Jim and Chad, Part 2 - 26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

 

The morning after a drinking binge is never a good one for me, and this one is no exception. Even though I'd taken a couple of aspirin last night before going to bed, I still have a dull, throbbing headache this morning. It starts right behind my eyes and extends straight through to the back of my head, and it hammers away with every beat of my heart. I slowly push myself into a sitting position and find that I'm still feeling a little woozy from the rum, just like I'd felt when I had to get up to go to the bathroom a couple of times in the middle of the night. I feel like shit warmed over, so I'm thinking (sarcastically, of course), 'Ohhh, this is going to be such a wooonderful day.'

 

I scan the cabin looking for signs of life other than me, then painfully remember that I'm alone. The memories of the last couple of days come flooding back to me, Chad and Jeff's faces making appearances, the random images invoking strong feelings as I remember the laughter and tears I had with both of these guys. But the memory of how Jeff's face looked as he left last night is particularly haunting. Unfortunately, by the light of day, the situation doesn't feel any better than it did last night.

 

I glance at the clock and see that it's about 8:30. I make a mental note to ask Jeff if he remembers what time we came back to the cabins so I can figure out how long I slept. I think it's between 10 and 11, but I'm not quite sure. Being drunk and having the conversation he and I had here at the cabin late last night has me unsure of anything right now.

 

I slowly crawl out of bed, gather some clean clothes from the suitcase and head for the bathroom. More aspirin and a hot shower soothes my aching muscles and chases away the clouds and most of the accompanying pain from my brain. Knowing that I'm probably borderline on alcohol poisoning, I also drink a fair amount of water in the shower and hope that the dizziness will go away soon. Once everything is clean, I stand there a little while longer, not really wanting to leave the hot, steamy cocoon that the shower provides. But eventually the water turns colder, so I have to turn it off and get out.

 

Because I had been in the shower for a while, I quickly look out the bathroom door at the clock by the bed. It shows 9:20, and I think, 'Good, plenty of time left.' So I dry my body, blow dry my hair, then pull on the clothes and head to the refrigerator for a breakfast of chocolate mini-donuts and chocolate milk. After eating breakfast, I make five sandwiches of various types, get a couple of sodas and a couple of water bottles from the fridge and pack them all in the daypack in preparation for a lunch with Jeff. To top it all off, I also add a couple of protein bars as dessert.

 

Luckily I also remember that I need to change the batteries in the camera. So I pull it out of the daypack's outside compartment, walk over to the suitcases and replace the batteries with a fresh pair, then put it back in the daypack, ready for more pictures during today's hike.

 

Just as I've finished packing lunch, I hear a rather obnoxious rapping on the front door. I walk over to the door and open it. Once again I'm impressed with what I see: a tall, wide man, with a strong, squarish face which is sheltered by a baseball cap, wearing a medium weight blue coat, blue shirt with a black t-shirt underneath, nice-fitting jeans, and hiking boots. The blue coat triggers the pleasant memory of a couple of days ago when I first saw him in that coat, all smiles and easy-going conversation when our paths crossed during our hikes.

 

However, Jeff's face this morning is angry-looking. He has a slight frown and his eyes are squinted. I know something's wrong when the first words from his mouth are spoken rather harshly. "You ready to go?" he asks with almost no drawl in his voice.

 

I had been wishing for something a little more civil or even funny, like "How did the drunk sleep last night?" I deal with that little disappointment by quickly putting on my coat and the daypack while telling myself that wishes don't always come true. Even though I'm rushing, before I get out the door, Jeff is already half-way up the ramp, saying "Get a move on" with a definite edge in his voice.

 

For about the first half mile that I follow Jeff, I'm always behind and always being pushed harder. A couple of times Jeff turns and sees how far I am behind him, then says something derogatory that I don't need to hear. Needless to say, the frustration mounts pretty quickly. When we pass the parking lot at the trailhead, through a little grove of densely-packed trees, and start the big climb up to Cathedral Rock, Jeff takes off without me, his long, strong legs taking the hike much faster than I can. So I do what I can do--I slow down and start hiking at my own pace.

 

When I come to a switchback in the path a few minutes later, Jeff gruffly says, "Where the hell have you been, slow poke? I don't have all day for this hike, you know." When I look up, I see a huge and intimidating figure, standing there impatiently with his eyes squinted and his arms crossed over his chest.

 

At first I'm deeply hurt by the comment, because I thought he was "tagging along" on this hike because he wanted to be with me, and once we were finished with the hike, we'd be spending more time together. At least that's what I had thought in the drunken haze of last night. But by day the situation seems sooooo different. The thought of Jeff being a "good guy" is slowly fading, and I'm beginning to think that last night was only a dream.

 

But the hurt is soon replaced with an anger that builds from down deep inside me. The frustration of the past half hour adds fuel to the fire as it builds rapidly. I try to control it, but my mouth blurts out, "If you don't have all day, then why don't you just turn around and go back to your own cabin now." I don't say it, but as I stand there staring at Jeff, my brain adds 'asshole' to the end of that sentence. I feel my face flush as my blood pressure goes up, and I'm starting to feel reckless and out of control. Part of me is even thinking, 'Sure he could do some real damage to me, but right now I'm pissed off enough that I don't care.'

 

In a tense voice, Jeff says, "I've already done this hike, so I really don't need to be here with you."

 

Now I'm really pissed, and I respond to Jeff's statement in a voice harsher than I had intended. "Fine, then go. You're the one who wanted to tag along, and I thought you wanted to be on this hike because we're friends. But you seem to want to be a BITCH instead." Then I turn and start up the path beyond the switchback, ahead of Jeff.

 

"Well, FUCK YOU TOO," Jeff spits out a second later.

 

I whirl around while thinking, 'Okay, THAT'S IT.' I walk back down the path until I'm about three feet from Jeff, my eyes locked to his, my anger so firmly in control that I start yelling. "YES, FUCK ME. I GUESS I'M THE CAUSE OF ALL YOUR PROBLEMS, SO YOU FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO PUNISH ME OR SOMETHING. YES, I'M SORRY FOR EVERYTHING I SAID LAST NIGHT, BUT BELIEVE ME, I WON'T EVER CROSS THAT LINE AGAIN. BUT DOES THAT GIVE YOU A RIGHT TO TAKE ALL YOUR FRUSTRATIONS WITH MIKE OUT ON ME? DOES THAT GIVE YOU A RIGHT TO BEAT ME UP FOR SOME UNKNOWN REASON BECAUSE I TELL YOU ABOUT LOSING MY WIFE AND KIDS? IF YOU THINK SO, THEN JUST GO AHEAD AND BEAT THE HELL OUT OF ME. TAKE ALL OF YOUR ANGER OUT ON ME. AS A MATTER OF FACT, DO A GOOD JOB AND JUST KILL ME, BECAUSE IF YOU'RE NO LONGER A FRIEND, I DON'T HAVE MUCH ELSE TO LIVE FOR."

 

As I yell at him, Jeff takes a half-step back, his eyes somehow change color from green to gray, and the look on his face changes from anger to an impassive "go to hell" look. I'm still majorly frustrated after yelling, and his face isn't showing anything to help me decide whether or not to continue. But finally the anger takes back over and I blurt out, "So, now YOU have a decision to make. If you want to stop shoveling your brand of horse shit on top of me and apologize, meet me at the top. But if you don't want to do that, just head back down to your cabin and leave me the fuck alone. That way I can remember you as the good guy from last night, not the ASSHOLE I see in front of me right now." Once said, I turn and start up the path toward the top of Cathedral Rock, my anger causing me to walk much faster than before.

 

The steep climb and the fast pace together quickly wear me down, causing me to breathe heavily as I remember the altitude and my age. At the next switchback, I stop for a couple of minutes so my pounding heart and oxygen-deprived brain can catch up with the rest of me. With adrenaline finally wearing off, my anger evaporates into the air as the sweat evaporates and chills me in the dry, late morning air.

 

While stopped, I finally take a look at the day itself, something I hadn't done earlier because of Jeff's pushiness. It's cloudy and gray with the clouds hanging low, and given the temperature, it feels like snow. Snow in October is extremely rare where I live, but here in the mountains above 7,500 feet, snow is probably a normal occurrence from now until May or June.

 

As my anger dissipates, I look back down the trail hoping to see Jeff walking up towards me from around the bend which now hides the spot where I had yelled at him. But when I don't see him anywhere on the trail behind me, my heart drops into my stomach and my throat begins to hurt. I quietly ask myself, "What the hell have I done?" A voice inside says, 'He was pushing you too hard, blaming you for his problems. It's better that you break away from him now, rather than tomorrow when you're too hooked on him to be able to.' But another, even quieter voice says, 'Yeah, but he would have made a great friend,' and I instantly feel guilty for what I've said and done.

 

I resume the hike, this time at a slower pace. The minutes tick by slowly as I wind my way up the rest of the side of the canyon and then over to Cathedral Rock which juts out into the canyon at about a thousand feet above the canyon floor.

 

When I get to the top, I take off my daypack and set it on a nearby rock, then gaze out over the sleeply little town which is Mount Charleston, Nevada. From here, the standard cliches apply: the cars are the size of ants, and the houses and cabins look almost like Monopoly houses.

 

But out of all the stuff I look at, I focus on two cabins in particular, mainly with the hope that I don't see a bigger-than-life man entering his cabin just up the hill from mine. I'm so intent at looking at those two cabins that I don't realize I'm crying until my face starts to chill from the tears running down it. I brush away some of the wetness with the back of a hand, then with a sniff, I look up at the clouds and ask quietly, "Dear God, I've already lost the guy I was going to spend the rest of my life with. And now I've lost the chance at another special friendship. So what I need to know now is this: is this week going to get any more fucked up than it already is?"

 

I listen to a small breeze rustle the trees around me and in the canyon below hoping that nature will give me a sign, maybe something like a single snowflake drifting down in front of me, anything to let me know everything is going to be okay. Instead my answer comes from the deep, quiet, drawling voice from somewhere behind me. "If I say I'm sorry, would that help make it a little better?"

 

At the sound of Jeff's voice, what feels like an electric shock rockets from my head down to my toes, and I know that I jerk in surprise because of it. The pain in my stomach and throat grows much stronger. Try as I might, I can't control what I'm feeling and I cry even more because he's here and apologizing. But at the same time, a small and growing laugh also inhabits my body because I've been discovered crying by this guy yet one more time. Somehow both continue to grow. I find myself laughing so hard that I'm bending over with my hands on my knees and laughing, but tears of an emotional pain are also running down my face and dripping onto the ground below me. Meanwhile, the detached, logical part of me wonders if this is what going insane feels like.

 

Through the tears, I see a familiar pair of hiking boots appear next to me. Then I feel warm hands grab mine and pull them gently, but quickly, around a warm body and inside a coat. I grab hold of the back of the body and pull it desperately toward me, burying my face in that sweet spot where shoulder and neck join. Then I feel him wrap his coat around me, completing the cocoon when he wraps his arms around my back and pulls me tightly to him.

 

We stand together for a few minutes, neither of us saying anything, both of us keeping a tight grip on the other. I continue to cry because it looks like I won't lose yet another person in my life. Jeff cries for his own reasons, reasons unknown to me, while he whispers hoarsely, "Hold me, bud, just hold me."

 

Eventually our tears stop, but we continue to hold each other tightly after that. While still somewhat buried inside his coat, I say what I need to say. "Jeff, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for being such a wimp that you have to come save me, then let me cry on your shoulder. I'm sorry for yelling at you. I let my anger at Chad get out of control and. . . ."

 

"There's no need for you to apologize," Jeff interrupts. Then with a sigh, he says, "I'm the one who needs to apologize. You're right. This morning's phone call with Mike didn't go well, and I was angry from that. Then something you said last night brought back painful memories. And now I know why I'm so drawn to you. So when I saw you this morning I got angry about it." Jeff pauses for a few seconds, and I hear him swallow loudly. In a new raspy and shaky sounding voice, he adds, "And that was stupid of me. I know you don't know my past, and I know I shouldn't take it out on you, but sometimes I too can't control what I feel." He hugs me a little tighter and I do the same to him in return.

 

Through the haze and confusion of my own emotions, as we hold each other tightly I think, 'So that's why he acted so funny last night. I wonder what's got him so upset.'

 

Slowly we pull away from each other. When we're about a foot apart, I look up to Jeff's face. He has that far-away look again, but that's also when I notice how bloodshot his eyes look. The curious part of me wants to know what memory I've brought back to life, but the compassionate (okay, mothering) part of me just wants to hold and hug him again, letting him relax and try to forget about it all for a while.

 

I'm not really sure what to do now, so I try to slowly bring Jeff back to the moment by quietly asking, "Sooooo, you wanna talk about it?"

 

I instantly regret asking the question, because the six-foot-five monster of a man standing next to me suddenly pulls away from me and walks about five feet away. Now he looks small and shy, his hands stuffed deeply into his coat pockets, his head bowed down and eyes looking at the ground, and his body stooped slightly as he moves closer to a nearby tree, almost as if he were trying to blend in with the tree itself. I want to reach out and take his face in my hands, force him to look at me so I can let him know that everything will be okay, but a feeling inside says that I need to keep my hands to myself for the moment.

 

After a long pause, Jeff surprises me by saying, "I'm not gay. I'm kind of like Chad. Mike's one of two guys I've ever been with. But I guess that doesn't make me straight either. . ." his voice trailing off as he speaks. He looks at me briefly, then looks down at the ground again. He opens his mouth a couple more times and I think that he's going to say more, but nothing comes out.

 

After we stand there for what feels like another eternity, I finally understand not just the comment, but why he said it. He wants to tell me something about his past, but something keeps him from actually saying the words. And I know from my own experiences with Chad that pressuring him will only make him clam up even more. So I walk over to him, reach out and put my hand on his elbow, and quietly say, "There's a long story behind all this, but you don't want to discuss it now. Am I reading that right?"

 

Jeff quickly looks up at me with an appreciative look on his face, holds my gaze for a second or two, then looks back down to the ground. The look and the action make me think 'Bingo,' but his quiet "Yeah" a few seconds later confirms my thoughts.

 

I squeeze his elbow and say, "I'm here whenever you need me, well, at least until Mike gets here tomorrow, then you need to say whatever you need to say to him if you haven't already done so. But before tomorrow, if you feel the need to talk about it, I'd be pleased to listen. I'm always interested in helping friends, uh, close friends, get through any problems they may have."

 

Jeff looks up for a moment, then back down to the ground. "Thanks," he whispers so quietly I almost miss it in the calmness that surrounds us.

 

Still looking at the somewhat damaged guy standing next to me, I relax and feel a little less guilty at making him remember something from his past. While thinking of something to say to comfort him, all of the sudden my mouth starts moving. "So the great warrior has a small, almost hidden flaw in the corner of his otherwise perfect armor. Compared to you, oh great one, my armor looks like fucking Swiss cheese."

 

Jeff looks up at me quickly. At first his face has a questioning look on it, but that quickly changes to a small grin with a twinkle in his eye as he finally understands my feeble attempt at consoling him with humor.

 

After a few more seconds of looking at this "almost perfect" guy, I squeeze his elbow again and let go, all while quietly asking, "Did you have breakfast this morning?"

 

"Yeah, at the lodge about seven," is Jeff's quiet reply.

 

My watch shows that it's about noon, so I ask, "You want lunch?" Jeff looks a little baffled and I know he's thinking that we have to go back to the lodge to get lunch, so I add, "I brought a few sandwiches and some drinks up in the daypack. Thought we might have, uh, . . . a, uh, . . . power lunch overlooking the canyon." I had thought about saying "picnic" instead of "power lunch," but for some reason "picnic" sounds too gay for two guys having lunch together.

 

When Jeff doesn't respond, I look over to him, hoping that I've not caused more problems. His face has something of a goofy grin on it, and he looks like he's trying not to laugh out loud. I already know that the phrase "power lunch" is what has him ready to laugh, so I quietly say, "Okay, picnic." Instantly, Jeff starts to laugh his quiet, deep chuckle.

 

"Afraid that I'll think you're gay, Jim?"

 

Of course I blush at the question because it has sexual connotations. If anyone asked, I'd admit to being bi, but until recently, the question hasn't been a part of my regular conversation with anyone other than Chad. As I reach for the daypack, my brain thinks, 'I can't let this one get by without some kind of a reply,' while "No, I just want to make sure you don't think I'm easy," slips from my mouth before the brain can evaluate it for suitability.

 

Through his renewed laughter, Jeff asks, "So, what you're really saying is that you are?"

 

I blush even more furiously while looking around for a place to sit. I find a nice flat rock for both of us, sit on one side of it, and open the daypack. Throughout all of this, my brain keeps saying 'DON'T say anything else, just let it ride,' but soon my mouth opens and out pops "Only around you" before the brain has time to react and control it.

 

Jeff's laughter slowly ends as he sits next to me on the rock. I don't look at him as he sits down, because I can feel him looking at me. So instead of looking at him, I pull out the sandwiches and ask, "Okay, I have five sandwiches, two ham and swiss, two turkey and swiss, and one beef and cheddar. Any of those interest you?"

 

Jeff doesn't answer right away, so I look up to his face, even though I really don't want to. As I suspected, he's looking at me. But when I lean to the side a couple of inches, his eyes don't follow. So I reach over and touch his arm. He shakes his head slightly, looks at me again, and asks "What?"

 

"You okay?"

 

"Yeah. What's for lunch?"

 

I'm a little puzzled by his question, but I figure he was thinking about something that maybe he'll tell me about later. So I ignore it for now and repeat the sandwich choices.

 

"Can I have two?" he asks quietly.

 

I grin and say, "Actually I made two for each of us, with one extra in case one of us was extra hungry."

 

Jeff selects his two and we begin to eat. Over the next few minutes, Jeff inhales those two plus the extra sandwich, gulps down the contents of a large water bottle, then starts on a protein bar about the time I finish my second sandwich. Just watching this human garbage disposal makes me grin.

 

"What?" Jeff asks after seeing my grin.

 

"How old are you?"

 

"Why do you ask?"

 

"Well, you just wolfed down your food like a teenager."

 

Jeff looks down at the ground, a little bit embarassed, then thickly drawls, "I guess I was hungry."

 

I chuckle a little at his embarassment, thinking about how much he acts like me when he's hungry. But then I realize that I really want an answer to my question. "So, how old are you?" I ask again.

 

Jeff looks at me again. He makes me wait a little longer, then says, "Thirty five."

 

I quickly calculate our age difference: thirteen years. Then I think, 'Damn, I'm too old for him, too.' I'm sure disappointment shows on my face, but I quickly cover it by saying, "My thirties were good years, wife, kids, me growing up with them." Just saying the words brings back memories of those days. Young kids around the house, my wife and I both playing with them, chasing them around the house as they laughed loudly. We'd moved into our new house and parts were still unfurnished, but one part in particular made a superb romper room for us and the kids. We were excited to be a family, and getting to meet all the other families in our new neighborhood. It was a good time, a happy time.

 

I feel Jeff's hand on my hand, squeezing it to let me know he understands. When I look over at him, I see that the "good Jeff" is back, and with him are those compassionate, intensely green eyes, which warm me deep inside when I look at them.

 

Unfortunately, we don't get to look at or touch each other for too long, because a 15- to 17-year-old boy walks up the trail and begins to walk around on the top of the Rock. He looks like a typical teenager out for a hike, but rather than listening to Mother Nature, he has a pair of earbuds in his ears and he's doing something like an air guitar as he walks around.

 

Seeing that we've lost our time alone, Jeff and I clean up and stash all the trash in my daypack. When I remember that I haven't taken pictures yet, I get out the camera and take some of the summits and other nearby rock formations and all up and down the canyon. I'm satisified with some of the pictures of clouds hugging and easing their way around the summits, but in general, I hope that the rest of the pictures aren't out-of-focus because I had felt rushed while taking them.

 

Just about the time Jeff and I are ready to leave, a father and his 11- to 13-year old son arrive. The father looks like he doesn't want to be here, and the son is complaining loudly about having to make this hike. I begin to assume that these two and the other boy are a family when the three of them start talking. Meanwhile, the bits and pieces I continue to hear are the younger son still complaining about this hike and how he really doesn't want to make the hike up to Charleston Peak.

 

A loud and frustrated comment made by the father stops me in my tracks. "But your Mom said that she really wanted us to make the hike up to Charleston Peak together, all three of us . . . as a family." That comment seems to stop all of their discussion. Without saying anything else, the boys quietly turn and look out at the canyon while the father turns and walks away from them, looking for a spot of his own to sit and relax for a few minutes. The pained, almost tearful look on the father's face along with the boys' unspoken responses lets me know everything I need to know. I don't know why I feel this way, but I get the definite feeling that Mom isn't in the picture anymore, or the more probable situation, Mom isn't on Earth anymore.

 

I turn and quickly look at Jeff. He's seen everything I've seen, so he seems to understand when I take off the daypack, pull out my camera, and search for the pictures that I took a couple of days ago. I take one last long look into Jeff's supportive green eyes. He already seems to know what I'm going to do as he nods his head slowly up and down. Part of me is screaming that I shouldn't be doing this, but something else tugs strongly at my heart, making me do something I normally wouldn't do. Not knowing what I'm about to get myself into, I walk over to the father, hold out the camera to show him the first picture and ask, "I know I should keep my thoughts to myself, but I can't seem to help it. May I show your younger son some pictures and talk with him for a couple of minutes?"