Chapter 26
Chapter Twenty-Six
WILL
Day Three
Water splashes over Sam’s feet, his back turned to the expanse of blue that stretches away from him, going on forever, leading everywhere yet nowhere all at once. My feet sink into sand shaded by overhead tree branches, the soles of my feet warm.
‘What’s your plan?’
‘You think I’m mysterious?’
My head cocks to the side as I raise an eyebrow. ‘Maybe.’
‘What makes you say that?’
Crossing my arms, I try everything within my power to give him my most intense stare, but it’s hard to stay focused on his face when his bare chest is right there.
‘You’re Sam. But you’re not how I remember you. Or even how I imagined you to be.’
‘Tell me more.’
‘You’re enjoying this far too much.’
‘I find it interesting,’ Sam says.
A gentle breeze ruffles my T-shirt and I run fingers through my tousled hair.
‘Well, what I mean by that is you’re a beefcake,’ I say, and we both laugh. ‘I mean, look at you. You’re, like … stacked.’
‘Stacked?’
‘Stacked,’ I repeat. ‘Muscle. Flesh. Width.’
‘Width.’ He winks, wriggling his eyebrows.
I laugh. ‘Get your mind out of the gutter, Mr Greer. The Sam I knew was scrawny and small and weak.’
‘I was not weak.’
‘Sam, you couldn’t even climb the rope in PE.’
Sam grimaces, cheeks blushing red, looking all the more adorable for it. ‘Don’t remind me.’
‘Well, I’m going to. We were the kids that would rather have a fake doctor’s note than do any sport.’
‘We weren’t even teenagers when I left.’
‘True. Puberty hadn’t even started.’
‘Speak for yourself.’
‘Sam, one armpit hair wasn’t puberty,’ I say, recalling a sleepover we had as kids, when he shoved his armpit right into my face.
‘You remember that?’
‘Yeah.’ How strange to have something like that lodged in my memory.
He looks at me now like a scientist observing a germ on a Petri dish.
‘So, what did you think I’d be like?’
‘I guess I hadn’t given it too much thought,’ I say. ‘But naturally, I thought of you. I imagined you still being tall and thin. A lanky lad with messy hair and an awkward personality. The type of person who doesn’t make eye contact or grin widely.’
‘You think I grin widely?’ Sam grins his widest smile.
‘You’re doing it right now,’ I say. ‘You’re a golden retriever personified.’
Sam guffaws, disturbing the tranquil vibe, yet fitting it so perfectly. An untroubled laugh for a carefree environment.
‘I don’t think anyone has told me that before.’
‘First time for everything.’
‘So, I’m not lanky like you thought. Instead, I’m a … beefcake, was it?’
‘You’re supposed to throw your rod out to sea, not on land.’
‘Was that a euphemism?’
‘If you wanted it to be,’ I say suggestively. ‘You’re mysterious to me because you’re a different man now.’
‘Aren’t we all?’
‘I don’t know if I’m all that different from when we were kids.’
When I was a kid, all I had was an outgoing personality, big humour, a recognition that I wasn’t like the other boys in my class and not bothered about it.
I had a blazing spark within me that got crushed and stamped out by people who made me feel like it wasn’t okay to possess feminine energy, to be in touch with my emotions.
I was told that boys didn’t like girl bands; they liked football and rugby.
Boys didn’t like Tomb Raider; they liked Call of Duty.
Boys couldn’t be friends with girls; they had to be mean to them, because apparently that made girls like men.
But the embers never faltered, catching alight as I matured. The best nights of my life have been with my female friends, singing drunken karaoke to Girls Aloud or Destiny’s Child. Don’t even get me started on how healing it was to attend the Girls Aloud reunion tour.
‘I have this way of surviving.’ I don’t meet his eye.
‘Throughout my teenage years, I was told I wasn’t man enough.
Whatever that means. Apparently, a man has to be a certain way to be a man.
I don’t know. I just know that I didn’t fit what society tells you you’re supposed to be as a man.
And other men saw that. Other women saw that.
It led to some horrible behaviour on their part. ’
Sam waits for me to continue.
‘To be constantly ridiculed for being gay was soul-crushing,’ I say. ‘Character-annihilating. For years, I carried shame with me because of who I was.’
I saunter into the water, closing the distance between us. My breath wobbles as the chill of the water creeps slowly up my legs.
‘I learned to fear an attack. I equated men who seemed to fit that stereotype of “man” with homophobia, even if they had given me no reason to do so. I didn’t have another male friend until college, Sam. It was you and then nobody.’
‘Wow,’ Sam breathes, as I get closer to him.
‘They accepted me for me, even though I hadn’t come out then,’ I say. ‘They just accepted me, and I slowly started to feel like I could be the person I was when I was … with you.’
Sam’s eyebrows rise ever so slightly.
‘I started to think men were okay. Like I could start trusting men, letting them in. Then I met Ollie, and I showed him all of me and he loved … most of me.’
‘Most of you?’
I consider submerging myself in the ocean, to feel the cold chill on every inch of my skin. To float away and not talk so openly, when there’s no certainty that Sam wants to hear this, and not go this deep, deeper than the surrounding water. Deeper than I’ve ever felt the need to go.
‘He didn’t get all of me, you know? And that’s okay. But doubt crept back in, and I still feared what other people thought of me. So, when I meet men, I stay guarded, because it’s safer.’
‘Safer?’
‘Safer. Safer to just fly under their radar. To casually mention a partner when the time is right, but only if they ask. Like when I go to a new barber and they ask about my girlfriend and I just smile and nod. And the stupid thing is, most men just carry on when they find out about Ollie, or when they find out I’m gay.
They don’t care. But that relentless bullying that I experienced has fucked me up long-term. ’
Sam stares at the rippling sea, and when he finally looks at me, I give him the peace sign, simply for something to do.
‘And you thought that of me?’
His hands twist and my face softens.
‘I saw you and you are … different. I can see the Sam I knew. The Sam who hid away from the crowds like I did. But I can also see those confident boys who had the world at their feet, who hit me with verbal assaults, or sometimes their fists, to assert their dominance. And I know it’s stupid.
I know that doesn’t make much sense. But it’s something within me that frightens me, and I try to get over it. ’
He’s in front of me now, water rushing off his skin. He hovers before me, arms outstretched, and then doubts the move.
But I move towards him, wrapping my arms around him, thanking God when he reciprocates.
His salted skin is like moisturiser under my fingertips.
A sheen of lotion, a hint of sweet nectar aroma under his arms. My chin fits his clavicle, and my hands trace his freckled shoulder, before running down his sculpted back.
He grips me tight, like if he let me go, I’d disappear under the water, despite its stillness, its calmness.
‘I haven’t changed,’ Sam whispers, and his breath dances over my neck, setting my hairs on edge. ‘I’m still your best friend.’
And I hold him tighter to me, to my body, to every part of me. Something stirs between his hips, prompting a mirror movement of my own. It’s acknowledged with an escaped breath. Uncharted territory, an unexplored island.
No one around.
Sam and I.
Nothing but seclusion and privacy.
Our eyes meet and he gently touches my cheek.
‘Sam…’
Rustling ripples around us, like a rip in time, breaking us apart as something snaps and splashes into the water across from us. A loud squawk makes us both cast around for the culprit.
Two peacocks with fanned feathers circle each other, a magnificent display of affection and hues of green and blue.
Sam laughs. ‘Guess we’re not the only gay ones on the beach.’