by A J Lange
He reached for the remote and clicked off the TV, leaning over Gray’s prone form to switch off the light. He pulled a blanket from the foot of the bed over both of them and lay back on the pillow next to Gray.
He had totally wasted $195.99 for that second room.
Except, he thought sleepily, laying a hand next to Gray’s on the pillow, he really didn’t mind.
◆◆◆
When Zane stood on the edge of the Grand Canyon for the first time, he was struck dumb. He had read about it, seen pictures of it, viewed it in a movie a few times...but the size and scope was simply implausible in its majesty. Zane’s brain couldn’t process it. It stretched as far as he could see in all directions. He and Gray stood grinning stupidly at each other for several minutes while they tried to absorb the grandeur.
If Zane thought he got winded while taking the stairs at Wupatki, that was nothing compared to the sheer misery of hiking the trails along the rim. He was so fucking thankful for the periodic benches that allowed respite, he could cry, but that would require more oxygen than his poor depleted cells could spare. He might have felt a little smug that Gray was out of breath at least half the time too.
They started riding the trolley bus instead of walking to each lookout.
Just to conserve energy, they assured each other.
Zane leaned on the steel bars at the edge of an overlook, gazing across the brightly hued canyon, the Colorado river a tiny ribbon winding along the canyon floor below. He heard a familiar muted click and knew Gray had the camera out again.
“You know, we’re going to run out again if you don’t stop taking pictures of me. How many do you need of my face, anyway?”
Gray ignored him and snapped one more.
“What is that?” Gray asked suddenly, grabbing Zane’s wrist.
Zane froze; it was the folded note Gray had written so many months ago in the hospital. Zane still kept it in his pocket, folded up tight, the edges worn smooth and soft now. He had developed a nervous habit of rolling it over his fingers, like a playing card.
Gray snatched it from his hand before Zane could shove it back in his pocket.
“Gray,” Zane started but Gray had already unfolded the worn paper carefully, reading the words so many months after he had written them.
Gray winced. “Why did you keep this?”
“Because you wrote it,” Zane bit out, suddenly tense. And it was true; it was not as if the words were any sort of comfort. They were agony in ink, but it was the last thing Gray had given him and Zane could never bear to throw it out.
“I was lying.”
“What?” Zane froze, startled.
“This?” Gray raised the paper and it flapped precariously in the wind above his head. “What I should have written was, Hey, Zane I had a really hot sex dream about you last night and it scared the fuck out of me this morning when I looked at my boyfriend and saw your face instead.”
Zane blinked. “Then why didn’t you write that?”
“Because I’m an idiot.”
Zane pulled the paper from Gray’s fingers. He read it again, rubbing the pad of his index finger across the faded words, long since memorized. He looked across the canyon vista for a long, quiet moment, then opened his hand and let the wind carry the note away on the breeze.
“Sometimes I am too,” he said.
Gray quirked his head, his former agitation evaporating. “Yes, you are.”
Zane grinned. “Technically you have no proof of that.” Long live amnesia humor, Zane thought.
Gray rolled his eyes and held out his hand. “Come on, Nolan. Let’s ride around in the back of the trolley for a while. I’m tired.” He continued to hold Zane’s hand as they walked to the bus pick up; Zane knew there was a goofy smile on his face, but couldn’t find the wherewithal to care.
◆◆◆
After dinner, they decide to hang out on the edge of the canyon where the Navajo were setting up a bonfire for a weekly ceremony. They were dozing under a tree when Gray’s phone buzzed on the ground between them. Zane glanced down and saw the name. Collin.
Gray touched Decline on the touchscreen.
“Why did you come with me?” Zane blurted.
Gray blinked several times, eyebrows raised. “Because I wanted to get to know you,” he said cautiously.
“Get to know me,” Zane said, suddenly frustrated. “Am I some kind of big experiment for you, where you decide at the end you’ll either stay or go? Cause, I gotta tell you Gray, that’s pretty shitty. We are not an experiment.” Zane clenched his teeth, unsure where the sudden burst of anger had come from.
Maybe it had been there all along.
He didn’t want to fight. He didn’t want to push Gray away, either. But Zane was stretched too thin here, balancing between wanting Gray, feeling the familiar tug of home and family and love that they had so carefully built between them, and being scared out of his mind that Gray was going to leave at the end of all this anyway, go back to Collin or hell, maybe to someone else, or no one at all. Maybe this Gray, the new and improved version, would decide that Zane simply wasn’t enough.
Gray watched Zane as the taut silence stretched between them, then climbed to his feet and walked away.
For one excruciatingly painful moment, Zane thought that was it; Gray was gone. The knife may have dulled since the last time it stabbed Zane in the heart, but it sure as fuck didn’t hurt any less. Zane moved to one of the nearby benches and sat down, closing his eyes and letting the late afternoon sun warm his face. When someone sat down beside him, entirely too close, he glanced over.
Gray pressed a book into his hands.
Zane stared at it for a long moment, then turned it over in his hands; it was a journal, leather-bound and well-worn. He flipped the pages and saw that nearly all of them were filled with handwriting. He looked at Gray’s face, dappled with sunlight as it filtered through the leaves.
“When I left the hospital, my occupational therapist told me that people with a head injury like mine needed to learn new ways to keep track of information as it returned. Or, to record new things too, mundane things that are more—” Gray sighed. “More difficult than they used to be.” He studied Zane’s face sadly. “I thought it was stupid at first. I didn’t want to be making out lists all day long, or recording my dreams or flashes of memories, half of which I had no idea whether they were true or not.”
He tapped the book on Zane’s lap. “I’ve never shown this to anyone before. You’re holding the past six months of my life, Zane. ”
“Why?" Zane’s voice was barely above a whisper. The book scared him; what if he didn’t like what he read? What if he wasn’t strong enough to read it, to accept it. This was the chance to have the ultimate truth, as it pertained to the man sitting beside him; the man he loved above all else, whom he would gladly take a bullet for. Gray was the love of Zane’s life. Did he really want to know with absolute certainty if Gray, this Gray, no longer felt the same?
“Because I want you to know me,” Gray said, just as softly, the deep blue of his eyes rich and painfully lovely. “All of me.”
Zane opened the cover slowly, and began to read.
Gray patted his knee and stood. “I’m going to wander around the pow wow. Find me later?”
Zane looked up at him, a silhouette against the fading sun. Beautiful and familiar and everything Zane had ever wanted. “Okay, Gray.”
Gray nodded and walked away.
◆◆◆
December 24
The doctor has been telling me that I need to keep track of my thoughts, any flashes of memory I think I’m having, in written form. She thinks it will help me organize them later, like a puzzle. I don’t believe her, but Harry bought me this journal for Christmas and now I’ve been guilted into following doctor’s orders.
It’s Christmas Eve.
I wonder what Zane is doing. I haven’t seen him since I left the hospital. I wish I hadn’t been so hard on him that last day. His face
will haunt me for a long time.
The next part was scribbled over and Zane couldn’t read it, no matter which way he twisted and turned the book. Two lines, totally blacked out. Zane grunted, frustrated, and continued to read.
I think about Zane a lot, actually. I told him that I dreamed of him, saw his face, and that’s true. Sometimes I wake up and there’s something so close to the surface, on the edge of my conscious, but I can’t grasp it, can’t catch it before it floats away.
I wonder if that’s Zane.
December 26
I’m staying in my apartment in KC. Alone. Collin seems disappointed, assuming I’d stay with him, I suppose. But I can use public transportation until my driving restrictions are lifted, and I’ve been released from my position at KU for the time being, so...I’m not sure where I was going with that. That happens a lot lately.
I don’t want to live with Collin. I was so sure when I woke up a few weeks ago, when I believed we were still together. I’m confused now. Some days I don’t really like him that much at all, and I don’t know why. Other times, I miss his coy smile and wicked wit. I was so crazy about him once, I do remember that. I remember being swept up in him, the mystery, his adventuresome spirit, the intrigue of sneaking around. Sometimes I wonder if that’s all it ever was. Maybe that’s why we were no longer together, why I was free to be with Zane.
Mostly I wonder if I made a horrible mistake by leaving the hospital the way I did, turning Zane away and embracing the familiar instead of investigating the unknown. I haven’t heard from Zane. .. I sort of thought I would. Maybe it’s for the best.
The next few entries were shopping lists and television show reminders. Zane wondered how long Gray stayed in that penthouse, locked away from family and friends. And Zane. Wondering what he was forgetting, had forgotten, watching TV and avoiding life. He wished that he had known Gray wanted him to call; it pierced Zane, harsh and bitter, to know that they may have wasted so much time. Zane decided to skip all of the boring list entries and concentrate on the personal ones, anticipation building as he read.
January 12
Zane’s eyes are bright, grass green in the sunlight.
January 15
I dreamed about a dog last night. I wonder if we had a dog? It was a yellow lab and it’s tail beat against my leg, thumping in time to his happy bark when I got home from work. Zane was in the kitchen, laughing, calling the dog...but I can’t remember the name.
I’ve never had a dog before. I wonder if this was real?
January 21
Today is Zane Nolan’s birthday. He is 34.
I don’t know how I know that.
January 30
Collin has been taking me to the movies, there’s a theater near here that shows the classics on the weekend. He’s very sweet and attentive. Sometimes he’s so careful of his phrasing, I can tell that he’s being cautious, that he doesn’t want to screw up. I want to scream, just let it happen, or let it die.
That sounds harsh, but I feel harsh. My head is hurting again and I’m not sleeping well. My bed in this apartment is huge.
There’s beer in my refrigerator. I don’t recognize the label.
February 2
Alanna brought me a photo today. It’s of me and Zane, at her engagement party. Zane. ..he looks gorgeous. If I am being totally honest (and I suppose I can be, this is my journal and no one will ever see it but me) I get butterflies when I look at his face. His smile lights up the photograph. I can see that he loves me.
Me.
I recognize Zane. ..but I don’t recognize me.
Because I’m looking at him the same way.
The photograph was tucked into this page, a placeholder. It was a real photo, not the newspaper clipping that Zane still had hanging on the wall behind the register at Joe’s. Written on the back in neat, feminine handwriting was “Zane and Gray” along with the date of the party. Zane lightly touched their faces. They were painful to look at, these two men. They were so clearly in love, and it broke Zane’s heart. He tucked it carefully between two blank pages in the back of the book.
February 14
This is a horrid excuse for a holiday. I’m skipping it.
February 22
I’ve been doing so much better with the small tasks. I even went to the grocery without a list yesterday. Of course, I forgot milk, and bread, but I came back with enough food that I shouldn’t have to leave for a few days. I am
I’m back now. Harry just called and he’s forcing me to leave tomorrow, to go with him to a bar or something. I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to drink alcohol with my migraine medicine, so I’ll either have to stay sober (a fucking sad state of affairs) or I’ll have to forego the meds for the day. I hope I don’t wake up with a headache tomorrow.
I haven’t dreamed of Zane in a while.
February 23
I have a headache.
February 25
I dreamed of Zane last night. He was sweeping the floor in a bar (Joe’s?) and singing an old Van Morrison song. This is probably just a garden variety dream because I already “know” he owns a bar, and I heard that song on the radio yesterday. It’s a sad song, I think it’s about dying. It’s called Into the Mystic and I bought it on Itunes as soon as I figured out how to update the version I had installed on my computer.
So the dream is probably fiction, but I love that song. Maybe it’s not about dying at all. The longer I listen to it, the more I think it’s about falling in love, and staying together.
February 27
Zane has a freckle behind his left knee.
March 3
My driving restriction was lifted. Harry and I shopped for a new car yesterday and I bought a hybrid. It’s supposed to be good on gas mileage and very efficient. It’s rather boring. I looked at classic cars on ebay and craigslist for a long time this week in anticipation.
Zane drives a black Jeep.
That is one sexy ass car.
Zane smirked. He agreed; it was totally a sexy ass car.
March 8
I went to Joe’s, Zane’s bar last night. It was foolish, probably. I don’t really remember more than I did in December, the last time I saw Zane, and I’ve been telling myself this whole time that it wouldn’t be fair to him, to start something that I don’t have the confidence I can finish.
And yet, I’m drawn to him. His face is always in the back of my mind. Sometimes when I wake up at night, I can hear his laughter ringing clear in my ears. I’m a little afraid of what will happen when I lose that, through normal memory loss; but I don’t seem to be losing daily things as often anymore.
I still have to make a grocery list though. I forgot milk again.
Oh. Zane wasn’t at Joe’s. I sat in the back in a booth for a long while, but he never came. The floor is the same as my dream; I guess that one was real.
March 15
Bonnie Hollenbeck is kind and warm. Her pies are amazing.
I knew that when I woke up this morning. Like it had always been there, just waiting for me to think it.
March 20
Spring.
March 24
I had one of those dreams last night where I wake up so hot and aching for Zane that I had to take a cold shower. How can I want someone so badly, that I don’t even know? Am I remembering? And fuck, if the sex was that amazing (dream sex with Zane always seems more incredible than any real sex I have ever had) I will never forgive myself for choosing Collin over him. Even if I meant it as a temporary reprieve until I figured out what the fuck I was going to do with my new lease on life.
I wonder if Zane understood that day, back in December, that I didn’t mean to push him away so completely? I was afraid. No. Terrified. You try waking up in a different world, a different time, and finding that everything you know to be true is not, and that your heart races, yearns, fights for a face that you don’t recognize.
Fuck. I don’t know what I’m talking about anymore.
Maybe I should t
ranscribe the contents of that dream instead. I would rather like to reread it when I’m feeling low. There would be many cold showers in my future if I did.
I’m smiling right now. I don’t know why I’m writing that, but it’s important because I don’t find myself doing that much these days. I think I need to get out of this house. Maybe I’ll look for a new excavation or dig to join.
Sex with Collin was always fine.
I hope he never reads this.
Zane snorted. He flipped through the rest of the pages quickly, but Gray must have never written down the contents of the dream. Damn. Zane would have liked to read it.
March 27
I have decided that as charming and kind and amusing as Collin is, I am confident that I am not in love with him. It’s funny, it felt so real at first, but over the past several weeks, he has seemed more distant and impatient and I am longing for something else, something I can’t define. He feels wrong. That’s the worst thing you can tell someone, when you break up, but since apparently we broke up a long time ago, I don’t have much guilt about it. He found my confession rather humorous and laughed at me. He thinks I’ll change my mind. That frustrates me. Actually, that has always frustrated me about Collin. He dismisses the real me, having created a Grayson in his mind that never existed.
I’m going to go to New Mexico with him regardless. I do miss working in the field and Harry is right; I need to get out of this apartment. Collin took it as a sign that I was leaving a door open. I’m too tired to fight him on it. I really just like New Mexico and want to spend time in Chaco Canyon again. It’s so peaceful and the pueblos are beautiful, some of my favorites.
April 1
I booked my own (separate) hotel reservations for the duration of my stay in New Mexico.