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“I might,” I told him, feeling the electricity crackle between us.
“I’d like to see that,” Merri said, placing his body inches in front of mine.
Feeling the heat pulse between us, I stepped back.
“You win.”
This was a game we used to play. Back then, it was between two straight friends. At least I thought it had been. He had always been willing to take it a step further than I was. Now knowing that he was gay, I understood why.
But that was then. The question was, why would I initiate the game now? Not only had he confirmed he was gay, but he had said that he had been in love with me.
I wasn’t cruel. I didn’t play with people’s emotions. So, why had I flirted back?
Unable to put the question aside, Merri helped me retrieve one of the canoes and together we carried it to the nearby river.
“This is amazing!” Merri proclaimed as he marveled at the scene in front of us.
“Do you understand why I came back?” I asked with a smile.
Merri tried to respond convincingly but couldn’t. “Yeah, I get it now.”
It was obvious that he didn’t. At least not from the scenery. And that made sense because it wasn’t true. I had run home because of him. He had hurt me, and I couldn’t deal with it.
As much as I had liked the way I looked through Merri’s eyes, I also knew that he had never really seen me. I was sure of it because I had never let him. I didn’t let anyone.
What would happen if I did? What if, for once, I allowed someone in? What would that do to me? How would that change things?
“You weren’t kidding about getting wet,” Merri said after I explained to him how we would get into the canoe.
“There was a time I couldn’t keep you out of the water. Do you remember when you went swimming with inches of snow on the ground?” I reminded him.
“It was at Big Bear. I regret it to this day. It’s a miracle I still have all of my toes.”
I laughed.
“Well, the river isn’t that cold,” I told him as I took off my shoes and socks, stepped into the water, and held the canoe.
“I’m getting flashbacks,” he said, doing the same and following me in.
With minimal splash, we both got in and grabbed a paddle.
“It feels like we’re paddling down the Amazon or something.”
“Similar. But fewer anacondas hanging from trees.”
“You all have snakes hanging from trees here?” Merri said, searching the canopy of branches shading us.
I laughed.
“Where’s the outdoorsman who would drag me to one campsite after another?” I asked the guy sitting with his back to me.
“Okay. Confession. I just took you to them because I wanted to get you alone. I hate camping. Hate it!”
“No, you don’t,” I said, not believing him for a second.
“I do. If I ever have to poop in another hole I’ve dug, it will be too soon,” he said, not taking his eyes off the trees.
“No. What you hate is pooping in the woods. Or, forgetting your sleeping pad and having to sleep on the ground.”
