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I
f you took the ventilator away, Jax appeared much as he had when sleeping. He wasn’t a complicated man, but he was a hyper one, at least while awake. I remember thinking back then, when we were together, how nice it was to see him just lie quietly.
Now I longed for some of his hyperactivity. And watching him, I felt scared. I leaned in to place my mouth near his ear.
“Jax, Jax can you hear me? Do you know that I’m here?” I straightened out his hospital gown, then traced my finger around his nipple as I always had. It would usually wake him up—but not this time. I heard a beep and looked up at the monitor. I saw his blood pressure stats down the left side from previous readings. The cuff had just finished a blood pressure cycle. It read higher than the previous one. His heart rate had gone from 80 beats per minute to 94. I felt a twinge in my stomach. Does he know I’m here?
His blood pressure was returning to normal, his heart rate decreasing. I felt destitute. He isn’t waking up. I looked at his arms, and a chill consumed me at the thought that they might never hold me again.
Positioning my head on his chest as best as I could without getting out of my chair, I grabbed his arm. I tried to wrap it around me, longing to feel his squeeze. It slid off me and back down to where it had been resting. I lifted it again and again, each time with the same result. I felt an overwhelming sorrow. For so many years I had taken those arms for granted.
*
“WAKE UP.”
I felt the warmth of his whisper. Was I dreaming? Did last night actually happen? I took a deep breath, stretched my arms up over my head, and rolled over placing my arms around Jax’s waist. He smiled, and I felt such intense pleasure.
“What a great way to be woken up,” I said.
I brought my lips to meet his. Our kisses felt as soft as cotton, our lips moulding together as if designed to do so. Pulling back, I propped myself on my elbow far enough away to look into his eyes, and drew little circles with my finger around his nipple.
“Wow, man, last night.” I grabbed his hand and held it against my chest. “Do you feel that? Do you feel my heart pounding? What have you done to me?”
“Feel this.” He brought my hand to his dick. “How’s that feel?”
I grinned, and we kissed again.
Before I knew it, we were replaying last night. Sucking toes, fingers, and dicks. I just couldn’t get enough of him, his touch, his kiss, and his body against mine. It was like the feeling you get just before you jump off a cliff into water, a surge of endorphins—your breath stops and your senses heighten, until you take that leap and plunge right in. I never wanted to quit this. Reaching up, I rested my hand on his chest sure I could feel it pounding too.
I thought of the balcony and how I had wanted to stay there the entire night. But Mom usually got up early, and I didn’t want her seeing us up there.
My bed was king size and comfy. Tons of room to snuggle in. The morning light slanted in through the sheers creating soft shadows throughout the room. It was decorated with light mocha walls and white trim. I choose mocha thinking that it made me look masculine. Not that I wasn’t what with my woodworking skills and no lisp, but if anything, it made me feel better. The crown moulding met the coffered ceiling seamlessly. I suppose I got my talent of woodworking from my great grandfather, he’s the reason the coffered ceiling is there. He built all of the mouldings too. The walls were covered in the original plaster. The bedroom smelled of a mix of musk, fabric softener, and sex.
“Do you have today off?” I asked.
“Yes, I booked it off in hopes that what happened with us would.” Jax winked.
“Good, get dressed. There’s somewhere I want to take you.” I jumped out of bed and grabbed my jeans and the white shirt I’d worn the night before. “Come on—we have to make some breakfast, then sandwiches for the adventure.”
Shoving the covers back I saw his naked body. His muscles moved like harp strings. He was flawlessly built. The outline of his quad muscles travelled right down into his calves. He had a small six-pack, and his nipples were proportionate to his chest. His pecs seamlessly led into his toned biceps. His chest had no hair except for a thin tiny patch around each nipple. I was happy about that. Although I’d always wished I’d had a bit more. I thought he would make a great model for one of those nude drawing classes I’d taken a while back.
“Oh, I’m always up for an adventure!” he said.
I left Jax in the bed and ran downstairs to the kitchen. There was a pain in my jaw. At first, I wondered if it was from last night and this morning, but then it dawned on me that it was from the smile I couldn’t seem to wipe off my face.
Growing up as a gay kid in a Mennonite family, I was deprived of these special moments. Unable to share it with anyone. I couldn’t bring home dates like I could if I were straight. I had to hide everything, my boyfriends, my insecurities, my moments of happiness. The excitement from family for that first date was never there. It hurt. I remember my mom telling me that if I couldn’t control myself, perhaps I should go to my doctor and get some pills. That stung—still does.
For breakfast I whipped up some eggs and put bread in the toaster while the bacon cooked in the microwave. After getting out the cooler bag, I grabbed more bread and some salami, mustard and mayo. I made sandwiches and threw them in the bag, along with a couple of apples and bottles of water, and some leftover slices of the apple pie from the night before. As I cleaned up the counter, I called for Jax.
After we ate, Jax went back upstairs to use the washroom, and I went out to the barn and loaded the canoe atop my 89 Ford truck. I could see my mom glaring out her back-door window at me. Did she hear us last night? Her face was just above the arm of the metal cross my dad had welded into the screen door. The room, where she stood, used to be the old living room before we did the renovations; it’s more of a mudroom now that leads into a smaller den area.
Her eyes pierced through me like lasers, as if she knew what had happened between Jax and me. For a moment, I felt guilty, ashamed and pretended to not see her. I didn’t want her to spoil what I was feeling.
I suppose she’d been what people refer to as a helicopter parent —always hovering. Sit up straight, don’t touch that, don’t look at that boy that way. Apparently, she still was. I knew it came from a place of love, although it wouldn’t appear that way to others.
My dad must have been in the barn that morning, because as I was loading the canoe, he came over.
“Going somewhere, son?” His voice was concerned, like Mom had kept him up all night talking about what a failure I was and how come I couldn’t just be with Michelle.
“Yeah, I’m taking a friend canoeing.” I couldn’t look at him, or he’d know Jax was more than a friend. I heaved the canoe up, still avoiding eye contact.
“Ah well...” He walked away mumbling something to himself, his hands in the pockets of his overalls and his head down.
He clearly didn’t want to hear anymore, and I was okay with that. I knew he was disappointed in me. I knew I was sinning and going against everything my parents had tried to teach me. Didn’t they understand what a struggle this was for me too? I had always known the rules. I had always known what my mom and dad believed. They stressed responsibility. They believed in consequences for your actions, and the Church came first. I knew that wasn’t always a bad thing. I had adopted some of the Church’s doctrine with my own kids and knew they were better for it.
The difference was that my mom always seemed so confident about everything, so content in who she was and the choices she’d made. Like dancing to the beat of a song, it just came natural to her. I wondered if she had any regrets at all. I wondered if my dad had.
Returning to better thoughts, I couldn’t wait for Jax to see this place. I went back in the front door and watched him slowly coming down the stairs. What I didn’t see was my mom following me.
“My knees are weak. What did you do to ... Oh, hello, you must be Ben’s mom? It’s nice to meet you. I’m Jax.”
At the bottom of the stairs now, he reached past me to shake my mom’s hand. Of course, she left hers right on her hips. She wouldn’t even look at Jax. She ignored his introduction and asked me where I was going.
“Mom, please don’t be rude. This is my friend Jax, and we’re going canoeing.”
She turned away, slamming the door as she left.
“What the hell was that about? Did I do something wrong?” Jax asked.
He went to the door to peer through the window and watch her go. Then he turned back to look at me. My embarrassment and sadness were evident, I’m sure. He seemed such a caring guy, and I could see this broke his spirit. Liking guys comes with a certain judgement and ridicule that you never quite get used to.
“No, you didn’t. I did.” I went to him.
“Is she unusually grumpy this morning or always like that?” he asked.
“Well, that’s a tough question. I’m going to say both.”
“I feel so bad for you. I haven’t told my parents or family that I prefer men, but even if I did, I’m sure they wouldn’t act like that—at least I hope not.”
I remember the shame I felt as a kid whenever I disappointed my parents. I suppose all kids feel that to a certain degree. I could always make up for it by doing a chore or getting good grades in school.
But this part of me—this evil, as my mother always puts it—I couldn’t make up for, I couldn’t change, and that was the most difficult thing to deal with. I had worked hard at trying to change. I bought Playboy magazines, but looking through the pages evoked nothing. I’d look down at my penis and wonder why it wouldn’t move. I’d poke it to try to get it to wake up; it was supposed to grow when I saw a naked woman, I thought. It sure rose to the Playgirl magazines. I spoke to other guys about girls. I dated girls, befriended girls, hung out with many different girls to see if I could generate any kind of spark, but nothing. I’d exhausted all avenues and tried for years to ignore the impulses. I even spoke to the church counsellor in private sessions. He told the bishop, who told the congregation and asked me to leave the church. It wasn’t long before I’d found another church who accepted me. The pastor of that one even had a lesbian sister. It felt good to be understood after the humiliation experienced at the Mennonite church. Aren’t you supposed to feel safe there? I’d become quite good friends with this pastor. He asked tons of questions about being gay. I think it helped him to understand his sister. My family, to my surprise, were disappointed in our church and left with me. I believe it was more about their own embarrassment than support for me.
They claimed they had a cure for my gay disease, like I had cancer or something. Of course, none of the conversion therapy camps or the preaching worked. The years passed, and what was inside me only got stronger. I tried marriage, giving it my best shot. It’s a good thing I like sex, straight or not, but picturing men while sleeping with my wife didn’t hurt.
I do know some guys who have never been with a woman, and they never could. They said it made them physically ill. I guess in one way, when I think about it, I’m lucky. I’m not a flaming type, so I can hide it when I need to. Not many people know I’m gay, and many would be surprised to find that out.
But standing here in front of me was a man who seemed to understand me, who was like me, and it felt like a miracle.
“I hope your arms are good,” I said, changing the subject. “We’re going canoeing! Come on.”
We got into the truck and headed to the boat launch in Edenvale.
“When was your first gay experience?”
His question didn’t surprise me, as gay men ask this all the time, especially after they’ve had sex. Besides, it would make the forty-minute drive to the boat launch interesting.
“Are you ready for this?”
He nodded. “I wouldn’t have asked if I weren’t.”
“Okay, here it goes. When I was nine, we had a farmhand come for the summer to help, and he was thirteen. The first day he came, I remember feeling a tingling in my groin, and it confused me at first.”
“That’s called being horny,” he offered.
I laughed, “At nine? I guess so. Anyway, every summer I’d look forward to him coming. For four years I admired him from afar, until one day he approached me. After that we’d suck each other’s cock and jerk off together under the bridge on Batteaux Creek or in the hay mow. To this day the smell of fresh hay excites me.” I didn’t bother sugar coating it. “That continued until I was fourteen and he was eighteen. My summers were the best...”
He was quiet for a second, and I wondered if he was upset.
“Huh.” He rubbed the tiny scruff that was showing on his chin. “Yours was a farmhand too?”
Good. He wasn’t offended or bothered by the news. But wait, what?
“What do you mean? Don’t tell me yours was too?”
“Yep. Sure was. My papa hired this guy who was eighteen when I was fifteen. I remember doing the chores and staring at him. He’d look over at me and catch me staring, but he’d smile instead of looking away. I had that same tingling as a matter of fact.” He rolled down the window, for which I was thankful—it was getting warm. “My Nana would make us sleep in the same room, because it had twin beds. He’d make me suck his dick every night, sometimes returning the favour.”
“He made you?”
“He was older, and I was always taught to respect my elders.” He turned toward me and smiled. “Don’t worry. I enjoyed doing it as much as he enjoyed receiving it. That’s when I realized I was into guys.”
“That’s why you are so good at it—you had lots of practice with him.”
He couldn’t suppress his smile. “I suppose so.” He paused. “You know the funny part is that he was my sister Amelia’s first crush too. She was eleven and completely smitten with him. I never told her that he was my first male experience. Who knew we’d have the same taste in men.”
I found it both fascinating and unbelievable that our experiences had been so similar.
I pulled the truck into the boat dock at Edenvale and parked. Jax helped me lift the canoe off and into the water. I was excited to be bringing him to this place. My secret haunt. A place I’d always gone to when life didn’t accept me, where no one could find me. A place where judgement didn’t exist, and I could be myself, alone with my secrets. Where I had dreamed of someday taking someone like Jax. And now, here we were.
At the Nottawasaga River, where we stood, the ground was a mix of spicy pine needles, leathery soil, sand, and old leaves. Those leaves have a mild sweet smell, especially after the winter melt or a rain. There are houses all along the river until you get to a small patch of nature with an abundance of trees and birds. There is an energy here that can’t be explained, only felt.
I couldn’t wait for Jax to feel it, smell it, and experience it. As soon as he had talked about his papa’s farm, his face aglow, I knew he appreciated nature. I craved to see that same glow on his face in this place. I somehow knew that he would appreciate it the way I did.
When we got into the canoe, Jax in front, me in back, it rocked from side to side, and Jax almost fell out. He giggled and looked back at me. He got up off the small bench and squatted, putting his hands on either side of the canoe rocking it again, purposely.
“What are you doing?” I asked, even though I knew.
“Nothing really. Just trying to get my sea legs.”
“Are you trying to dump me?”
“Nooo.”
Rapidly, I was discovering that Jax had a mischievous side. It was obvious in some of the stories he had already told me about his childhood. He’d mentioned that he and his sister would ride his papa’s horses. Dock, the pony, was smaller, so Amelia would ride him. Mony was tall, so Jax, being older, would ride her. He’d purposely get Dock to follow Mony under the clothesline knowing Dock, when spooked, would buck Amelia off.
When he was two, his mom and nana took him to the local fair. Against his mom’s advice, his nana bought him a fuzzy bear on a stick. He took his little fuzzy bear on a stick and ran with it. He was short enough to fit under the tables—tables at which sat many mini skirted women. My mom heard screeches coming from various tables, saw women jumping up out of their seats. Jax would pop his head up over each table and shout, “Here I am, Mommy,” and before she could stop him, he’d move on to the next.
“That little bear on the stick saw more that day than most men see in a lifetime,” Jax said, making that excited chicken motion with his arms.
Now he rocked the boat harder, stopping only when he noticed it wasn’t fazing me. He sat back down on the small wooden bench in the canoe and started paddling. The wind blew his hair back. It also made his blue T-shirt —the one I’d taken off him the night before—puff out in the back. His gaze bounced from side to side as we passed the beautiful riverbanks. I wondered what he was thinking. He wasn’t saying anything. I couldn’t always see his expression, what with him sitting in front of me, but his profile showed a partial grin. There was a calmness that surrounded him in this setting. I was happy that he seemed to be enjoying it.
High in an oak tree an oriole sang his wooing song, but at the sight of our approaching canoe, he chattered his disapproval. His bright orange chest stood out against the green of the leaves. It was a flawless almost summer day. Puffy white clouds glided in the sky. Renewed shades of green tinted the trees along the riverbank. Willows bent and swayed dangling their knobby limbs in the flowing water as we passed. The poplar leaves bopped in the light breeze. The river had not yet fallen to its summer level, so it moved vigorously. Nature seemed to be showing off its finest features.
Our paddles dipped into the water, making tiny swirls. Little splashes leapt up onto my arms.
“This is stunning—it smells so earthy,” said Jax. “It reminds me of when I used to go camping as a kid. We would sleep in tents on the ground, and it would smell like this.” He inhaled. “Almost musty, but in a good way.”
I felt as though I’d finally met someone like me. I’d doubted they existed for years.
Sitting on the edge of the canoe on Jax’s right side was a dragonfly, perched there as if it were our pet. I had recently bought a book called Animal Speak by a Native American, Ted Andrews. I’d bought it at another place I knew Jax would love.
Andrews wrote about nature and all things in it. How we all used to live together in harmony and speak to one another. Man has forgotten this, but animals and insects have not and thus still come into our path to give us messages. Coincidentally, I had just read the meaning of the dragonfly the other day. One had landed right on my nose while I was working in the barn. Andrews wrote that the dragonfly is the symbol of change and light, and it appears to remind you to bring more lightness and joy into your life. I was comforted at the thought that Jax was my dragonfly.
After a couple of hours of paddling downstream, we crossed Jack’s Lake and were on the final segment of our voyage. Sometimes we chitchatted as we floated along, while other times the incredible beauty called for a veneration beyond words.
I watched Jax as he paddled. I was so drawn to him. His extrovert nature was gravitational. I’d always seen myself as a cat, cautious yet curious. Around him, it was hard to keep guard. The fortress of protection I’d built around myself from previous fallen relationships and family ridicule was slowly crumbling.
The river snaked and twisted. Up ahead, coming into view, was a wide bend. On the far side of that bend, a sandbank rose tall from the water’s edge. Carved by years of floodwaters, it formed a vertical wall, a perfect place for bank swallows to dart in and out of their burrows, busy with their lives, paying no never mind to the two of us.
On the opposite side of the river was a cobbled shore and fresh green, grassy flats. The river became shallow here. It gushed around the rocks, sloshing and splattering as it went. We were coming up to the place that I wanted to share with Jax. Montgomery Rapids.
“We’re going to lift the canoe around this next bend. The water rushes pretty fast, so you have to be ready, okay?”
Jax looked back and nodded. Small rapids pushed us farther into the swirls, and we paddled hard, really hard. I saw sweat drip down the back of Jax’s neck. The next thing I knew, water gushed into the side of the canoe, tipping it and plunged us straight into the water. Jax had a hold of the canoe and was floating on top when I came to the surface. Good thing I tied everything down. I quickly scoped the area and saw nothing making its way to the surface. I was confident that everything had stayed inside the canoe.
Out of breath, Jax yelled, “That was mind-blowing!” He looked back at me, shaking his wet hair from his forehead. “Over there, is that where we’re going?” He pointed to a small flat piece of land about half a mile down, and by small, I mean about the size of an average bedroom.
“Yes, that’s the place. I’ll swim over to you. Hang on.” I spotted the paddles and grabbed them on my way. The current was strong but manageable.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll flip the canoe.”
A strong swimmer, Jax was able to flip it upright in one motion. I arrived soaked and tired moments later. Again, I did a visual sweep, but everything appeared to be as it was before the flip. The cooler bag was still intact under Jax’s seat. We both laughed at how silly we were and managed, not gracefully I might add, to get back into the canoe. After my breath returned from the coldness of the water, I concluded that the unexpected dunking had actually been quite refreshing.
“That sure got the blood pumping,” I said.
There was an indescribable smell from the poplar trees. Strong but pleasant. White cotton-like seeds danced through the air. The sun’s rays caught them, making them sparkle yellow and pink. I looked around at them and at Jax. Despite my doubts about who I was, in that moment nothing seemed clearer. Every sense was awakened. I felt comfortable in the body that God had given me. For the first time in my life I didn’t feel ashamed, I didn’t feel guilt, and I was proud to be me. Maybe all the previous ridicule and self-hate was worth it, if it had brought me to this point. I wondered how I ever could have fought it. I wondered how something this exciting, this exhilarating could be against God’s wishes. Why could He create something so beautiful, yet tell us it’s wrong?
Jax held his hands up to catch the fluff. “What is this stuff?”
I paddled the canoe to the edge of the small bank. “It’s from the poplar trees. They seed at this time of year.”
“It couldn’t have come down at a better time. As if this moment weren’t magical enough. It’s like the universe is throwing confetti down on us.” He took one and put it into his water-logged shorts pocket.
Magical—yes. I wondered if it were a sign from God. Maybe He was giving us His blessing. Maybe it was Him throwing the confetti.