Chapter Twenty-Six #3
Acadia looks and sounds and smells different than the last time they were here—when they’d been running so hard and fast from what felt like an inevitable end.
Winter had taken away all of the color and warmth from the park.
But now the forest and mountains are waking up, new growth sprouting up from the once-frozen ground, the temperature comfortably warm, birds returning home, wildflowers in bloom, insects chittering in their ears.
Zach recognizes most of the park from the pictures in all his books, the stories he’s read, the research he’s done.
Parker, Paige and his mom don’t try to stop him from pointing things out to them, or from explaining the local flora and fauna.
The red-belted polypores clinging to the bottoms of the coniferous trees; the shelflike reishi mushrooms just coming into season; the purplish wild blue iris peaking up from the grass.
At dawn and dusk, the loons call from the lake, the sound both comforting and haunting.
They all explore the area around the campgrounds, awestruck and appreciative as they go on short hikes and take in the vast, immersive landscape.
On the third day, Zach and Parker wake early, roused by the sound of a particularly territorial loon.
They shove on their boots and exit the tent, squinting into the bright sun as it chases away the morning’s fleeting gray.
With some convincing, Parker agrees to a morning hike.
They leave a note tucked under a rock in front of their tent—gone for a hike, back soon :)—and make their way to the nearest trailhead.
Beech Mountain greets them like an old friend.
“No way,” Parker says with a laugh as he follows Zach onto the trail.
It’s both familiar and different as they wind their way up through the spring-green trees, over the rocky terrain that leads up to the fire tower.
They’re the only ones there as they climb the steps, clinging to the metal rails.
The morning air is a little chilly, still damp with dew, but once they find a spot of sun on the fire tower the sun makes everything warmer.
Looking out, Zach is struck once more by how green Acadia is—how the trees have filled back in from their winter molt, and how the water laps urgently at the shore, no longer a pale, glassy blue.
Birds call loudly. A bright orange fox stands out as it ambles by the lake.
The valley and the mountains and the water and the trees spread out in front of them, vibrant and alive.
“You know—” Zach starts, then pauses, a familiar pulse of uncertainty catching in his throat.
Parker looks down at him and he manages to swallow it.
“I spent so long thinking that it was probably a good thing that nobody noticed me. Because—because maybe I was too messed-up for anyone to like me.” His voice shakes a little as he says it.
He looks down at his hands, gripping the railing.
“But you saw me, like—immediately,” Zach laughs nervously. He thinks back to that day in the empty classroom, to Parker with his dull-eyed stare, how he’d ripped him apart with his words.
“Maybe it was for the wrong reasons, at first, but… you saw me. And you still liked me,” he continues. “I didn’t know what it was like to be… to be—loved—like this, like—”
Zach shakes his head, letting the rest of the words fall away. He looks back up at Parker. He’s looking at him, focused, his mismatched eyes burning in the bright sun. His brown eye is the color of warm coffee in the sunlight, and his blue eye is so pale it looks gray.
“I’m really glad you didn’t kill yourself,” Zach finishes.
Parker is quiet but for a sharp intake of breath. His teeth catch on his bottom lip. He reaches over on the railing to cover Zach’s hand with his own. His palm is cool and sturdy. He says, “I’m glad you didn’t kill yourself too.”
They exchange a soft, thready laugh. Zach pulls Parker closer, winding his arms around his middle.
Parker goes easily, like it’s all he’s ever wanted to do.
They kiss at the top of the fire tower, replacing a bittersweet memory with a good one.
Parker’s mouth is soft and familiar. Zach wishes he could spend the rest of forever doing nothing but kissing him.
Zach laces his fingers through Parker’s.
He takes a moment to appreciate the pressure of his palm, the twitch of his fingers.
They are both here, skin reddening in the balmy spring air and the beating sun.
Their breaths come out in shaky, adrenaline-fueled gusts, lips peeling back in smiles they can’t contain.
Everything is green and warm and moving—plants are drinking in food from the sun, and trees are swaying in the breeze, and the wood planks of the fire tower are creaking under their feet. Somewhere beyond them, a hawk calls, sharp and echoing across the treetops.
For the millionth time, Zach thinks, I came so close to not having any of this. But Parker rubs a thumb over Zach’s hand, and it’s his, all of it, and all he has to do is be here, in this moment.
Things are happening all around them, the world relentlessly moving, time crawling forward with each breath, and Zach and Parker have both chosen to be exactly where they are, in the middle of everything: groggy, young, excited, completely overwhelmed by one another.
Alive.
The End