Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

 

To be expected, the hike downhill has been mostly easier than compared to what it was going uphill. However, it has also taken longer than I hoped to get to where I want to be. I'm tired, pretty much on the edge of exhaustion, and not back to the cabin yet. At a little after four in the afternoon, I'm only back to Echo Cliff, still 1300 feet in altitude above the cabins. As I look at the canyon below me slowing being enveloped in the afternoon shadows, all I can think is that I'm descending into hell.

 

My hell has never been fire and pain. My hell has always been darkness with quiet whispers coming from close by. All my fears and pain are amplified by darkness. Maybe I'm a bit too cocky when I say that I can solve almost any problem by the light of day. But in the darkness of night unsolved problems or bad solutions become the proverbial monster under the bed or in the closet. Little problems, little mistakes in my personal life or at work become major worry events at night when I'm trying to go to sleep.

 

Unfortunately, now is no different. The descent into the canyon and toward the cabin makes me anxious, and that anxious feeling is magnified more and more as each ray of sunlight disappears as the sun sets on the other side of the mountain. I'm not a happy camper as I continue down the side of this canyon, but as with many things I've done in my life, I have to do this. My temporary home is below, and I have to be there before the sun sets and the sky goes completely dark.

 

My mind meanders through meaningless topics as I continue. Some of the topics are what to do about the latest changes to one customer's software, what requirements and schedules we can meet for another customer, and what to do to keep the bosses happy. One by one I solve them, but knowing that they probably are only temporary fixes, I begin to fret. Finally, one part of my brain loudly shouts out to remind the other parts, 'Damn it, he's ON VACATION, so leave him alone.' The internal mental battle makes me chuckle for a moment, then, thankfully, my overactive brain finally goes blank for a while.

 

With the conflict in my brain briefly quieted, I finally relax as I look around and take in the view. Although it doesn't have too many bad memories, all the things discovered here about Chad completely overshadow any new memories made here, new memories that might make me want to come back here sometime in the future. And that's a shame, too. The place is actually pretty nice, and I could have gotten to like it, but only if the relationship situation had been different.

 

Soon I realize that I'm back at the top of the stairs where I started at six o'clock this morning. I stop and look around, comparing the view with my earlier memories. At about 4:45 pm, the sunlight is now to the left, and it's just barely above the edge of the canyon. The cold breeze has returned, once again chilling me as it brushes across my face. I look around for the birds and chipmunks, but they seem to be quiet now. I guess they've decided to hunker down for the night that's rapidly approaching. I don't see any cars on the road, but I hear the sounds of motorcycles echoing through the canyon as their riders take them back down to Las Vegas for the night.

 

I slowly make my way down the stairs, holding onto the handrail tightly because my knees and leg muscles are showing signs of being uncooperative after the long hike, and I don't trust them to hold me up at this point. But I make it to the bottom, then down the road, through the parking lot, and down the ramp to the door of my cabin.

 

As I push the key into the cabin door to open it, I sigh deeply knowing that I've actually made it through the day. Although I'm really tired and need a hot shower, I'm actually quite proud of myself. It may have taken eleven hours instead of ten and my feet and legs hurt like hell, but I probably would have felt the same way if I were twenty years younger, too.

 

As I open the cabin door, the darkness that I expected to greet me has been replaced with the unexpected soft flicker of a small fire in the fireplace. A little wary as I wander in, I spot a backpack on the sofa. Feeling kind of like Goldilocks, I look around the cabin, quietly ask "Hello, is anyone here?" but get no answer. However, as I look out the window to the deck on the other side of the cabin, in the dim outside light I see a profile of someone reclining, all stretched out and comfortable in one of the deck's two lounge chairs. It's a profile that I'd recognize anywhere, the profile of the guy I'd woken up next to many mornings in the past year.

 

Immediately I think, 'It's the papa bear. Or should that be mama bear?' and chuckle a little. I laugh a little more as I think, 'Recently he's been more like baby bear. No matter which one it is, where's my rifle?' Then I get serious. I would never use a gun on Chad, but part of me wants to hurt him a little for what he's done. But quickly all of those joking feelings are overcome by an adrenaline hit as fear and anxiety take over my body. I swallow to try to calm, or at least control the nervous feelings I have while thinking, 'He's here to beat the shit out of me, just like I suggested in my letter. And when I wrote it, I really meant it as a joke.'

 

The adrenaline also has another effect on my body. When I recognize it as Mother Nature calling, I quietly drop my daypack in the front hall of the cabin, untie the boot and slip out of them, and make my way into the bathroom. After doing what I had to do and washing my hands, I walk out of the bathroom. The sight of Chad asleep in the lounge chair once again catches my eye, and I slowly make my way toward the deck.

 

As I pass by the fireplace, I notice that it has lots of coals. That makes me think, 'Damn, he's been here a while, and making him wait means he's going to be really pissed. I'm in deep shit now.' I pause and look at the Chad's profile, then the fireplace, and sigh at the thoughts of things that would have happened here if the situation had been different.

 

As those thoughts pass through my brain, tears well up in my eyes. I push back hard, really hard, coldly cutting off all emotions so none will surface while he's here. "Let's get this over with and get him on his way back to Sarah," I mutter, resigned to end this relationship once and for all as I quietly open the door and walk onto the deck.

 

After slowly closing the door, I quietly walk over and scan Chad's reclining body, looking from head to toe at the long, lean, muscular body that nicely fills out the jeans and extra-large leather jacket he is wearing. He's asleep with a pillow from one of the beds behind his head, his head turned slightly as he sleeps.

 

I kneel down on my right knee next to the right side of the lounge chair and pause for a half a minute to study and memorize the relaxed face. Then I slowly extend my right hand forward with the intent of stroking the left side of his face and gently waking him.

 

When my hand is about six inches from his face, Chad suddenly opens his eyes and tries to move away from me, his face scrunching up in what I think is fear or anger.

 

I quickly withdraw my hand, close my eyes and say, "If you feel the need or want to beat the shit out of me, just do it quickly and leave, please." As I say those words, adrenaline pours into my body, my heart accelerates wildly from fear, and my whole body stiffens, preparing for the worst as I expect him to vent his anger on me somewhere, somehow.

 

With my eyes still shut, I wait for what feels like minutes. I can't help flinching slightly as I feel the heat of Chad's hand as it comes close to the side of my face. I wait for what is to come next, but the expected punches never arrive. The warm palm of his hand carefully touches my jaw, a cool finger touches my earlobe while the rest touch the neck below it, his thumb carefully brushing the cheek below my eye.

 

Slowly I open my eyes and look at his face hoping this isn't a set-up. It takes a second, but the tears I see in his eyes almost trigger the release of my own emotions. I quickly suppress them and push them deeper into me while I lean gently against his hand. I start to tell him that I'm sorry, but he stops me by gently moving his thumb over my mouth.

 

Chad looks deeply into my eyes and hoarsely says, "I would never intentionally hurt someone I love as much as I love you. Unfortunately the best of intentions sometimes get lost in the everyday shuffle, and I unintentionally hurt you deeply." After a short pause, he continues. "This whole situation is my fault. I should have never let this happen. I should have told you a long time ago. I should have let you know that I've changed, and that I'm seeing someone. . . ."

 

I twist my head a little and interrupt with ". . . named Sarah Parker."

 

His head moves back a little and I see a flash of surprise in his now dark blue eyes. After a short pause, his affectionate, lopsided grin appears and he shakes his head ever so slightly from side to side. Quietly he says, "Sometimes you are so fucking amazing in what you know. How the hell did you find out?"

 

With a chuckle I say, "I wish I could take the credit for this little discovery but I can't." I look away from his eyes and begin to stare at the floor. "When I left the hotel, I tried to call you. The operator said only 'Sarah' could get through, but I didn't really understand what that meant until about one o'clock this afternoon when I finally figured out who Sarah was. I guess I've never told you this, because I never wanted you to think I'm loony. But on that Monday morning after our first weekend together, a still small voice that sounded like my wife told me that you loved me intensely, and that if I supported you, then you'd support me."

 

Then I look back up into Chad's eyes and continue. "That's why I came to work that morning, and that's what I've been living on ever since. At least until today. Today, that same voice came back and told me it was time to let you go, that you loved someone named Sarah."

 

"So, you do have a guardian angel. I always wondered. . . ." he says, his voice trailing off at the end.

 

"Well, she doesn't always give directions like she used to in real life," I say after a short pause, "but whenever she does now, I make damn sure to pay attention." The comment makes Chad laugh, the sound of which helps me relax some, my heart slowing back down to its regular pace. "By the way, can you scoot over some so I can sit? At my age, kneeling on a knee that has just hiked sixteen miles is painful."

 

"Oh shit. Sure. Sorry I didn't think of that earlier," he says as he quickly moves over, leaving enough space for me to sit, but not enough that he was moving completely away from me.

 

I struggle to get up and then sit next to him, turned 90 degrees from him, my lower back rubbing gently against his outstretched legs, my legs in a regular sitting position with the feet on the deck floor next to the side of the lounge chair. With a chuckle I rub my knee and wryly say, "Getting old sucks," which makes him laugh some more.

 

The conversation stops for a few moments, both of us trying to anticipate what the other will say next. Because I can't stand the silence and can't wait any longer, I turn and look at him and say, "I have to say this and I hope you'll understand. I am so sorry for how I acted Monday. I was way out of line for grabbing, uh, well, for doing and saying what I did. I never, ever intend for you to think that you have to pay me back for anything I do for you. It's just, uh, to put it bluntly, I was saving up for this trip in more ways than one. My little head was thinking instead of my brain and that screwed up everything."

 

We both briefly chuckle at my comment. I look away and with a serious and quiet tone, I continue, "When I finally got a grip on what I'd done and came back to apologize, you were gone. I just hope you'll be able to forgive me someday."

 

After a short pause, Chad responds quietly, "Already have." After another pause, he continues with a repentant tone in his voice. "Now for my apology. I also acted badly. Like I said earlier, I should have told you about this a long time ago. And at the beginning of the trip, I should have paid more attention to you. But I was so wrapped up in getting the proposal done, that I missed what was going on around me. Sarah got a hold of me yesterday afternoon and reamed me royally for what I did to you. . . ."

 

"Good for Sarah," I say, interrupting Chad.

 

After a second or two, Chad laughingly says, "Fuck you. Already taking her side, huh?"

 

All I do is stare at him with a cocky grin on my face which indicates that I have. "I know you pretty well. She's going to need some help, especially when you turn on the charm and flash those pretty, blue eyes of yours." With that I lean toward him and bat my eyelashes to reinforce the point.

 

He reaches out and gently pushes me away as he says, "Go away, old man." Then he immediately stiffens and quickly responds, "Oh shit, sorry for that."

 

It's my turn to laugh out loud as I turn away and look at the deck floor again. "That used to bother me, but not anymore." Then I get serious and my voice drops in volume and pitch. "Today I finally realized that I should have never gotten involved with you. Twenty-two years difference in age is too big of a difference for any real relationship."

 

He reaches up and gently cups my chin with a hand, slowly turning my face back toward his so we see eye to eye again. I see the intense look in his tearful eyes as he shakily says, "In less than a year, our relationship has been way more loving and more real than the five years I knew my first wife. It's a relationship that I will never forget and one that I would gladly do all over again. One that I would gladly continue, if one special opportunity hadn't come along. I just hope you'll forgive me, too."

 

"As you said, 'Already have.'" After a pause, I reach up and take his hand from my face and hold it for a little while. Forcing a poker face to cover my true emotions as they begin to creep back toward the surface, I continue with "It'll be difficult, but I've gotten through this before. And I think I remember saying that I'd let you go if a special female came into your life. So as much as I'd like to keep you here, you're a free man." I gently place his hand on his stomach, then let go of it and turn so he can't see me directly because I'm not sure I can cover the emotions anymore.

 

After a few moments more, Chad very quietly says, "Thank you." Then with a very serious tone, he says quietly again, "You're making this so easy that it's making me uncomfortable."

 

With the emotions now bubbling just below the surface, I clear my throat and change the subject, all in an effort to push them back down again. With some effort, I ask "So, how long have you been here?"

 

Chad hesitates, then answers, "Since a little after seven. Thought you might start late, but. . . ."

 

Instantly my blood pressure rises and I recognize that I'm getting pissed off again. I had really wanted to spend more time with Chad, but he'd screwed me one more time. Giving myself some time to settle back down, I finally take a deep breath and say in a quiet voice, "I had my cell phone with me. Wish you had called me. I would have rather spent the day with you."

 

"Yeah, I know. I wanted to as well, but I was way beyond tired. I finally got the proposal done about four this morning, and e-mailed it back to the office. When I got here, I collapsed and slept until about noon, got some lunch, then slept again until about four before coming out here on the deck and falling asleep again." After some hesitation, "And given that I was so tired, I wouldn't have been good company."

 

Another uncomfortable pause appears in the conversation as I mull over whether or not to ask the question that's really on my mind. Finally I screw up the courage and ask, "So, what happened to make you change your mind about us so drastically? What happened to make you more interested than usual in Sarah and not some other woman?"

 

Chad begins to shift in the chair, obviously uneasy that I had asked. After a few seconds of waiting him out, I turn and look at him directly, indicating that I want an answer, an honest answer. He looks back at me, then lets his head fall back against the chair, staring at the ceiling of the deck and sighing as he thinks about the question.

 

I say flatly, "Okay, we've shared body fluids, uh, intimate body fluids. There isn't anything you can say or do that is that drastic or secretive."

 

After another thirty seconds of waiting, Chad sighs before saying, "Between July 4th and the day we settled on the house, I talked with my Dad. He said something that hit me pretty hard, and it wasn't about our age difference."

 

After another long pause, he finally says, "You're going to think I'm selfish, but after that talk and after all the memories you've described about your family, I finally realized that I want to grow old . . . like my own Dad said . . . with someone calling me 'Dad'."

 

I hear nothing else after that because I'm immediately lost in the memories of a different time, an earlier time when life was as it should have been. I am surrounded by my wife and two boys, the memories we had built together as a family coming to life as vividly colorful as if they were occurring right now.

 

Memories of the younger versions of my boys as they played together in the sandbox at home and on the beach on vacation. Memories of my wife as she played her instrument in a local band and the applause that made her face beam with pride in those concerts.

 

Memories of the older versions of my boys as they played baseball and soccer, and the little victories that each experienced with their teams. Memories of those hot moments with my wife as we snuck a little time together in bed while the boys either slept or played outside.

 

Memories of the hugs I gave to each one every day before I left for work and when I got home from work. Memories of all those times when my boys would hug me, look up at me and say "I love you, Dad." All those memories play back together, multiple years, multiple scenes, multiple places.

 

The images continue to flow, and I see the background move in a surreal, slow-motion manner through my tears. As my brain throbs with pain, I feel someone next to me, grabbing hold and saying repeatedly, "Lean on me, bud. Let it go." I reach around this person and frantically grab for a part of a something to hold onto, but I'm not able to grab anything because of its slipperiness.

 

More memories of my wife and boys flash by as I finally grab something in each hand and hold on tightly. Second by second I hang on, the hug getting tighter along with the tightness in my throat and stomach. I'm beginning to panic because my world is out of control.

 

Soon my brain registers that it's Chad that I'm squeezing so tightly, and, just as quickly, I realize that this too will soon be only a memory. Memories of Chad and me and our time together flash by as the pain grows in my throat and stomach, along with a new pain in between. All of it becomes so strong that I can't help but think 'Oh, God, please help me through this.'

 

Reality finally hits me hard, fast, and painful like a baseball bat to the center of the chest, right over my heart, the impact nearly stopping it. The moment is here, the real moment when our relationship has truly ended, the unstoppable moment when we go from being a couple to being two separate people. The terrified little boy deep down inside me screams, 'Noooooo. I can't be alone AGAIN.' I hold on, squeezing even tighter, the agony and panic filling me from head to toe making me gasp for air, the tears burning my face as the good memories of Chad and me intertwine with the good memories of my wife, my boys, and me. Then the haunting memories return--those images of the mangled mini-van, the three caskets in the church, the drive from the church to the cemetery, and, finally, the graveside service as my wife and boys were laid to rest.