With my eyes closed, I can hear nearly everything happening in the church. The restlessness of children only mildly placated by whatever toys their parents brought for them. The incessant sniffing of several parishioners battling colds. Creaking pews beneath the shifting weight of the uncomfortably seated. The reader’s mouth noises amplified by the microphone. Of all the volunteers, Gabriel is my least favorite—and not just because his only talent is to spew flecks of spittle whenever he makes a p sound. I generally steer clear of him due to the over-earnest façade he insists on wearing despite its utter lack of believability. I know it’s fake. I’ve overheard him calling someone a faggot under his breath.
Brian once accused me of sitting in the back with my eyes closed so that I could fall asleep. Though I knew he was joking, I denied his claim—that sort of behavior could get you a stern bitch-fest from Evora. I’ve never fallen asleep during mass. I’ll swear by that. But keeping my eyes closed and listening seems to make it go by faster.
Time passes. The ceremony progresses, then finishes. After the priest et al proceed out the doors behind me, the assembly erupts into the hubbub of visiting hours and the leaving time. I stand as families wander by, ushering their children out into the cold. With the foyer of the church filled, there’s no reason to rush.
“Oh, Felix. You’re back here!” Aunt Evora is suddenly at my side, gripping my arm. “Good.”
I bend down to kiss her cheek. “I always am,” I say in a sing-song voice.
“I know, but I’m so short. Sometimes I can’t see you.”
When I stand straight again, Brian’s passing behind her with Mariana. He looks better—the both of them even smile and wave at me. I try to return the gesture, but I doubt how successful I am at appearing amicable.
“You should come with us,” Aunt Evora says, leading me out of the pew. “I’m making tocino tonight. Your uncle used to love that recipe—it was his favorite. I think if I was not there to cook for Brian and Mariana, they wouldn’t have anything but frozen pizzas, you know. That’s not healthy for them.”
“I think Brian used to cook sometimes too,” I say. “It wasn’t always Dores.”
Evora waves my response away. “Maybe, but he’s too sad now.”
“Are you sure about that? I mean, he might be sad, but he’s not helpless.”
She clicks her tongue. “What are you trying to say? If he doesn’t want me there, he would tell me. He likes when I cook for them. Besides, I make all this extra food. I can’t eat it all myself.”
You could make less of it.
The priest is greeting parishioners in the foyer. Both of us shake his hand as we pass and he addresses us with a welcoming smile.
“Great homily today, Father,” Aunt Evora says. “So timely. I’m almost finished with that book you recommended.”
Then we’re outside.
At the top of the steps, I notice him.
Milo is parked right in front, leaning back against his Jetta, squinting against the morning light and looking like a goddamn movie star in his sunglasses and bomber jacket. I’m not quick enough to recover without Aunt Evora noticing my misstep, and she looks between me and the man who hadn’t attended the services.
“Who is that?” she asks through a tight jaw.
Fuck.
“That is Milo,” I say slowly. Although my heart had tap-danced at the sight of him, I’m already feeling very on display and uncomfortable. My hands sweat and my face suddenly feels hot. What is he doing here? He didn’t ask me if he could show up.
“He’s your friend?” Aunt Evora asks, and the slight pause before “friend” does not go unnoticed. She seems to be wondering the same things as me, though she quietly mutters, “In front of a church?”
Knowing there’s no way around this, we head straight toward him. Milo waves, that breathtaking—frustratingly clueless—smile on his face. “I was hoping I hadn’t mixed up my churches.”
“Milo,” I say, heart hammering faster than a hummingbird’s wings. “How did you know where I was?”
I hope that didn’t come off as rude as it did in my ears.
His smile falters one degree. “Oh, well, I know you walk to mass on Sunday mornings—and you told me the name of the church you cleaned.”
I did?
“I did?”
“Yeah.” He looks a bit uncomfortable. “I guess maybe I took more note of that than I should have.”
“I’m Auntie Evora, by the way.”
“Shit, yeah, sorry,” I say, realizing that my aunt has been standing there awkwardly holding my arm, waiting for this stilted explanation. She slaps my shoulder for cursing. “This is my Aunt Evora.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Milo says, flashing his smile again and reaching out to shake her hand. I love the way his eyes crinkle at the corners. There’s no way in hell that Evora won’t be charmed by him. In fact, I even see her smile a bit. “Sorry about the confusion. I came here to pick up Felix for our hike.”
“A hike?” Evora asks.
“A hike?” I ask.
“Yeah, like we keep saying we’re going to,” Milo says. Damn, he really doesn’t forget a thing. “Although, now that I’m thinking about it, more like I keep saying we’re going to.”
His cheeks have flushed a bit. I can tell now that this exchange has grown painful for all of us. Immediately, regret bubbles up in my gut. I never want him to feel regretful. Regaining my footing, I cough up an agreement.
“Oh, right,” I say. Even though a hike on a chilly, wintry morning isn’t my ideal activity, it provides a good excuse to be around Milo. I turn to Evora.
“So, you’re not coming over?” she asks.
“I forgot.”
“We can postpone, if you want,” Milo says quickly, not wanting to dispel what little favor he thinks he might have with Evora. “It’s no big deal. I wouldn’t want to cancel any of your plans.”
“There weren’t plans,” I say. “It was a casual invitation. I just forgot about our hike for a moment.”
Evora eyes me in a way that is maddeningly unreadable for a woman who I can usually understand with one glance. Then she shrugs, apparently unbothered, though I’m now acutely aware just how off-put she really is. That’s more like her. “Go with your friend, it’s okay. You can have tocino next time. Maybe Lenae will come too. She’s always talking about you, you know.”
I swallow, fighting my rising frustration and embarrassment. A number of phrases come to mind that I wish I could say, but instead I clear my throat. “Maybe next time,” I say. And Evora wanders off to find Brian.
Milo and I stand in silence for a while. I can’t bring myself to do anything but stare at the cement.
“I’m sorry, I should’ve called first,” he says. “I wanted to surprise you, but maybe that wasn’t the best decision.”
I don’t say anything, listening as the multitudes meander toward their vehicles.
“Listen, I’m sorry,” Milo continues. “I didn’t mean to put you in an awkward situation.”
“It’s alright,” I say. Turning, I make a beeline for the car and shove myself into the passenger seat. Milo walks around to the other side and gets behind the wheel. In silence, he starts the engine and we drive away. I’m assuming he has a destination in mind. As it’s not one of my typical activities, I’m unfamiliar with the popular hiking spots around the city. On the radio, they’re playing Christmas music. Melancholy tunes about missing old friends and loved ones waft out of the speakers in digital high definition.
“If you don’t mind me asking,” Milo begins, which is usually what someone says before asking something you will mind them asking, “are you not out to your family?”
I contemplate my response before answering. “I’m out, but even though she’s acknowledged in the past that I…like men, my aunt is somewhat in denial. She’s determined that I just need to find the right woman.”
“Ah, that old argument.” His tone is rueful. “I’m guessing she’s somewhat aware of me, though?”
“What makes you say that?”
He laughs a little. “I noticed she didn’t invite me over for tocino sometime.”
My embarrassment deepens and I clutch the seat belt over my chest. “Yeah, I guess that’s a pretty good indication.”
“Not that I’m broken up about that bit,” he adds hastily. “I don’t hold it against you and it doesn’t change the way I feel.”
I look over at him, a dash of lightness inside me.
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“I’m guessing you’re out to your family?” I say.
He nods. “Yeah.”
We drive the rest of the way in silence, passing the exposition center and the dormant water park I’ve never once in any of my many years living here had the slightest inclination to visit. Amid the barren trees and the cloudy sky, the bold colors of the many intertwining plastic slides look cartoonish and out of place. Like someone forgot it wasn’t summer anymore and left them out by mistake. Milo circumnavigates the backside of the park, and I wonder if he’s gotten lost before a dead-end parking strip materializes. A blacktop walking trail leads up over a dry weir and out of sight.
“I thought we were going on a hike?” I say.
“Considering your inexperience,” he says with a wry smile, “I thought we’d start with a lengthy walk instead.”
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” Little shit.
The trail inlet begins in a weird place, weaving between the feet of massive electrical pylons. But once we’re through the forest of girthy cement footers and folded steel, we’re led to a marshland of sorts that parallels the American River. In the distance, I can see the plastic slides towering above the concrete, but from so far away, their colors aren’t quite so stark.
We are absolutely the only people on the trail this morning, which surprises me, though I’m not complaining. When I face away from the city, it feels almost like we’re somewhere remote. Among only nature. The bushes, the trees, the sky. Flocks of birds ebb and flow overhead along a tide I can’t comprehend. The breeze chills but is, begrudgingly, also refreshing.
Something brushes my hand. I look down in time to see Milo interlacing his fingers with mine. His hand is large, skin smooth and fingers strong. His grip is firm but comforting. I marvel at how well our hands fit together, swinging lightly forward and back between us. When I meet his eyes, he’s giving me a gaze that asks whether I’m okay with this. And of course I am. I never want to let go.
“Are your parents religious?” Milo asks, his eyes focused and intense.
“Yes, very.”
“But they don’t go to the same church?”
“They don’t live in this part of the city.”
“How do they feel about Evora’s stance? I mean, like, the way she treats you and all that.”
“They agree.”
“Oh.”
“Actually, she’s not even the bad one. They’re worse. When I came out to my parents, they told me I was an abomination. I think ‘doing the work of Satan’ was one of the exact phrases. My mother cried, my father begged me to look at what I was ‘doing to her,’ as if it was some behavior I’d chosen purposely to torture her. I tried to reason with them, make them see that I was still the same person they knew, but they weren’t having any of it. Nothing I said mattered anymore so long as I wasn’t taking it back. And then they chased me out and said they didn’t want to see me again until I was done with my sinful lifestyle and had found God once again.”
“That’s really fucked.”
“It was only a few years ago, so I was already on my own. I’d waited until then because I figured—I mean, I had a sneaking suspicion…”
“I don’t understand how someone could do that to their own child. Especially in this day and age.”
“This day and age?”
“I don’t know. It just seems too…archaic to still be relevant.”
“Well, it happens. Dores’ relationship with them got fucked too. She still went over and saw them—mostly because of Mariana—but it was contentious after that. She was always trying to convince them to change their stance. To realize my orientation wasn’t The Great Terrible Thing they’d been led to believe it was. To be honest, I don’t know that I even wanted to come back, but it would’ve been nice not to be—well, not to be cast aside.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize.”
“Aunt Evora still sees them. God—sorry, I’m a mess.”
“You can use my sleeve if you want.”
“No. I just need a moment.”
“Take as many as you’d like.”
“It’s a bit soon for me to be laying this on you, huh?”
“It’s fine, really. I asked.”
“Yeah. So, Aunt Evora lets me know how they’re doing. What they’re up to. It’s not great, what she says sometimes, especially—you know, with you standing right there. I realize it’s rude. I don’t really mind if she doesn’t completely understand though, because at least she hasn’t thrown me away, you know? At least she’ll still have me.”
Away from the bank, the river splits around a small island with little more than a few trees, and I’m reminded that flowing water will take whatever route it can while it slowly carves its own path. The dour sky has dyed the river a pale gray.
What a thing to confess on a third date. Milo owns a part of me now, whether he wanted to or not. I can’t believe I’ve told him—there are still tears on my face—but even though some of these admissions are words I haven’t even told myself, confessing to him felt right. If he decides to leave, at least it can be an informed departure. And if he’s scared by the brand of fucked up that I am, then more power to him. I would’ve run away from this long ago if I could’ve.
“Do you want to tell me about your sister?” Milo asks tentatively, unsure if this is a topic that might set me off again.
“What do you want to know?”
“I don’t know. It sounds like you were close.”
“We were,” I say, searching for words. Sometimes, I wish I could simply hand over an entire emotion in order to explain something: words won’t suffice, so here’s the feeling in a nutshell. But words are all I have. “She could be messy—you’d never describe her as organized, but she always made time for you. We weren’t like most siblings. Even as kids we got along super well. She used to make up all these stupid games that we would play.”
I can’t stop myself laughing through a sludgy cascade of mucus.
“Like what?” Milo asks, smiling.
“Well, uh, she had this one we did a lot where she’d say half the words in a sentence and I’d have to guess what the rest was based on our surroundings. Like ‘I Spy’ but more infuriating.”
“Infuriating? I thought you said you got along well.”
“Yeah, but I swear most of the time she was changing the answer on the spot.”
“Messy and manipulative, I approve,” Milo says, but he’s laughing.
“At the end of the day, though,” I say, feeling the fleeting burst of warm nostalgia melt away. “She always had my back. She stood up for me. That was the most memorable thing about her.”
“She sounds amazing.”
“Dores,” I say, unsure if I’d ever told him her name.
“Dores.” Milo smiles pensively. “I understand you better now. The world would have us believe that your parents’ reactions don’t happen in America anymore.”
I don’t respond.
“If the religious revival of the twenties hadn’t—”
“My parents were always that way,” I say. He squeezes my hand a little tighter and stops so he can turn to face me. I get the feeling we’re no longer alone, but when I glance over my shoulder, I see the path is still empty in either direction.
“They’re wrong,” he says.
“I know that,” I whisper. A gust of wind blows down the alley created by the trail and the trees pressing in on either side. Cool air glides through my sleeve, finding a way to chill my skin beneath my many layers.
“But do you believe it?” he asks. “Do you believe you haven’t done anything wrong?”
“You can’t fix me after one month,” I say. The words surprise me. A few minutes ago, I was swooning at every goddamn thing he did, but now I sort of wish he would stop looking at me with those sad eyes. He doesn’t understand that there isn’t just sorrow and dejection in my story—there’s anger and remorse there too.
“I’m not trying to fix you,” he says, taken aback.
“Then stop looking at me like I’m broken.”
“I don’t mean to look at you like you’re broken. But you’ve had to deal with a lot of trauma. I’m just—”
“Trauma,” I scoff. I’m lashing out, but I can’t stop myself. Not with this sinking feeling in my chest—there are eyes in the trees watching me. A presence that makes itself known in the woods. I don’t want to be a spectacle. To anyone. Not to whoever is watching me, and not to Milo. I back away. “You’re just repeating buzzwords from trendy mental health articles.”
“Felix, please. I—”
Branches snap.
I start running. Sprinting down the path away from a sputtering Milo. As soon as I’m no longer by his side, I’m flooded with remorse—he didn’t do anything wrong. He wasn’t hurting me. So why am I running from him? Why don’t I want him near me anymore? Whatever was watching me in the trees is keeping pace, running alongside me just out of sight. If I turn my head, I can’t see it, but I can hear it ripping through the underbrush, seconds from reaching out and grabbing me. I can’t lose it on the path. Clenching my jaw, I pivot hard and dive to the left, off the road. I raise my arms, trying to keep the barren branches from poking at my eyes. A twig whips across my face, clawing at my cheek. Another gets me on the forehead. I don’t think I’m moving fast enough for them to make me bleed though. Soft ground. Fallen leaves. Uneven soil. Gnarled roots. Ducking. Twisting. Jumping.
And then I’m alone. Truly alone. I can’t feel the presence anymore. I can’t hear it moving. No eyes. Nothing. I come to a stop, breathing heavily, hands resting on my knees. I haven’t run in a while, since the gym closed. Sweat layers my skin beneath my clothing, though the winter air feels colder than ever on my face. My breath comes out in great puffs of white vapor, swirling into nothing before my eyes.
Silence.
Did Milo chase after me?
I have half a mind to call out. I should apologize. But he knows how fucked I am now. Apologies mean nothing—he knows now that’s how things are going to be with me. It’s easier if we never see each other again.
He said he wanted to be there for me.
My ear prickles, picking up a faint noise above the claustrophobic silence. I hold my breath, hoping to hear better.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
The sound comes slow, even, rhythmic. So faint that I still can’t quite tell what it is. The deciduous forest around me is impenetrable. A solid mass of white trunks and twisting layers of branches. The knoll isn’t so large. The world shouldn’t be this silent. I should be able to hear the highway somewhere in the distance.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
Louder now. Something thin and metal being struck lightly against something else. Something not as hard. Wood? A tree trunk?
I turn my head, staring into the trees. Anything that moves should be easy to discern against the pale backdrop. If anyone’s close enough for me to hear them…
Tap. Tap. Tap.
It’s a knife. I can’t know that. There’s no possible way to tell. But now that the image has surfaced, it’s impossible to rid myself of it. I turn on the spot, shoes sliding against the blanket of dead leaves on the ground. Vapor puffing out into the air. Swirling. Evanescing. Empty landscape.
Tap. Tap. Tap.
“Hello?” I call, voice weak. “Milo, is that you?”
No words in response.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
No longer one source. The sound comes from either side. The same rhythmic tapping like knives against the trees. Observers letting me know they’re watching, nothing more. They see me, even if I can’t see them.
“Milo, this isn’t funny. I’m sorry. I—”
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.
It’s everywhere now. Not just to my right and my left but in front of me, behind me, above me. I turn on the spot. There have to be dozens of them. Everywhere all at once. Standing hidden but close enough to get to me. The ceaseless tapping has so many innumerable sources that it’s become a cacophony. A buzzing. A hive of insects. Cutting off any sense of the outside world. Why can’t I see them? Why are they doing this? I press my hands against my ears, trying to block out the noise. The incessant tapping. The hum.
“Stop!” I feel myself saying. Eyes shut tight. “Stop! STOP! STOOOOOP!”
Someone grabs my wrists. Their grip is strong, shaking me so that I open my eyes instinctually to see who has me.
Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap. TAP. TAP. TAP.
It’s Milo, looking as terrified as I feel. His mouth opens, repeating my name over and over. I can’t hear him above the tapping. He pulls my hands away from my head—
“Felix!”
The noise is gone. Everything fades. It’s only him and me and the empty trees standing beneath a gray sky.
He’d pitied me before. Now he’s afraid.
“Felix. What are you doing?”
I look around. Where did the sound go? Did they all leave at once? That can’t be. There were so many of them.
So many of who?
“Felix,” he says again, softer. Releasing my wrists, he runs a hand across my hair. Then gently tilts my head back so I can look him in the eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Did you hear it?” I say.
“Hear what?”
It was so loud. How could he not? How could anyone within a mile radius say they hadn’t heard the tapping? Yet somehow, he didn’t. Somehow I’m the only person affected by it. I shake my head, exhaling deeply. I can’t be crazy. I won’t be crazy.
“Nothing,” I say.
“Are you okay?” he asks again, lowering his hands to my shoulders.
“Yeah, I’m fine—really! I don’t know. I just got confused for a moment.”
“You ran away from me.”
I look at him, seeing the hurt lingering behind the concern.
“I did,” I admit, but offer no explanation.
He doesn’t let go of me, waiting for something else besides the non-response I’ve given. Inside, I search for words to placate him, but nothing arises. I usually have no problems conjuring what I’m supposed to say. I’ve had so much practice with Aunt Evora. But the last few minutes have rendered me inert.
“Can we go home?” I ask.
Milo nods and heads back toward the path.