“Don’t worry,” I said, as I took his hand and we walked down the center of the road. “I’ve got you.”
“I’d often tried to imagine what your hometown was like, but I was so far off.”
“What did you picture?”
“Well, a town, for one thing,” he said. “We’re out in the middle of nowhere.”
“The town center is about a mile down the same road that the house is on, but it’s nothing much. There’s a small grocery store, a post office, a library, and about four or five businesses that have somehow managed to keep their doors open over the years. Then there’s also a gas station and three fast food places out by the highway. Everyone drives into Shreveport or Monroe for their semi-monthly ‘big shopping’. There’s also a grade school, a high school that barely has a hundred students but still has a football team, and of course a shitload of churches.”
“I can’t even imagine you growing up out here in the country. You’re just so—”
“Genteel?” I flashed him a big smile.
He grinned at me and said, “I was going to say cosmopolitan.”
“I like to think of myself as the ultimate self-made man. I became who I am by choice, not because of my upbringing.”
“I love the fact that you and your parents are so close, even though you couldn’t be more different.”
“I just adore them. Neither one has a cruel bone in their body, and I never had to wonder if I was loved. They just put it all out there.” I glanced at him and added, “I know they’re a lot to take if you’re not used to them. Thanks for being a good sport about all their eccentricities.”
“I like them, actually a lot more than I expected. It’s great that they’re so accepting of your sexuality, especially given where they’re from. They didn’t even bat an eye at the fact that you just brought a man home. They also were nice enough not to mention the fact that I look like I’m older than both of them.”
“You do not,” I said. “All three of you could pass for thirty.”
“Which is weird in their case, since that’s almost how old their son is.”
“Yeah, they’ve never looked or acted their age.”
Lorie glanced at me and asked, “Have you ever wished they were different?”
“I did when I was little,” I admitted. “All I wanted was to blend in, and they just don’t. But when I got older, I realized I had two choices when it came to my parents. I could be mortified and try to distance myself from them, or I could accept them, just like they’ve always accepted me. I went with the latter. Although I’d be lying if I said they didn’t drive me nuts sometimes.”
“Of course they do. All families are like that, to some degree or another.”
A few minutes later, we rounded a curve in the dirt road, and I smiled and said, “This is what I wanted to show you. It was my very favorite place when I was a kid.”
I’d brought him to an old wooden bridge over a slow-moving river. My timing was perfect, because the sun was just beginning to set, and the sky and water were golden. “I spent so much time here when I was growing up,” I said, as I sat down on the side of the bridge with my feet hanging over the edge. It was only about six feet to the shallow river below, so it didn’t matter that there was no railing.
Lorenzo sat down beside me and said, “This is just beautiful.”
“It’s more than that. It’s also magical.” I took the flat, round rocks out of my pocket, remnants of when the river was wide and wild and able to grind stones smooth. I also took out the piece of chalk I’d gotten from my parents’ kitchen drawer, and I said, “I don’t usually consider myself a religious person, but I feel like I’m close to something bigger than myself when I’m out here. I guess in a lot of ways, this is my church.”
“Not to change the subject,” Lorenzo said, “but I’m taking you camping this summer, even though you’ve always claimed to hate it.”
“I do hate it.”
“I promise I’ll make it fun.”
“I’ll consider it. Now pay attention, because I’m about to let you in on one of the most profound secrets in the universe. This is how I survived being bullied every day when I was a kid, by learning to let go, in a very tangible way.”
I picked up a rock and said, “Here’s how it works. You write the name of whoever hurt you, like this.” I wrote ‘Avery Bowen’ on the smooth stone with the chalk. “Then what you need to do is throw the stone as far as you can. Make sure it lands in the river. I decided that was important at some point. Anyway, the key here is intention. You’re not just throwing a rock, you’re choosing to let go of pain.”