“Here, let me fetch you a handkerchief,” Art said, taking his bag off and pulling it around in front ofhim.
“It’s fine,Art.”
“It’ll just take me onemoment.”
Wes laughed. “No, itwon’t.”
“Yes, it will. Just hold it forme.”
Wes obliged, and even though Art was determined to prove Wes wrong, as he emptied the contents of the bag one at a time, realizing the handkerchief was not as easy to locate as he’d figured it would be, he conceded, “Well… I could have sworn I put it inhere.”
“I said it’s fine,” Wes told him as he set his hand on Art’s shoulder. “You’re a good boyfriend for consideringit.”
Art perked right up at that word:boyfriend. Whenever Wes used it, it was strange the way it hit his ears, perhaps simply because it had been so long since he’d heard anyone call him that. It seemed the only fitting descriptor for where they were at, but also with such little significance to it, so trivial for men their age. What they were involved in was certainly more than some lust-filled flirtation that might have stirred when he was younger. They had years of experience to know the difference between that and what they shared, but they hadn’t shared enough time for it to warrant a more substantial label,either.
“Here, we need a selfie,” Wes said, retrieving his phone from his pocket. “We don’t take enough pictures, and I enjoy my time with you too much to not have picturestogether.”
They stood side by side, and Wes snapped a few photos as he worked his way through directing it. “No, no…the camera’s over here. Oh, it needs to be higher, I think… Now get in it… Oh, I’m not in it now.” This kept Art laughing, which wound up working perfectly in one of thephotos.
“For my memories, because who knows how much longer I’ll have them,” Wessaid.
Art packed the bag, and they continued on their adventure until they reached thepond.
It was strange how the more time they spent at that pond, the more it almost merged in his mind as being one and the same as that pond they’d chatted at in high school. Even the bench from his memory transformed into a log at times, simply because it was the place Art had come to associate with him andWes.
Making their way through the foliage to that familiar log, Art could feel the sweat running down his face more than usual, since even at that time in the morning, the heat was so severe. They wouldn’t be spending much time out there, though. Just long enough to enjoy the pleasant memories they associated with theplace.
Art had never noticed himself looking at the log before he sat, but on that occasion, he noticed it because there was something carved into the bark of the edge, near where he was about tosit.
TheFwas the easiest to make out, the other five letters taking moreeffort.
The word was unmistakable,though.
Curious what emotions a single word could stir… Despite spending a lifetime in a world where he’d known what he and Wes felt wasn’t sanctioned, he wouldn’t have expected in the times they lived in or within the confines of their community to see such a blatant and personal affront to their relationship. He wanted to call Wes’s attention to it, but instead, he stood and turned away, an instinctual reaction, like the way his body trembled and his chin quivered as his eyes filled withtears.
The power of aword.
The pain of aword.
The cruelty of the one who wrote it, with the apparent intent to disturb what Art had held so sacred in the time he and Wes had discovered what he felt so fortunate to share withWes.
As he started to turn back, he could see that Wes had caught on to what had upset him so much. With a tense jaw, his face red, his reaction was clearly toward anger, whereas Art’s had leaned towarddespair.
“I guess we’ll be cutting our walk short today,” Wes said through clenchedteeth.
With that, the place that had served as such a beautiful symbol of their increasing feelings for one another had been distorted into something dark andtroubling.
* * *
Wes and Artreturned to the community, for the first time since they’d begun their walks, not filled with the usual eagerness and joy that followed their timetogether.
Instead, there waspain.
Wes kept quiet on that trudge back, but it didn’t keep him from stewing, festering in rage. Their first stop was the security office, where a familiar-looking security guard named Joe, in a khaki-colored uniform, took down theirstatement.
“I’ll head out there and take some pictures,” Joe said, “and then I’ll file a report. We can ask and find out if anyone was outthere.”
Wesnodded.
