"You were always so confident. You never seemed insecure or confused or nervous. You were just you. You still are—no pretense," Abel said, squinting as if he was trying to build a mental image of high-school Nate.
"Were you blind? I spent my whole high school life being insecure, confused, and nervous. I joined every single club available so that I wouldn't have to hang around in public during breaks. I would run to classes so that I had to spend less time in the hallways. I would have quit the football team after the first practice if Coach Jones had let me. You know, the minute I got a way out, I took it. I even made Joshua stop the car when we crossed the border so that I could feel the new ground under my feet." Nate took another sip of his drink and remembered the night that he'd left with nothing but a bag of clothes and some books. He could still remember the way that he had clutched the sides of his seat in Joshua's car like he was riding a rollercoaster as they drove through Main Street, only letting go once the whole town was far out of the rearview mirror. Thinking about Joshua made Nate's chest hurt, like he had been a victim of some cosmic punch.
"Isn't that strange? The way you can get things so wrong? The way that you can look at someone and give them a whole life that they don't possess? I always thought of you as busy and ambitious, and you refused to change—even though I thought I was making it impossible for you to stay the same. I couldn't find that kind of strength in myself so I think I wanted to hammer it out of you. And I couldn't." Nate was torn between wanting him to feel awful and wanting him to feel like he had been forgiven.
"You know, I don't think that I could have changed. I know that I wanted to, very much. I know that I wanted to be more like you and your friends. It wasn't some kind of heroic attempt to be true to myself. I know that I practiced walking and talking like you guys in front of the mirror." Somehow this was the most heartbreaking image for Nate; he had tried writing about it before, but it had always been too sad for him to really get any words down. He could remember how hollow he had felt trying to do some kind of impersonation of the people who had been so mean to him.
"I get that now. People can't really change. They can change how they feel, or what they think, or how they live their lives. God knows I've changed so many things about how I treat people. But it's impossible to change who you truly are, who you were supposed to be." Abel went silent, giving Nate the feeling that he was missing a chunk of the conversation again.
"I agree. I think that wanting to change your life is admirable if your life isn't working, but I think wanting to change yourself is tragic. It's one of the things I just don't want Bailey to feel. Not even a little bit," Nate said, thinking of all the little and big heartbreaks that he didn't want to be a part of his son's life. "Do you ever do that thing when you look back at your life and think about all of the ways that things could have been different? I sometimes think about how even the littlest things could change the course of your whole life. Like what if things had been different and we had been friends? I can't imagine it would have hurt to have the school's most popular kid on my side. Would I have thrown myself into a life with Joshua the way I did? Would I have left this place?" Nate looked into Abel's eyes, keen to get a sense of what he was feeling.
"Maybe we could be friends now. I wish I hadn't been so horrible. I wish I hadn't been a walking cliché, but I can't do anything about it now. If I could go back and shout at young Abe, then I would. I was also tell him that acid wash jeans are not and never will be cool," Abel joked, laughing.
"You were horrible, but you were cool. You were the coolest kid in school, hands down," Nate said.
"I suppose I was pretty rad," Abel said, rolling his eyes.
"If this were a film, you would be fat and have, like, three bad teeth. Maybe some acne around the jaw and halitosis," Nate remarked before taking another mouthful of beer. He looked up to see Abel staring at him kindly and their eyes locked for a long moment. Nate felt vulnerable and enticed and strange; butterflies fluttered in his stomach and he couldn't quiet them. Abel's eyes were just too blue to look away.
"What do you mean?"
"In films and books, the handsome jerk always leaves high school and gets kicked in the ass by life. They get fat and drunk and unemployed. But you seem gainfully employed."
"You thought I was handsome?" Abel asked. A strange energy descended on them, an unspoken, flirtatious silence. The air buzzed with something powerful.
"Well, of course. That was your thing. Handsome dickhead. I think there's one in every school everywhere," Nate added.
"No! I'm not unique, then? There are devastatingly handsome meanies all over the place?" Abel pretended to sob.
"Not devastatingly handsome. Just medium-level, soap-opera-star handsome. Plus that was a good ten years ago now. I hate to tell you this—but you're not holding up so well." He hadn't had this kind of non-stressful, non-Bailey adult interaction in a while. It felt good and new, uncharted. There was something almost miraculous about it, to feel at least a little bit young and fun. To let go of Joshua for just a second. To feel only a little bit broken, not completely shattered. To not worry about Bailey and to not be angry at his dad.
"Well, you look amazing, Nate."
"No, I don't. I look like someone in the middle of a mental breakdown. But thank you. It's nice of you to say. It's strange that you're actually kind of okay. I always thought you would just grow up to be some horrible jerk."
"Thank you, I am choosing to take 'kind of okay' as a compliment." Abel beamed.
"You should. And I should go home, if I even know what that means." Nate sighed deeply, revealing more than he had anticipated.
"Sounds rough. Can I walk with you? You know, you don't want to be on the mean streets of Grandview alone... Any number of farm animals could try and rob you."
Nate shook his head. "I don't know if that is such a good idea."
"Why?"
"I don't know. Something in my gut is telling me that you're trouble. Well, not that you're trouble. That this is trouble." Nate pointed to himself and then to Abel. "And lord knows the last thing I need in the world is trouble." Nate couldn't mask a smile, no matter how hard he tried to keep his face immobile. Something about Abel just made him feel strange, like he couldn't quite guarantee what would happen next. It was exciting but scary, and he felt like walking home together was just a little too much.
"If I promise not to be trouble, if I promise to be an angel, with nothing but charity and generosity in my heart and love for all the creatures, can we walk home together?" Abel opened his eyes wide and bright, all puppy-like and pleading. He stood up and put on his coat. Nate was surprised at how tall Abel was; he was out-of-the-ordinary, superhero tall. His coat strained slightly over his broad chest. He flashed his bright white teeth as Nate looked at him suspiciously, weighing up the pros and cons of walking home together. Finally, Nate conceded and rose from the comfortable stool. He stretched out his body and headed to the door, moving slightly ahead of Abel.
The air was crisp and cool and Nate could feel Abel's eyes watching him. The sky was inky black, the moon sending out a silver-purple glow, illuminating the road and the trees that lined the parking lot. Everything was still and calm, the sounds of the bar disappearing as they walked away in comfortable, friendly silence.
"You said you had a kid?" Abel asked, his breath turning to vapor in the air.
"Yep, Bailey."
"What's he like? I have so many questions for you. Did you always know that you wanted a child? How did you go about it? Wasn't it hard? Where's the dad? I mean, the other dad?"
"Whoa. That's
a lot
of questions. Well… I always knew I wanted to have a child, but I didn't think it would happen. It happened because my boyfriend had the money and connections to do it. And he wanted to make me happy—at least, I think he did. It was difficult, but it was worth it. The dad, Joshua, is somewhere that I don't know. Maybe China, or Africa, or Outer Mongolia." Nate stopped for a second to compose himself, to string together his thoughts and let the sadness of missing Joshua roll over him and sink out of his cells.
"How old is he?"
"Thirty-seven," Nate said, walking again, his legs a little shaky.
"I meant your son," Abel said, laughing softly.
"Oh, Bailey. He's four, but going on sixty." Nate kicked up some dust from the floor, coming back to earth after his brief beer-and-banter escape. It had never been clearer to him that he was a father and everything that he did had to be for his son. Any hurt that he could spare Bailey would be worth the sacrifices. He had responsibilities.
"So you got a smart one," Abel said, bumping Nate with his shoulder.
"The smartest."
"That's great."
"It is great, but it's exhausting. It's a lot of answering questions. And a lot of reading books to be able to answer the questions. Having an inquisitive, smart child is exactly what you dream about when you find out you're going to become a parent—but once they arrive, it's like having your ass kicked multiple times every day. But you love them so much that you don't mind. I've tried to write about it a hundred times, but it's so hard. It's so difficult to put all of those emotions down on paper." Nate stretched his neck from side to side and was shocked to find that his muscles felt loose and relaxed, his body peaceful in a way that it hadn't been in a long time.
"What happened with your husband?"
"Boyfriend," Nate corrected. "Just boyfriend."
"Well, what happened with your boyfriend?" Abel prompted.
Nate thought this might be good for him, to use a relative stranger as a sounding board and let all of his feelings and frustrations vent. He was reticent because talking about Joshua leaving made it real again, pulling him from the flight of fancy that the night had become. Nate was constantly thinking about Joshua. He was always expecting to see him out the corner of his eye, or hearing him walk in from work, world-weary and raw, but talking about him was even more painful. Talking about the situation forced Nate to relive the breakdown of his relationship and, by extension, the life that he had known. He and Abel walked together, their bodies close and their breathing in complete synchronicity.
"He left. He wrote me a note and then he went. We were together exactly ten years, and for the last two or three of them, he used our house as financial leverage, spent a ton of money on credit cards, and sunk our savings into a failing business. Everything went away overnight, including him. And now I'm here." Nate went silent, his words, and the truth behind them, washing over him like a freezing wave.
"That's a lot to handle," Abel offered weakly. They stood together in silence for a while. The only things that punctuated the quiet were the far-off sounds of passing cars and their matching breath.
"Yeah. But the worst thing is that I haven't even told our son. I can see the hope in his eyes and I can tell that he's expecting his papa to walk around the corner at any moment. I don't know how to tell him about it. I don't have the words. There are no words." Nate's body crumpled slightly as if it was trying to hide from the bite and rawness of his voice. The air was getting cold and Nate shivered.
"You know, the kid's got you. And that's more than a lot of people can say. I don't really know you, but I can tell you're a great person and that you love your son. I genuinely believe that children can go a really long way when they know that they're loved.
"I know it's been a really short amount of time, but something is telling me that we were supposed to meet tonight," he continued. "That I was supposed to apologize for the things I did when we were kids. I know that this will sound absolutely ridiculous, but if I could shoulder your burden, then I would." Abel threw his arms up, startling Nate. "Shut up, Abel, what can't you ever just shut up?" he said to himself harshly, kicking up a cloud of dust.
"Hey, jerk. Don't be so mean to yourself; that's nice to hear. To hear that somebody thinks you are doing okay is an enormous gift. Especially for me at the moment. I don't know if you're right, but I hope you are. Anyway, what happened to you?" Nate asked, punching Abel's shoulder playfully.
"What do you mean?"
"How did you become this sensitive, nice guy? I always just pegged you as a big, dumb meathead."
"Well, thank you, I think there's a compliment in there… somewhere?"
"There is," Nate replied.
"I suppose life kicks everyone's ass. And it makes you more of an idiot, or it makes you humble. I hope I chose the second… at least most of the time." Abel smiled a little and punched Nate back.
"So you have a story? Color me intrigued."
Abel put his hands into his front pockets and they began walking again. "No, not really. You know, the things I thought would happen didn't. It's as simple as that. No grand tragedy. I just don't have the life I'd imagined for myself. It's weird; I don't think that anybody has ever really asked me about my life before, or at least not in a really long time. I guess I've just always bumped along; old reliable. Yep, old reliable—that's me. Always the background player in somebody else's movie." Abel shrugged, obviously anxious to get the conversational spotlight off of him. It was clear that he wasn't used to speaking about himself.
"Well, if it's any consolation, I don't think anyone gets the exact life that they hoped for. I think that you can get the outline right and the picture will be sort of similar, but it's never going to be colored in the exact way that you imagined." Nate felt that his words had at least some truth to them and he genuinely hoped that they helped Abel. He wanted Abel to feel that his life was important and that deviating from the plan was its own kind of reward.
"Don't get me wrong, my life means a lot to me. And I'm not unhappy... not all of the time, at least. But I just wonder how I got so far from where I thought I was going. That's all. It's difficult to put into words that make any sense. But I'm not complaining—I have a good life. Secure. Safe. Comfortable." He shrugged weakly.