s cup and my own and headed to the back where I knew the kitchen was. I made slow progress through the crowd some stopped me wanting to chat. I put the cups in the sink and went out the back door into the cold. There was a small back porch with a bench and some chairs and the full ashtrays were a clue to its use. I sat on the bench and looked out into the darkness. So many memories, I could hardly process them all. One stood out.

I was about 16, and was out in the barn, trying to thread the hay baler. Dad had said, “Son the best lesson I can give you on remembering to check the twine box is to make you figure out how to thread that damn thing. That’s what taught me.” It was July and hay making time meaning hotter than hell. I’d let the twine run out on the first round of our largest pasture and I didn’t’ need Dad to tell me it looked like rain. I was shirtless and wearing jeans with my old John Deere cap bent over the baler when I felt a hand on my ass and then quickly run between my legs and grab a handful of my balls.

“Damn it Rick. “ I said jumping at the shock. His laughter made me even madder.

“I came by to see if you wanted to spank the monkey. I’ve been hard all day.” He said outlining his hardon in his worn jeans with his hand.

I could feel my dick starting to expand. “I got to thread this damn baler. I aint got time buddy guess you’ll have to take care of it all by your lonesome.” I said turning back to the baler. He came near and bent over the side of the baler with me.

“I had to do that last year, sure as hell taught me to check the twine.” He said.

“You remember how it’s done?” I asked.

He smiled that shit eating grin of his and said, “Maybe.”

“Damn it, Rick,” I said as he laughed. Then realizing his intention said, “What’ll it cost me?”

“Nothing you won’t enjoy paying.” He said and grinned.

“Ok.” I said. I watched and helped as he taught me how to thread the baler, once you saw it done it wasn’t all that difficult but I’d be damned if I ever let the twine run out again.

He helped me hitch it back up to the tractor and as I was pulling out of the barn lot he yelled, “Come swimming after you’re through with the hay.”

It had been late when we pulled the last wagon of hay into the barn, Dad had told me we’d unload it in the morning, when I went out the door with him, he put his arm across my shoulder and said, “I’m proud of you figuring out how to thread that damn thing.”

“Ah Dad, it wasn’t me, Rick did most of it. He said he had to do it last year.” I said blushing.

Dad laughed, “Well then I’m proud you told me and didn’t take the credit.”

“I’m going for a swim dad; Rick is meeting me at the pond.” I said walking away.

“Be careful son.” I heard as I turned the corner of the barn and went down the field toward the pond.

The cold bit into me, the light blazer I was wearing was thin and I’d grown use to the warmth of Florida. I shifted on my seat and realized I should go back in but just couldn’t get up the courage.

I remembered Rick swimming up behind me and pushing my head under water, when I came up for air we were chest to chest. I could feel his hardon against mine.

“Pay back time.” He said. We swam back over to the pier that we’d built to swim off of and lay back on the rough wood. Rick laced his fingers behind his head and said, “Been wanting your hand on my rod all day.”

By this time we’d been jacking off together for a few years and were shooting wads of cum by then. I wrapped my hand around his 6 inch cut cock buried in its thick black bush and starting stroking him. In just minutes he was squirming and pinching his nipples and moaning. I felt more than saw in the darkness him cum, the hot liquid dripping down my fist. When he was finished I lay back and laced my hands behind my head and looked at the stars. I jerked as I felt his hand wrapping around my hard cock and said, “I didn’t expect you to return the favor.” I was enjoying his hand; Rick was expert at getting me off. I was about there when his hand left I looked down in the darkness and Rick was sitting up looking down at me.

“What’d you quit for?” I whispered. I could see his smile then watched mesmerized as he leaned down farther. I moaned when his lips touched my dick. He used his tongue and explored the length of my rod and seemed to wrap it around the head. I’d never been lost in passion before but his warm moist mouth drove me rapidly to the edge and I just managed to try to pull back and warn him I was going to cum. He locked on my hips and I shot into his warm mouth. When I came down from the high he was on his elbow looking down at me.

“Why did you do that for?” I asked.

“I figured the only way I’d get you to suck me was to do you first.” He said and laughed.

The sound of the door closing behind me interrupted my memory. I was hard there in the cold dark remembering my first blow job.

“Here you are.” Rick said, “I checked the john and you weren’t in there. Someone said you were out here. Didn’t know you smoked. Mom insisted I come find you, must be tough dealing with all the sympathy.”

“Yeah, too many memories.” I said and sighed. “I should go back, Mom is alone.”

I felt his hand on my shoulder stopping me from standing, “She’s fine Dave. Jill and Mom are with her. It’s starting to clear out anyway.” He sat down beside me and said, “The older I get the more I dread winter.”

We chatted for awhile about mundane things like weather and kids. I realized it was still the same comfortable conversation we’d had many times growing up. What we were saying was different but the feeling was the same.

“Rick, your folks are ready to go home.” Jill’s voice floated out to us.

Rick’s hand dropped onto my knee and he said, “Well buddy duty calls, take your Mom back to the motel and put her to bed. Get some rest yourself. We’ll see you tomorrow.”

He stood up and was getting ready to leave, “Thanks Rick.”

He paused, and in the darkness I thought I could hear a sigh. “You owe me.” He said and laughed quietly.

I gathered Mom up and we drove back to the Motel. She chatted about the people we’d seen and talked to. She actually seemed in better spirits. At the Motel I walked her back to her room and then walked to the end of the block and bought a pint of jack and a liter of coke at the liquor store. Back in my room I made myself a drink and called home. I talked to the kids and my wife and wished them a good night. I lay there in the dark sipping my drink and remembering.

Rick threw the magazine at me and said, “I know you can read, so read that article on Alaska and the homesteading act.” I picked up the Field and Stream and started looking over the article about a hunter who went to Alaska and homesteaded some land on a lake turning it into a fishing and hunting resort. I threw the magazine back at Rick.

“So?” I said.

“That’s what I want to do.” He said.

“Really, that’s pretty cool. It would beat the hell out of farming.” I said.

I guess we were about 17 then. I’d started looking at colleges. Rick had never mentioned anything about what he’d do after graduation. It just wasn’t something we had talked about before. All I knew for sure was I didn’t’ want to be a farmer and my Dad didn’t want me to either. He’d said it was too hard to make a living.

He lay down on the bed beside me and whispered, “Dave you in the mood?”

I pushed him off the bed for an answer. He cursed then got on his knees beside my bed. His hand touched my knee and slowly slid up my leg, by the time he got to my crotch I was hard. I could hear his chuckle as he unzipped my pants. He slowly started sucking me and I lightly put my hand on his head. I loved to have him suck me. I could hear him unzip his pants and knew that he was fishing his dick out. He slowly sucked me from the root to the tip, and slowly stroked my balls. I let my hand slip from his head and run down his back feeling the firm muscles through the thin t shirt. He unbuckled my pants and I lifted my hips so he could slide them down. His hand slipped behind my balls and stroked between my thighs I relaxed as the heat built up and my legs relaxed. His head bobbing made me tilt my head back and close my eyes. I felt his fingers stroking the hair around my ass, a new twist to our routine. I opened my legs wider and let him have access. His finger tickled my pucker sending shivers across my body and I moaned quietly. Slowly his finger centered my rose bud and pressed…when it slipped in a pulse of feeling shot through me. I couldn’t’ help it I opened my legs wider. He straddled my legs and our dicks touched. He circled them both and stroked us together. I watched the flush spread across his chest.

He leaned down and whispered, “Let me fuck you Dave.”

“What?” I asked surprised. We’d never done more than suck each other and jack each other and rub our cocks together.

“I been watching your ass for weeks, Dave, I want to fuck it.” He said and grinned.

I slowly rolled over under him and felt his cock in the crack of my ass. His hands caressed up my sides until they were on my shoulders. I heard him spit and felt him touch my hole with slick fingers. I heard him spit again and then I felt his rod at my hole. He entered me so slowly that I hardly noticed the discomfort. Leaning down he said, “You ok buddy? I don’t’ want to hurt you, ever.” The hair on his chest brushed my back.

The feeling of his lips near my ear raised the hair and goose flesh all over me…I felt his lips caress my ear, then my neck. He slowly rode my ass, taking his time. The feeling of him in me was over whelming and I knew that my dick which had initially gone soft was hard again and aching. His thrusts became more urgent and his lips again were on my neck and I felt the kisses then at my ear, “I’m gonna cum buddy, I’m gonna fill your beautiful hot ass with it.” He said and I heard him sigh as he thrush and held. When he did my own orgasm which had been building crested and I unloaded on the bed.

Afterward when he went limp and slipped out he rolled over beside me but still against me. I watched him focus on the ceiling. I couldn’t read his expression. Then he looked at me and said. “Damn I owe you for that. Roll over and I’ll finish you.”

I was embarrassed and didn’t’ know what to say. He looked at me and then smiled, “Did you shoot while I was fucking you?”

I nodded silently feeling kind of ashamed. He leaned over until he was right in my face. “Its ok Dave, I think its neat.” Then he did something I wouldn’t have imagined. He kissed me on the lips lightly.

We changed after that. No, more specifically Rick changed after that night. Our conversations weren’t as easy; he seemed unable to spit out what he wanted to say. He also started touching me differently. I mean he always would grab my ass or poke me in the ribs where he knew I was ticklish, but after that he would lay his arm across my shoulder casually. Or hook his fingers in the waistband of my jeans in the back and just leave them there.

We had double dated one night, in Rick’s old Ford galaxy with the candy apple interior. I’d managed a pint of whiskey and Rick had lined up a couple of girls. He was always better at fixing dates than I was. We’d taken the girls to the movies and were driving home. Rick suggested we go up to the point and park, the girls weren’t interested as they were in a wedding the next day. So we dropped them at their houses and were driving around. Rick drove out to the old quarry and parked at the edge of the pit. I opened the bottle and we sipped.

“Shame about the girls, Rick, all that trouble and its just you and me.” I said and laughed.

“Ah those two wouldn’t put out anyway except maybe for each other.” He said.

“Kind of like us isn’t it.” I said.

I sipped and waited. He didn’t’ say anything so I looked over at him. He was looking out his side of the car and not saying anything. I opened the door and got out and went over to the edge of the pit and unzipped. I let the piss stream fall over the edge and laughed at the idea of someone down there thinking it was raining. I finished and zipped up and turned back to the car. Rick was sitting on the hood just looking at me. He’d been acting weird for awhile.

“Rick what’s wrong with you man?” I asked.

“Nothing I guess.” He said and laughed.

“Bullshit, Bud. You’ve been acting weird for awhile now.” I said and sat down beside him. He stood up and went to the edge and I could hear him taking a piss as well. I watched his silhouette in the twilight. He turned and walked over to me and took the bottle and turned it up.

“Ho there Rick, or I’ll have to drive home.” I said and took the bottle. Our hands touched and suddenly something changed. Nothing in my 17 years had really prepared me for it. Rick took my hand and held it. He just held it and looked at it then he brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it. The hair stood up on my arm and a shiver ran down my back. I was mesmerized by the feeling. He raised his head and looked me in the eye and I could see something there, like he wanted to tell me something. I watched as he leaned closer and then he kissed me. Softly at first but then his hand came up and settled on the back of my neck and he pressed firmly against me. In an instant I realized I was kissing him back and enjoying it. That’s when I panicked and pulled back and stood up.

“What’s wrong Dave, I liked that.” He said.

I suddenly realized that when he kissed me we were being queer. I mean I know we’d been having sex or at least a semblance of it for years at that point but somehow I’d always justified it as just getting off, just two friends helping each other out. The kiss though, that was something different it made me feel different. Somewhere deep inside I realized that I liked it, but to admit to that would be admitting I was queer. I wasn’t ready for that.

I felt his arms come around me from behind and his head on my shoulder, “What’s wrong Dave, you know I love you. That I’ve loved you for a long time, maybe for as long as I can remember.”

He nuzzled my neck and I wanted to melt back into him. Love, yes I knew he loved me, like he knew I loved him. This was the next step in our long relationship; that’s why he was acting weird. He was telling me this wasn’t about being like brothers anymore. A new perspective on life opened up for me. This was no longer a childish relationship this was adult emotion at its most intense. At 17 I wasn’t ready for it. The sum total of our world had been encompassed by a small rural town in the Midwest, there were no gay men in town. We both knew the score.

His lips on my neck and his hands straying down to my crotch were making me loose all those inhibitions. He turned me until we were facing one another and he gently stroked my check with a hand and I looked into his blue eyes. Then he leaned into me and kissed me, and I responded. Other than a girl at a school dance it was the only kiss I’d ever shared in passion. His arms came around me and I felt his tongue touch my lips. I could feel his hardon grinding against my own and I opened my mouth. It was earth shattering for me, I’d never experienced passion in that way, and this wasn’t anything remotely like what I’d done with Rick in the past. His hands were unbuttoning my shirt and he was gently pushing me back toward the car. Coming up against it I stopped and his full weight leaned against me. His hands were running up my chest and his tongue was still making magic in my mouth.

He broke the kiss and said, “Get in the back seat.”

I lay back in the seat and he moved on top of me resuming his passionate conquest of my mouth. My pants soon joined my open shirt and he was slowly stroking my rod overhand. His lips moved up to near my ear.

“I want you buddy.” He said as he lowered his own jeans. I was prepared to turn over when he stopped me. “No, I owe you.” He said and smiled.

He straddled my hips and bent down and kissed me again he fished a small bottle out of his pants pocket and I realized it was Vaseline. He spread some on my rod slowly and seductively all the while kissing me. Then he reached behind and lubed himself then slowly lowered his hips until my cock was poised at his hole.

“I love you Dave.” He said, as I entered him. The feeling was overwhelming and nature soon took over. I was likely not as gentle as he had been with me, but his hard cock slapping his stomach as he bucked on me told me I was doing him right. When it was over he was cuddled in front of me on the back seat his back to my chest.

“Let’s go to Alaska, Dave.” He said in the dark.

Alaska, so that’s what it was about. It wasn’t about being a guide in the wilderness; it was a way for us to be together in a new place. “Do you think we’d fit in there?” I asked quietly.

“What do you mean, “he said out of habit.

“Rick you know what I mean. This isn’t about the wilderness.” I sighed, “You think they would accept us there?”

He was silent. I nudged him, “You fall asleep?” I asked.

“We better get home.” He said.

He’d dropped me off at the house without a word. I looked at the bedside clock and realized it was late.

Rick had maneuvered the old minivan back to his parent’s farm, dropping them off and then back to his house just at the edge of their land. The GI bill had paid for the house he built for Jill.

“That David, he’s kind of an odd duck isn’t he?” Jill said as they walked in the back door.

Rick watched the boys bolt up the stairs and called after them to hang up their good clothes. “Well meeting someone at their dad’s visitation doesn’t’ put them in the best light I suppose.” He said and laughed.

“He just seemed so distant. I thought you said you two were like brothers when you was kids. Guess he’s got above his raising. His Mom is sweet though.” She said hanging up the boys coats.

Rick reached and got the flashlight and went to the door. “Better go check on the cattle they’ll want in the barn in the cold.” He said as he closed the door behind him. The walk to the dairy barn wasn’t long; his house was really just across the barn lot from his parents. He turned the corner and sure enough the herd was standing at the barn trying to shelter from the wind.

“Evening ladies.” He said and walked through them to the barn door. He unhooked the hasp and slid the door open wide enough for them to pass through. They lowed as they passed him. He’d always liked cattle. As they settled he threw down some hay for them and stood in the hay loft and was lost in thought.

He remembered the last time he’d seen Dave was in this loft. Dave was going away to college and he was getting ready for the army. They hadn’t seen much of one another for months. He’d been up here restacking the hay. His dad was afraid it had been put up too green and he was shifting the bales around to cool them off. He’d heard Dave’s voice call in from the door. He’d thought about not saying anything hoping he’d just leave but realized he couldn’t’ do that.

“Up here.” Rick called down. Rick watched as Dave slowly emerged up the ladder. He hung on the top rung and smiled at Rick.

“Need a hand?” He asked.

“No just finishing.” Rick said but realized Dave was climbing on up anyway.

“Mind telling me what’s wrong?” He asked.

“Nothing’s wrong Dave.” Rick replied.

“Bullshit bud.” Dave said and stood in front of him.

Rick remembered Dave as that tall and handsome young guy, not tired and looking somehow defeated as he had this evening. The old ache was still there, his first love. At the time Dave refusing, for the first time in their lives, his request to go away together had hurt. Hurt so badly that when Dave applied to college he’d enlisted. Now, 20 years later, he understood. Dave had been worried about the whole gay thing. Rick still wasn’t’ sure about it either, but at 17 he knew he loved Dave and had wanted to start a life together. It’s a hard lesson to learn that love has to be returned in equal measure. Maybe to Dave it had all only been sex, the same thing that Rick had told himself for years before that day he’d fucked him. After that day he realized it wasn’t just sex, but that this man meant the world to him. He’d spent two weeks working himself up to tell Dave.

“Tell me what the fuck is wrong. Rick this is me you’re talking to not some stranger. Don’t’ shut me out now.” Dave had said with such feeling that Rick was surprised and momentarily taken aback.

“Yeah we have been together for a long time, buddy. Shared growing up, shared a lot, shared everything except one thing Dave.” Rick said and looked away.

Dave had paused then had stepped close and touched Rick’s shoulder and said, “Rick I…”

“Don’t Dave, I understand, I really do. You don’t think of us in the same way.” Rick said.

“Rick, I do love you. You’re my best friend….” He stopped

“Yeah Dave, but I love you more. I’m queer for you. I love you, not like a friend, but as a lover. I’m not hallucinating or crazy. When I held you in my arms and made love to you I meant it. It wasn’t just getting off.” Rick said and felt tears burning. He was ashamed and suddenly angry. “Now get the fuck out of here. You don’t’ want to be seen with me.” Rick saw the shock hit Dave and saw the color drain from his face. He also saw the understanding and defeat that followed in his expression. He watched Dave turn and descend the ladder.

He’d sat in this loft and cried. He knew his folks were worried, he knew he had to get away from the farm for awhile if he was to get on with life and over Dave. He didn’t’ want to make their life any harder and he sure didn’t want them to know their son was pining away for a queer buddy that wasn’t queer.

So he went to the army. He’d never had feelings for another man. In the service he’d only chased girls. When he came home he met Jill and they married when she fell pregnant with their oldest. He loved his kids, he guessed he still loved Jill; he at least still fucked her regularly. Somewhere deep inside though when the weather was bad or the price of milk dropped and he woke in the night worried about their future, he would think about Dave and wonder what it would’ve been like. He knew Dave had come out of college and landed a great job. Had heard when he married and when his kids came along. He’d seen a few pictures through the years and had watched over their place when his folks first visited then moved to be near him. Tonight at the funeral home when he’d met Dave’s eyes, he knew as surely as Dave had told him that he wasn’t happy and it wasn’t’ just his dad’s death. Rick wasn’t overly analytical as a rule but he figured that maybe Dave, like himself, was in the middle of his life and was looking back and seeing the choices he’d made and wondering about the options he’d turned down. Rick guessed somewhere in that he figured as well. Rick flipped off the flashlight and let his eyes get accustomed to the darkness, then walked back to his house and the life it sheltered.

Dave stood in the shower under the hot water and tried to get rid of the headache. He drank so seldom anymore that the hangover was no surprise. As the hot water pounded the back of his head he was thinking about his Dad.

After the incident at the quarry he hadn’t seen Rick in weeks. He’d kept his head down and done his chores as he usually did and tried to avoid his folks. He knew they thought something was up. He was out in the barn trying to get the fuel filter off the old tractor and wasn’t having much luck. He’d sprayed the thing with WD 40 and penetrating oil nothing would budge the thing. When the wrench slipped and he rounded off a corner of the connector he threw the wrench across the barn and said, “You ornery mother fucker!”

“You best not let your Mother hear you use the F word son.” His Dad said quietly.

Dave dropped his head, “Uh, sorry Dad. I didn’t’ know you were around.”

His Dad had handed him the wrench and when he’d went to put it back on the connector, his Dad laid his hand on his shoulder and said, “Hold up son, we need to talk.”

His Dad had pointed him to sit on the front tire of the tractor and his dad squatted down sitting on his heels facing him. “What’s wrong?” He said in his quiet way. That tone had prefaced many lectures, most unwanted at the time, but now Dave needed help.

Dave looked at his Dad and tried to think how to start. Having settled on what he hoped was an oblique approach he said, “Dad how do you know when you love someone?”

Bill Campbell had thought after all these years he could read his son, but somewhere back in his mind alarm bells sounded, and inwardly he whistled. “Why Son you just know. The way you know you love your Mother and I hope you love me.” He said and then added, “Or are you asking how you know you’re in love. That’s a different thing altogether.”

Dave looked at his Dad and said, “How do you know when you’re in love then. Cause I already know the other kind.”

Bill Campbell uncharacteristically said the first thing that came to his mind. “Dave is there the Father of a girl coming round to see me cause you’ve given her a baby?” He regretted it the minute he’d said it, he knew Dave better than that but damned if he hadn’t shocked him with the love comment.

David blushed a deep crimson, “No Dad it isnt’ like that.” He looked at his father who said nothing just sat there looking at him waiting. “If someone tells you they love you, I mean that they’re in love with you, how do you know if you feel that way?”

Bill looked at his Son and knew he was being eaten up with something and now he thought he had a bead on it. David had been a loving child and now it appeared he was a caring man. He got up, fired up another camel and picked up the wrench and started working on the connector. “Well Dave when I met your Mother I knew. She walked into a school dance one night. I’d known her all my life; she was just a girl I went to school with. That night she walked into the room and to me nothing else mattered.” Bill’s voice became wistful with the memory. “She was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen, I asked her to dance and at the end of the evening I was hooked.” I never looked at another woman like that ever again.” He looked at Dave and smiled. “I think love’s inside us naturally and when it gets stirred up you wont’ have to come talk to me about it.” He pushed on the wrench slowly and the connector gave way. He turned back to Dave, handed him the wrench and said, “Son, if someone’s told you they’re in love with you, and you don’t know you’re in love back, my advice is to let it be, as hard as it may be to hurt that someone. We all want love in our lives, and sometimes I think folks try to make themselves believe they feel it when they’re really just wishing for it. Or they’ve just mixed up desire with love.” He put his arm across his son’s shoulders and said, “Let’s go in to supper, I’m glad we talked.”

Dave felt relief, he wasn’t altogether sure why, but he felt it anyway. His Dad said in a low voice as they walked, “Damn sure glad you haven’t knocked up one of the local girls.” He chuckled quietly.

Mom looked good in her trim black suit that Sheila had helped her pick out. Mom reached up and adjusted my dark tie also Sheila’s choice, as was my own black suit.

“You look great Mom, very elegant.” I said and smiled.

She tapped my cheek with her hand, “Don’t’ talk to me about elegant, this sow’s ear never did turn into a silk purse David.”

“Well Dad sure thought you were the finest Chinese silk.” I said and kissed her forehead. I watched as she pinked under a blush.

“Stop fooling around, we’ll be late. I want to sit with your Father for awhile before we have to go to the church.” She said. “Dorothy and Roger said their girls were fixing dinner for us at their house afterwards. Since we aren’t leaving until tomorrow we’ll have plenty of time. I’ve missed them.” She turned away from me, “Maybe you and Rick will have a chance to talk again.”

St. Paul’s was where I’d been baptized, and made my first communion. I really had never been very devout. When I was little I followed the rules; as I got older I took my cue from my Dad. He thought you should be a good man, honor your word, help when and where you can and let the priest handle the details because it was hard enough to make a living as it was. The old Church had been renovated recently and the old paintings and statues had been replaced by modern graphics. The once ornate altar was gone, replaced with a plain slab of marble. It wasn’t the same place anymore and it made me sad as I followed the casket under its plain white pall up the aisle. The young priest was new as well.

I noted people as we went down the aisle, saw Rick standing with his family in the pew his folks had always occupied. A requiem mass seemed designed specifically to isolate the family from the crowd, we sat in the front pew during the service. Mom occasionally dabbed at her eyes, I was numb thinking about the cold grave we’d soon enough be delivering my father too.

We walked behind the casket and saw the waiting pall bearers at the steps. Friends and cousins, Rick was there. Of course he’d been included; my folks had always treated him like a son. I could see the grief in his face as well. The ride out to the farm didn’t’ take long. There was a tractor waiting with a wagon and Carl had us in a shiny black Tahoe. We watched in silence as the pall bearers transferred the dark coffin onto the wagon. I watched Rick get into the cab and Carl followed it across the field. The remaining pall bearers, all from farm families, rode on the wagon with Dad. I felt Mom’s gloved hand slip into mine and squeeze.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“No,” she said, “but we have to manage as best we can. Fifty years is a long time to be married to someone.” She sobbed then regained her iron composure, “He was the love of my life.”

The Tahoe swayed as it crossed the creek and suddenly we were there. Carl opened the door for us, when Mom and I were out and he’d closed the door I motioned for Carl.

He bent to listen, “Carl I’m not sure how well Mom and I are going to handle this. Can you have the folks keep a little distance?” I asked quietly.

He nodded and moved off and circulated through the small group, mostly the Whitings and their families. We followed the slow progress up the hill. I helped Mom at every step. Finally the casket was over the grave and the pall bearers stepped back into the crowd. Just Mom and I stayed under the tent, and then Dorothy and Roger surrounded us. Rick came up and stood behind me.

The Priest stepped up to the head of the casket and made the sign of the cross. “In the midst of life we are in death; of whom may we seek for succor, but of thee, O Lord, who for our sins art justly displeased…” I felt the tears running down my cheeks, and held tight to my Mom’s hand. I remembered doing that when I was a boy and scared, but today it seemed she held to my hand not the other way around. She let go and we made the sign of the cross.

“Today we lay to rest our Brother William, into the ground he loved and worked. He wrestled a living from this self same soil that now claims his earthly remains.” The priest then took the holy water and sprinkled the casket saying, “O God, whose blessed Son was laid in a sepulcher in the garden: Bless, we pray, this grave, and grant that he whose body is buried here may dwell with Christ in paradise….”

I sobbed, and felt a hand on my shoulder. I took a deep breath and remembered to cross myself one last time. I looked and Mom was being hugged by Dorothy. The priest came over and shook my hand.

Carl stood at the head of the grave and said in his best funeral home voice, “That concludes the services the family and friends can be assured we will take care of the grave. I could already see the two men stepping up from the creek that would fill in the grave. I bent and plucked a white rose from the casket spray and put it in my suit button hole. I took another and gave it to Mom.

We walked back to the Tahoe and Rick got in the front with Carl. He turned back in the seat and said, “I’ll ride back over and drive you back to the house in your car. Now’s not the best time for you to drive.” He said.

The ride was a blur, Mom cried quietly on my shoulder most of the way. At the funeral home, I thanked Carl and told him I’d call him in a few days to finish up the business with death certificates and such. I sat in the back of the rental car with mom for the short drive out to Rick’s parent’s house. Once in the house Mom disappeared to a bathroom to repair her makeup. Rick told me to make myself at home and I settled in the living room with his Dad. Rick joined us after a few minutes and we talked about general things.

One of Rick’s sisters called for us to come and eat and we soon were filling up plates with fried chicken and mashed potatoes and all the other fixings common to a farm table. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d eaten so well or so much. Mom and Dorothy were content to sit at the table and share tales, Rick’s dad was snoring quietly in the living room. One of the girls had pushed a cup of coffee to me and I was nearly asleep when Rick nudged my shoulder.

“I need to go get the tractor back from the cemetery, wanna tag along?” he asked.

One of his son’s piped up and said, “I’ll go Dad.”

Jill interrupted him with “Not so fast mister, I think you got homework from last night still.”

Rick smiled and nodded his head toward the door. I followed him and put on my coat.

“You want to borrow a pair of boots from the milking shed? You’ll ruin your good shoes.” He said. I followed him out to the barn. The same barn we’d played in as children. I stood in the lane while Rick went into the shed. The smell of cattle and hay brought back so many memories.

He handed me a pair of gum boots and I balanced on one foot at a time and took off my shoes and stuck my foot down in a cold rubber boot. “Damn Florida has ruined me for cold weather.” I said.

“Yeah couldn’t be cause you’re old…I understand.” He said and laughed.

It was the same laugh from my childhood the one I always remembered him by. I felt tears again but managed to hide them by tucking my pants legs into the boots.

Rick watched Dave as he put on the boots, he saw the sadness, he’d made the joke hoping to ease it and realized it wasn’t about his dad. He understood this was about him and Dave.

The two men walked down the lane and out into the fields, it was probably every bit of a mile and a half over to the cemetery but this was closer than taking the road. Rick talked about his life, about the army and afterwards about getting married and the kids. He talked about taking over the farm from his dad and the inherent problems with trying to make a living in the dairy business.

Rick stopped at a clump of trees, “You remember what’s in there?” He asked pointing into the heart of the thicket. I only had to think for a second.

“The remains of Fort Arapahoe.” I said and smiled at the memory.

“Yeah a lot of red Indians and good cavalry men died on this spot.” Rick said and laughed.

I looked at the wood and could almost see two kids in jeans one bare chested with a turkey feather in his short brown hair and the other with a cowboy hat on. “It was a wonderful childhood, Rick, wasn’t it.” I said near tears again.

“Yeah, it was.” He said and sighed. “So tell me about your life bud.” He asked.

So I told him about meeting Sheila, my career and my kids by the time I’d about run out of story we were at the foot of the hill to the cemetery.

“You know Rick after all that I still feel like a failure.” I said. “I’m old and tired, bored with my job and out of love with my wife. I’m just a middle aged guy who missed something along the way and whose life is a set of routines.”

Rick looked at me, “Dave, you’re not a failure. At least I never thought you were. I guess at our age a fellow looks back at the choices he made along the way. Some of them we know now was wrong, but hell we didn’t’ know it then.” He started up the hill and I followed. He stopped short at the gate to the graveyard and turned to me. “Dave we had a wonderful childhood until I fucked us up.” He turned away.

The tent was gone; flowers covered the raw earth mound. A small tin marker had been pushed into the soil at the head. I looked at it and turned back to Rick; he had retreated to the foot of the hill and was at the tractor waiting. I walked back down to him.

“Rick, you didn’t’ fuck us up.” I said, “I hurt you, I didn’t want too but I did. You have no idea how many times in all these years I’ve regretted hurting you.” He stood with his back to me, “You know I’ve had many friends since I left for college, good friends; close friends. None of them have even come close to being in the same league with you.” I said to his back.

I waited for him to say something, anything; anger, tears. The opportunity that I’d wanted for years was here, time and distance had mellowed the events but the guilt and the hurt were still there to feel. He turned and looked at me, those same blue eyes more expressive than he ever thought. In their depths I saw love and admiration. A smile touched his lips and he brought his hand up and laid it on my shoulder.

“Better get back Buddy; I got a bunch of ladies that need milking.” He grinned and said, “Don’t suppose you remember how to hook a cow up to a milking machine. They probably knocked that out of your head the first day of college.” He opened the cab door and climbed up in the seat. I climbed up behind him and sat on the fender well and closed the door as he eased off the clutch and we rolled back towards the barn.