Bear, Otter, and the Kid (The Seafare Chronicles 1)

into the Sun

I KNOW you’re probably wondering if I said anything back to him. I didn’t, but before you get all angry and are all, like, Oh my God, Bear, but he was so sweet and cute and vulnerable, just know that I have my reasons. The clouds might have been gone, and the ocean might have gone back to wherever it came from, but I knew they were still there, somewhere. Trying to reconcile with this complete change that I’ve been going through has been more taxing that I’d first thought. For days now, I’ve wanted nothing more than to sleep either in my bed alone or with him. Even when it’s with him, I’m usually asleep as soon as I hit the pillow. My body is lethargic and my thoughts muddled, but it’s not so very bad. Hearing him say what he said has brought new understanding to who I am and who I want to be. If someone can care about me that deeply, despite all my faults, despite all my refutations, despite all my everythings, then that makes all the storms and all the oceans worth it. I just hope that I can remember this. It’s a thought I fall asleep to, and it’s there when I wake. It’s my mantra, and I repeat it so I know that I know he is real.

But do I love him? I don’t know. Don’t get me wrong: I’ve always loved Otter, but not in the way that we’re talking about now. If I do love-love him (God, how lame does that sound?), it’s in a way that I’ve never done before. I think often about how I felt about Anna. I try to compare the feelings, but it’s just not possible. There are so many differences between the two (aside from the fact that one has a penis) that it’s like I can never feel the same for Anna as I do for Otter. But I know I could never feel for Otter what Anna and I had. I think back to what Ty said, on that day that we went to Portland to pick up Creed. It’s only been weeks, but it seems like years. He said that he thought it was like your stomach was on fire, but in a good way. He said it’s like you could not go on another day without the person. I had told him I thought it was when all the stupid love songs on the radio started making sense. The only reason I think we’re both right is because his makes sense, but I found myself singing along to a Celine Dion song on the radio.

And I got it.

So what does it all mean? I wish I knew. I still can’t seem to shake the dark senseless jealousy I felt when he was talking about Jonah. I know Otter is here with me now, and he says he’s not going anywhere, but I can’t help feeling like his past is not as over as I’d like it to be. He said it perfectly when he said you can’t just wipe away your history like that, and whether I like it or not, Jonah is a part of Otter. Maybe not a current part but there nonetheless. Otter hasn’t given me a reason to doubt him since we started whatever it is we’re doing. I try to concentrate on that. Sometimes, though, I feel the waves lapping at my feet and hear the rumble of a storm, just off in the distance. It never comes closer, but it’s always there. I am strangely exhilarated by this whole thing. It feels dangerous and secret and wrong but oh so good. It’s like doing something bad but knowing you won’t get caught. It’s like winning for no reason but to win.

It’s like swimming in the ocean with lightning flashing overhead.

Ty survived his overnight with flying colors, much to my bemusement. Otter and I picked him up the next day, and Mrs. Herrera told me he was a perfect gentleman, welcome back at their house anytime. She told me that she and her husband were taking Alex on a camping trip as soon as school was out and wanted to invite Ty along. I told her I would think about it. What I was really thinking was that there was no way in hell I would let anyone take him out of town. Both the Kid and Otter chided me the entire way home as my thoughts were evidently splayed across my face, a disdained scowl that I was sure I had smothered.

“Am I really being that unreasonable?” I complained to Otter that night on the phone after Ty had gone to bed. “I think I’m doing pretty good here.”

He laughed into the phone. “I think you both need to take baby steps,” he told me. “I’m sure that this is just as hard on him as it is on you.”

I wish I could have believed him, but the Kid seemed to be taking leaps and bounds. In those few short days following his foray into normalcy, Ty seemed to realize everything he had been missing. He wasn’t clinging like he used to and kept hounding me to let him go on this damn camping trip. I told him that we would see when it got closer, and he would grin happily and then bring it up again an hour later. It’s selfish of me to not just say yes, I know, but I can’t help but feel that we are being pulled in opposite directions, him with his burgeoning freedom and me with my newfound appreciation for anything and everything Otter. I wonder often now if most parents go through this, watching their charges discover what life has to offer and not being able to stop it. I’m not his dad, but I’m the closest thing he’s got so I think my feelings are justified; at least, this is what I tell myself when I lay awake after all have fallen asleep. He and I both know all too well that this world has teeth and will attack when it seems the most docile.

So there we went: Ty finding himself for the first time in three years, me finding myself for the first time in my life. Those few days we had left before Creed came home were the best and worst of my life. I relished in having Otter all to myself and not having to answer questions. I cringed as I saw Ty skip off to school into throngs of waiting friends. I groaned as Otter found this one place on the inside of my thigh that made me forget my name. I sighed as I got to work and saw that Anna did not come in until after I had left. I worried as Creed’s return got closer and closer and nothing would be the same unless I was willing to admit to something that I had been fighting since that night. Over these past days I’ve had shuddering orgasms, deep stretches of cavernous despair, and lengths of peace like I’ve never known. Experiencing so much so fast is enough to drive a person over the edge.

“So what time will you be back?” I ask Creed now as I watch Otter and Ty play chess at our house. Otter has told me that he’s pretty good, but from what I have seen, the vegetarian ecoterrorist-in-training is apparently also Bobby Fischer in disguise. I don’t know how he learned; I’ve never picked up a chess piece in my life. I watch as he breaks a five-minute stretch of silence by moving a castle thing up a square thing, and Otter groans.

“Probably early,” Creed says in my ear. “I want to get back and never look at vodka ever again. It’s the devil’s drink.”

“What are you doing right now?”

“Shots of vodka. Did you know they make raspberry-flavored?”

I snort.

“Anyways,” he says, “I promise not to go anywhere until I have to go back to school. We can hang out all you want.”

“Great,” I say, trying to keep the waver out of my voice. “That sounds… great.”

Creed laughs. “Why do I get the feeling that you don’t mean that? What’s been going on since I’ve been gone?”

“Nothing,” I tell him. “Same old, same old. You know how Seafare is.”

“Uh-huh,” he says. “Seriously, Papa Bear. You okay?”

“I’m fine,” I say, sweat glistening on my brow. “Never better.”

“If you say so.” He pauses for a moment and then says, “Is Otter there?”

“Uh, yeah. Did you want to talk to him? He’s currently losing to a nine-year-old at chess.” Otter shoots me an evil look.

“Nah,” Creed says. “I’ll see him tomorrow.”

“Cool. Have fun with your vodka.”

“Hey,” he says.

“Hey, yourself,” I say back.

He hesitates, and I don’t want to know what’s going through his head. “Never mind. We can talk when I get back. Later, dude.” He sounds funny.

I sweat some more.