FSE

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I never like to go home. A small town in the middle of nowhere was not kind to a young gay kid, like me, growing up so once I got out I never really looked back. Despite that, I find myself here again for the single reason that would force me back: a funeral.

At least it's over now, but I'm still stuck here for days to get things sorted out because, for some idiotic reason, Dad didn't have a will or life insurance. Asshole, still fucking with me even though he's gone.

“Can I get the seasonal cider? The one from 'Hartsgrove Brewing'?" I ask the doe behind the counter, I recognize her from high school and I am hoping beyond words that she doesn't remember me.

“Course' ya can hun, and hey can I ask you somethin'?" She drawls.

“Shoot."

“Did we go to high school together? Mrs. Trulies class? 11th grade?" She asks. “Not a lot of humans in our town."

“Not a lot of anyone, is there? And yeah, we did. I'm Wesley, Wesley Groves." I take my hat off and set it on the counter.

“Well, butter my biscuit! Wes?! You look… God, you were so small in school!" She hands me my drink.

When I finally escaped to college three states away I made an effort to change my life. I worked out, grew some facial hair, and cut my hair short. Ten years pass and I look like a totally different person, frankly, I'm hot as fuck.

“We've all changed, Grace." I shrug.

“So you still–"

“Yes. Still gay."

She laughs. “Not what I was gonna ask, Wes, but I'd love to see Park's face if he saw you now. You'd kick his ass!" She excuses herself to help some new customers. “Speaking of, I bet he'd wanna see you."

I force a smile. Jim Park was another of our schoolmates, one who had made me miserable. He had been perfectly nice for a while, we had even been friends, until I told him I was gay.

I finish my drink and pay, grabbing a six-pack of that cider for good measure. I leave a good tip, mostly because I feel bad that a girl as bright as her is still serving drinks in our hometown. Stepping out onto the main street I take in everything that's changed, which isn't much.

Our famous gun and booze store still stands but there's a handful of newer cafes and restaurants that cater to tourists, the area has numerous renowned hiking trails, ski lodges, and rafting spots. It was the only thing worth coming to town for.

I smile thinking about how pissed off all the rednecks must be to have tourists swarming the area three or four times a year. How much they must hate the world moving on, not just without them, but in spite of them.

The church where the service was had just been a couple blocks away from the restaurant which was just a few miles of walking from dads. I had walked everywhere to give me time to clear my head.

In less than an hour, the small strip of urban life gives way to fields, hills, and forests. It's beautiful in the late afternoon light as the sun begins to set. A place like this would be my ideal town if not for the locals and bad memories.

I slow down to take in the natural splendor, it might be the last time I ever come back here after all. Mom moved, Dad died, and all of the people with sense fled too. I used to walk home a lot, there was a bus but I wasn't keen on being around dad. I pause at a familiar bend and hurry across the cracked pavement. There should be a spot that–

“Hell yeah!" I cheer. I duck beneath the brush and branches that now obscure the dirt trail. Greenery has choked most of it away, I always figured I was the only person to ever walk this way. I follow the thin brown trail, keeping my eyes open for poison oak and rattlesnakes.

It takes me much longer than it used to thanks to the rough state of the trail but I'm finally rewarded with the one welcome sight in the town. An abandoned logging camp just off the road. It was huge, but the dense wall of trees hid it from the nearby road.

I spent a lot of time here alone in high school, no one ever came by. I'd usually clean up cuts and bruises before going home so my dad didn't lecture me about 'manning up'. Sometimes I even slept here, especially if he had his buddies over for poker.

Walking the perimeter I assess the damage, it looks mostly the same just with a couple more broken windows and collapsed doors. I never went inside, anyways, I was young but not stupid. Not that stupid, anyways.

“There you are you ugly fuck!" I leap onto a broken-down crane and climb into the seat. I frown down at the console. It's not dusty at all, not even that dirty. Has someone else adopted this spot after I left? “Guess you're not really mine anymore." I place a hand on the wheel.

I reach into my backpack and take out a portable speaker and set it to some good ol' rock. Just because I'm here for a funeral doesn't mean I can't try to do something fun-ish. I crack the first of my beverages and settle in to relax as dusk approaches.

Hours of peace slip away with the light, just like in high school. Unlike high school, though, I'm not dreading leaving this little sanctuary hidden just outside town. I admire the stars, something absent from the city I live in.

I pull my light jacket closer as the night chill creeps in. I laugh into the darkness as a thought crosses my mind. I wonder if I can find anyone from town on one of the apps. Getting cold like this always got me thinking of creative ways to 'warm up'.

“Nah. No one worthwhile, anyways," I say aloud as I crack another drink. “Shit." There was only one other left, was I really breaking into number five already? Whatever. Not like anyone is waiting for me at Dad's.

A loud truck barrels by in the distance, the sound just barely penetrating the wall of branches and leaves. I jolt upright when I realize that the sound is coming closer. Who the fuck? Was it whoever had taken over my spot? I stuff my last cider in my bag and silence my stereo.

I duck beneath the dashboard of the crane and hide from a pair of yellowish headlights. The engine of the vehicle stops and I hear a single door open and slam shut. Boots crunch directly toward me.

God dammit. A flashlight lands on me in the chair, revealing my awkward crouching form.

“Holy shit, Grace wasn't kiddin' one bit!" A deep voice says, amused. "You're huge now!"

God. Fucking. Dammit. “Jim." I turn toward him, only able to make out the Bears bulky silhouette in the dark.

“Get on outta there, Wes."

“Why? So you can kick my ass, like the good old days?" I sit upright and glare down at him. As my eyes adjust I can tell he's gained a bit of weight, he's a far cry from his football days.

“...No."

I hop down and approach. “What do you want?"

“I went to your Pa's and waited awhile but you never showed so I went an' talked with Grace at Bucks. She said you came out this way and I remembered you used to lurk around here sometimes." He takes his hat off and holds it against his chest like all the 'Good Old Boys' do when talking to a lady.

“You can put your hat back on, Jim."

“Yessir." He coughs but doesn't put his hat back on. “We should go sit in the bed of my truck n' talk."

“Why would I want to talk to you?"

He winces at the coldness in my voice. “I wanna apologize."

I laugh.

“I'm serious, Wes! Damn!" He throws his thick arms in the air. “Can you gimme a chance, at least?"

“Why not, it'll be funny." I gesture for him to lead the way.

He opens the back of his truck and holds out a paw to help me up. I ignore him and hoist myself into the back and take a seat on one of the small benches. He climbs up once I've sat down and sits opposite of me.

“I uh, I brought a peace offering." He opens the silver toolbox at the back of the bed of the truck and pulls out a couple of six-packs.

“S'good stuff." I point, it's the same stuff I've been drinking.

“Grace said you seemed to like it." He holds a can out to me.

Why should he care? “Thanks, I still got one left in my bag."

“Cool." He places it back in the toolbox.

We sit in silence while I sip my drink. I keep glaring at him and with the bedlights on it's easier to see him clearly. He's gained weight but still looks pretty good, and mostly like the guy who bullied me in high school. Just older and a little fatter. If I didn't loathe him so much he might be my type.

He wrings his hat in his hands, another quirk the men around here had. He was nervous. Any time our eyes meet he looks away and tries to say something but he never manages to get the words out.

I lean back and stare at the brown bear. “What was it you wanted to apologize for?"

“I–I– First I'm sorry 'bout your pa. He was a good man." Jim says.

“Thanks. Is that all?" These little platitudes were worse than the funeral. Almost.

“No! No, I'm… It's just when I heard you was comin' back to town I got thinkin' and…" He wrings his hat again. “I did you wrong, Wes. I'm sorry. I was young and… and that don't make it okay but I'm sorry."

I almost laugh but as I meet his eyes I soften. He looks scared and sad, but anger swells in my chest. “You want me to forgive you?"

“Yes. I'm sorry. I was wrong and–"

“You want to feel better? Want me to absolve you of your sins?" I bite the last word.

“Wes–"

“You outed me. You abandoned me! I thought you were my friend." Poison coats my tongue.

“Wes, wait–"

“Fuck off! You know you were the first person I told? I trusted you, dude!" I stand.

“You have every right to be mad, I just–"

“Damn right, I do! You want me to just say 'I forgive you' over some drinks so you can feel better about yourself or something?!"

“That's not it! I want–"

“Too bad, Jim, too fuckin' bad! Fuck you!" I pause before jumping out of the truck. “I'm taking this!" I go to grab the second six pack but his large paw stops me.

“Now hold on one Goddamn minute!" He stands and looks down at me, he's easily half a foot taller than me. “Can we have a fuckin' conversation?!"

“I don't owe you shit!"

“I'm not sayin' you do, fuckin' hell you're as stubborn as ever!" He growls and then frowns. “Can I drive you to your dad's, at least?"

I roll my eyes.

“Come on, man. Lemme do that at least?" He asks. “Please?"

I sigh.

“Wesley, I'm fuckin' beggin' you. Please."

“Fine. Let's go."

He climbs down from the truckbed first, and despite my anger, I find in my drunken state I actually do need his help this time. I mutter half-hearted thanks and hurry to the passenger seat. He climbs in soon after and starts the truck, immediately I'm bombarded with trashy modern country music.

It's not a long drive, maybe ten minutes, but the awkward tension makes it feel like ages. Eventually, Jim gets the courage to speak but I mostly just nod along and respond with single words. We reach my dad's and I step out.

“Wes, wait." I hear the truck stop and Jim's door open and close behind me.

“We talked, you said your piece, and I said mine."

“I got more to say and I ain't goin' nowhere till–"

“Jim, I swear to GOD!" I turn on him. “Gotta say I'm not really in the mood to listen to someone else's shit right now, 'cause in case you forgot my dad DIED. His funeral was today, and I'm fuckin' tired!" I roll my eyes when I hear my own accent sneak back.

“I don't wanna hear anymore 'sorry for your loss' shit today, I don't wanna hear anymore 'Your dad was a good man' today, I don't want to hear any of it! He wasn't a good man! He was fucking terrible!" I step forward and he retreats. “He hated me and I hated him, but someone has to clean up this fucking mess and it's me because there is no one else to do it!"

I clench my fists. “I'm so fucking tired, Jim. He's buried and gone and honestly, I just want to bury this shitty little town and everyone in it and move on with my FUCKING life. Who knows, maybe I'll come back for the reunion? That's gotta be this year, right, I can see everyone who made my life a nightmare! Woo!"

“Stupid. Fucking. Rednecks. Talking down to me because I like to suck cock!" I howl. “And another thing–!"

His arms are around me. For some reason I don't even try to push away, I just scream and sob into my old high school bullies' arms. He's quiet, but at least he's there. He was the only person there. No one had stuck around after the service, no one came calling-- just him.

Once my breathing calms down he releases me. “Wesley?"

“What?!" I snap a little more harshly than I meant to.

“I still got a couple of six packs and, well, can I come in?" He takes his cap off again and holds it to his chest.

I should tell him to fuck off. I mean, I did tell him to fuck off. Several times. Loudly. In spite of that, he's still trying to talk to me, even trying to comfort me. He brought some cider I like and came looking for me.

“Yeah. Come on, it's only… Fuck, almost 11 pm?" I must have been at the old camp for hours.

“That late for a city slicker like you?" He smirks.

“Bars in the city don't even open until 11, Jim." I shake my head and hold open the door to my childhood home. “Don't make me regret this."

He smiles wide. “You won't! I promise." He grabs the rest of the drinks.

“Did you seriously call me a city slicker?"

“Come prove me wrong then, Wes."