10. Our Own Little World
Our Own Little World
Gus and Bridger skated down the old paved road from Dan’s property toward open pastures under the mountains.
Gus pointed to the woods far in the distance.
The boys kicked up their boards and, with Gus in the lead, trod together through a field of weeds and flowers.
Fond memories of walking this remote path with his parents returned to Gus as they weaved through pine and spruce trees until a spring-fed lake was revealed.
“I used to come here with Mom and Dad,” Gus shared. “We’d have picnics. Swim.”
The hidden pristine lake had a short pebbly shore, and swooping branches hung over the water like a canopy. Big rocks, sturdy enough to stand on, dotted the spring. They led to a waterfall farther up the hill toward the mountain.
“The water’s so clear,” Bridger observed. “You can see the bottom.”
Gus nodded. “Yeah. It’s great for just floating like a leaf and thinking about nothing.”
“That’s what I need.”
Bridger ripped off his shirt, eager to jump into the lake. Gus sat down on the ground and pulled out his colored pencils. He opened his journal to an in-progress drawing—a sparrow with a crooked wing next to unfinished flowers in some faded green grass.
Bridger stopped while crouching and taking off his shoes. He squinted at Gus’s sketchbook. “Why’s that bird’s wing messed up?”
“Huh?” Gus looked over at his friend and raised an eyebrow. “Oh. Yeah. It’s a sparrow. And the wing’s broken.”
“I can see that,” Bridger said with a laugh. “I mean, why draw a broken bird stuck on the ground?”
Gus shrugged, placing down his pencil.
“I dunno. I love sparrows, and the image just came to my head.”
“So this didn’t actually happen?” Bridger squinted at the page. “Why bother drawing it?”
“Because I still care… I’m still curious,” Gus explained, adding some sketched grass beneath the sparrow’s feet. “What happens when little birds fall by mistake, get hurt, can’t get off the ground?”
“Sucks to suck, I guess.” Bridger stood back up. “That little guy will be eaten in no time.”
Gus frowned playfully. “Hey, at least he can enjoy these purple flowers I drew for him. Even if he can’t go anywhere… he still deserves something beautiful.”
Bridger’s joking face softened. “You’re way too nice!” he finally concluded with a laugh. “How the hell did we become friends?!”
Gus looked up at Bridger with a lightheartedly defensive grin. “I’m not too nice! I just wanna see the sparrow fly again.”
Bridger finished undressing down to his boxer briefs and tossed his pants aside.
“Okay. I’m gonna swim. You coming?” Bridger asked.
“Hmm… Next time.” Gus tapped his sketchbook. “I’m gonna finish this.”
Bridger shrugged with a smile, about to run off.
“Your loss, Bird Boy.” He winked.
Gus stared after him.
With a yelp of unbridled joy, Bridger bolted into the cold lake and threw his arms through the water like propellers, splashing big and loud.
Gus couldn’t help laughing as he watched him go. He shook his head with a warm smile. Gus then glanced back down at the bound parchment pages in his lap and continued sketching.
An hour later, Bridger was still floating in the spring like a lily pad.
Gus was almost finished with his broken-winged sparrow amongst the forest flowers.
Bridger climbed out of the water, dripping wet, onto a nearby rock.
He stood up on the hard stone surface and leaned down to grab a small flat pebble.
“Gus! Watch this!” Bridger called out.
Gus lifted his gaze as Bridger wound up and grunted, throwing the rock as hard, high, and far as he could. Gus watched with confusion as the pebble flew and disappeared from sight. Bridger nodded with satisfaction.
Gus shook his head with a chuckle. “What?”
Bridger looked off into the distance. “No one can see us or hear us out here!” he announced, looking back at Gus. “We’re in our own little world.”
Gus smiled at the sweet thought and took a relaxing breath. Bridger sat down on the rock he was standing on and stretched out on his back to tan under the golden sun. There was complete silence; only pond and forest sounds resonated around two boys at peace in each other’s presence.
Gus glanced over at Bridger in thought, flipping to a new page of his artbook.
He grabbed some pencils of aqua, cerulean, emerald, burnt sienna, and harvest gold.
He traced every colorful curve of Bridger’s form over the mossy spring: the slope of his sunbathing chest and how it melted into his abs, the tufts of short brown hairs under the arms held behind his head.
Long eyelashes hung from serenely closed eyes.
Gus drew them in hickory brown. His defined jawline, now rendered in sable, held a smirk even while he rested.
Gus could never tire of Bridger being his muse.
Time passed. Clouds rolled through in the sky above them. Bridger, still sunbathing, peacefully drew his fingers through the water below him as his mind wandered. With a similar swirling hand, Gus put the final touches on his sketch, shading with his pencil. It was finished.
“You know… I love doing nothing with you,” Bridger confessed in the silence.
Gus looked up. He smiled. “Yeah,” Gus said in response. “With us, nothing feels… special.”
A warmth filled Gus as he watched Bridger bob his head in agreement.
A drop of rain then hit Gus’s sketchbook right on Bridger’s copper cheek like a tear wetting the page.
Gus peered toward the sky. Bridger rubbed a new droplet off his stomach, sitting up.
One more hit Gus’s shoulder. He locked shocked gazes with Bridger and closed his sketchbook. The drops became a drizzle.
“Shit!” Bridger exclaimed.
“No! We’re so far out!” Gus replied anxiously.
Bridger got up off his rock and tiptoed across the stones back to where he’d dropped his clothes, rushing to clumsily put them back on. Gus zipped up his backpack and put on his shoes.
Skateboards overhead, the boys dashed out from the lake.
Gus led their way as Bridger hopped behind, pulling up his pants with one arm.
They ran through the forest, splashing through mushy sections of mossy ground.
Dark storm clouds brewed overhead. Far off, a huge bolt of lightning pierced the evening sky.
When they finally got within sight of Gus’s home, they were drenched. Rain ticked like marbles on the woodshed’s metal roof as the boys hurried close, jumping over the puddles pooling in Dan’s yard. They dropped their boards and rushed toward the shelter of Dan’s workshop.
Bursting through the door, muddy and soaked to the bone, the boys were so cold their teeth chattered.
“Stay there! Don’t get mud anywhere,” Gus instructed as he shut the door, removing his shoes and grabbing a towel from a nearby bin.
Bridger turned to look at himself in a window pane and fixed his hair, still panting from running. He removed his soiled shoes and soaked, mud-splashed shirt. He stood there, wet and glistening, smudges of clay on his face. Then he yanked the towel away from Gus.
“Hey! I’m still using that!” Gus protested.
“You’re muddier than I am. Let me use it before it’s ruined,” Bridger retorted, taking the towel.
Gus rolled his eyes. He took his shirt off shyly and wrapped it up for the laundry as Bridger dried himself off. Gus felt awkward standing there with no shirt. He checked the bin again. There were no other towels.
“Hurry up, I’m cold!” Gus urged.
Standing there shivering, Gus grabbed for the towel again. Bridger caught it before it fell. Both boys had a slight tug-of-war over the fabric. Bridger yanked the towel away again with a show of force and chuckled as Gus’s grip failed.
“Asshole,” Gus muttered timidly.
Gus eyed Bridger’s body as he took his time wiping off. When Bridger looked over, Gus turned away.
Bridger smirked. He finished drying, stepped closer to Gus and, as if to crown a king, wrapped the towel around Gus’s shoulders with a peaceful sigh.
“There. All yours,” Bridger cooed, and patted Gus’s head.
Standing still, hair damp, both boys smiled at each other, then chuckled.
The stare lasted too long. Their grins faded.
Bridger leaned forward and hastily kissed Gus.
Gus’s eyes widened in surprise as Bridger’s closed with carefree passion.
The kiss deepened, and Gus, subsumed by it all, relaxed into it, tilting his head.
Their breaths synced as their lips moved together, slow and searching. Bridger tugged on the damp towel wrapped around Gus’s shoulders, pulling him closer, lifting him onto his toes.
A sudden crack of thunder shook the woodshop as lightning flashed outside the rain-streaked window behind the kissing boys. Bridger jumped but didn’t break away. Gus chuckled, smiling against Bridger’s lips, and reached out to graze Bridger’s bare chest to calm him.
Gus gave a last peck. Bridger pulled slowly away.
The boys, breathless in the moment, locked gazes.
“I… didn’t mean to do that,” Bridger said.
Gus said nothing. Instead, he leaned forward and stole another short kiss from Bridger, surprising himself.
When Bridger smiled, his eyes twinkling with joy, Gus smiled back.
This was real.
Exhaling all his fears, Bridger flashed a cheeky grin and dove back in to embrace Gus.
The boys kissed passionately, deeper and deeper.
Every new action they took happened naturally, their bodies moving for them.
Bridger’s hands slid around the small of Gus’s back.
Gus’s arms wrapped around Bridger’s shoulders and the towel fell to the floor.
Bridger waddled them forward, pressing Gus up against the main worktable.
Two-by-fours fell and clattered to the ground.
The boys both laughed but didn’t stop kissing, wouldn’t stop kissing, couldn’t stop kissing.
The heat of them rose, even in the cold of the rainstorm.
Sweat dripped from their backs, their chests, as they held each other close, as their lips found each other again and again.
Gus felt stiffening in both their pants as Bridger pressed into him.
Never had Gus felt so energized. He could kiss Bridger forever.
A distant door slam sounded outside the shop. Footsteps approached.
The boys parted immediately.
Dan walked into the dry workshop, his head covered with his jacket to hide from the downpour.
The boys separated even more, fearful of being found out.
Dan shook off his wet jacket and spotted the shirtless boys.
“Oh! Gus? Bridger?” Dan questioned. He evaluated them for a moment in which both boys were certain he knew.
Bridger turned to Gus, unsure of how to explain themselves.
Gus had never seen Bridger this terrified.
“You boys are soaked,” Dan said. “Don’t get water on the equipment.”
“We just ran back from swimming in the lake. Didn’t want to get hit by lightning,” Gus explained quickly. Bridger stayed uncharacteristically silent.
“We’re definitely rained in for the night,” Dan agreed.
Dan turned away, taking off his wet jacket and boots. Bridger peered at Gus. They both smiled awkwardly, unsure of what to do next. Gus took a moment to think as Bridger looked down at his feet.
“Bison stew sound alright to you, Bridger?” Dan asked.
Bridger’s smile faded as new regrets rushed in.
“Actually, I—I have to go,” Bridger replied, heading toward the door and picking up his muddy shirt.
Gus was taken aback.
“In this mess?” Dan responded. “Okay.”
Gus cleared his throat and walked toward Bridger as the boy rushed to put on his shirt and shoes.
“Hey, wait up,” Gus whispered after him.
“I’ll chat with you in the morning.” Bridger grinned through the lie.
Something was off. This… shift in Bridger, like a flicked light switch. Gus didn’t know what to do. Before he could do anything at all, Bridger escaped out the door and back into the rain. Gus watched Bridger pick up his skateboard through the window and run away with his head down.
“…Was it the bison stew?” Dan asked, breaking the silence.
Gus grimaced and closed his eyes, fearing that what happened tonight was yet another huge mistake.