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Paul’s Choice
Back in 1870, two white men asked a Nisqually to guide them to the top of Mount Rainier. He took them as far as the snowline and then refused to go farther. He warned the climbers of the physical dangers, the storms, the winds, the avalanches, and above all, the summit spirits. Even today, many Nisqually believe the snowline separates the sacred from the profane, and they will not cross it.
That evening Paul sat in front of the television letting CNN news wash over him. The caller ID displayed on his television set: “Ian Finnerty” and the phone number. Three times the number appeared, and three times Paul let it ring out and go to voice mail. The red light on the phone on the end table flashed. He could see it out of the corner of his eye as he watched TV. He knew he couldn’t avoid Ian forever, but he was not ready to talk to him yet. He wanted the whole thing to just go away. He had become comfortable with the situation, desiring Ian, growing closer every day, coming close to the line and never crossing it.
Getting to know Ian and to care about him was innocent. So was enjoying the pure aesthetic pleasure of Ian’s beauty. Helping him get back to sobriety, giving him a job, being a friend—all of that could even be considered admirable, elevated. His own secret desires didn’t change any of that—as long as he didn’t act on them.
What was it about sex? Why did it seem so important? It was just the touch of certa
in body parts. How could that have such significance that obsessions could be ignited, marriages could be destroyed, and careers ruined? It shouldn’t matter so much. Yet some friendships could never feel complete without it.
His desire for Ian had the force of an ocean, a tornado, or a mountain. The mountain defies any effort by humans to tame it. You can build at its foot if you like, but when the mudslide comes, you’ll be buried regardless of ordinances or zoning laws. None of that exists in the face of nature. Nature has its own order. There is no motive to ascribe to the mountain. It does not kill with vengeance or purpose. It just evolves as it does, and whatever human order we try to create is temporary at best. If sexuality was a force of nature, then wasn’t that closer to God than the human laws we try to impose on it?
Ian and Paul had gone as far as they could as friends. They both felt the magnetic pull of an attraction that could not be denied. It was time for Paul to make a choice. His only options now were to say yes or to say no. Either choice would change things forever. If he said no, the flirtation and the hour-long phone calls would stop, and Ian would slowly but surely drift away. The idea of going on without Ian in his life was inconceivable and painful. Saying yes was even more daunting. An affair with Ian had the power to undo him. He might be risking everything he had and didn’t know what he would gain. The perfect untouched dream would be replaced with an uncontrollable reality that would transform Paul’s life in all kinds of messy but maybe beautiful ways.
After a few hours staring at the flashing red light on his telephone, curiosity got the better of him. He picked up the phone and punched in the code to retrieve his voice mail. Although Ian had called three times, there were only two messages.
“Paul, it’s me,” the first message began. “I’d really like to talk to you. Can you please call me back?” Paul pushed the 7 key and deleted the message.
“It’s me again,” the second message said. “I know you’re there, Paul. I’m sorry about how I acted last night. We really need to talk about what happened. I’m going to call again in a half hour. Please pick up this time.”
Paul had just pushed the 7 a second time when he heard a car pull up out front. He went over to the window and looked out. It was a silver sedan with the words “E-Z Taxi” painted on the side.
“Shit!” Ian had gotten tired of waiting for Paul to pick up the phone.
Paul went and stood behind the door. He knew Ian was coming, and normally he would have opened it, but he waited for the knock, buying some time. He took a deep breath before he turned the knob.
“Hi,” Ian said. His hair was down now. He stood with his hands on his hips. His expression was no longer nervous and apologetic but confrontational.
“I didn’t know you were coming,” Paul said. “You should have called first.”
Ian raised his eyebrows. They both knew very well that Ian had called, many times, and that Paul had not picked up. Paul looked away, an admission.
“Are you going to let me in?” Ian asked.
Paul gestured toward the living room, and Ian stepped inside.
“We have to talk about this,” Ian said.
“I don’t understand you. You were doing so well. After everything you went through, the shakes, the detox, you want to start all over again?”
“I’m sorry I let you down.”
“Don’t apologize to me. You let yourself down.”
“Yeah, I did. But it happens. Alcoholics have relapses. And you know that…. That’s not why you’re avoiding me.”
Paul folded his arms across his chest with his right hand resting on his left shoulder, protecting his heart. He was facing Ian’s general direction but could not look him in the eye.
“You were drunk,” he said. “Can’t we leave it at that?”
“You weren’t.”
Paul looked down at his feet and didn’t answer.
“I’m sorry that I was drinking,” Ian said. “That was a mistake. But I’m not sorry I kissed you.”
He waited for Paul’s answer, but it didn’t come. He tilted his head sideways, trying to make eye contact, “Are you?”
