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2016, April
Dennis had never run from home before, never really left the confines of his family’s farm, until now. He knew his parents would be furious, and that he most definitely in return get a good ol beating from his father, but at the time he couldn’t really care less. Yes, that worry was itching in the back of his mind, yet he chose to ignore the angel on his shoulder telling him to turn back now while he still had the chance.
He followed the hand of the girl he was with, Charlotte Holcombe, a bright girl that lived across the town from him. She had oak brown hair, always very wavy. It reminded Dennis of the wheat flowing in the wind on the farms whenever it got colder and the wind kicked up. She was a bit shorter than him, not by much, as his teenage growth spurt began. She’d always been staring at him during church sermons, although he didn’t pay much mind. They’d bumped into each other down by the general store while he was picking up some feed for their chickens, and it escalated from there.
Now he found himself trotting through the mud in his old hand me down boots while she guided him towards a small opening upon the shady hill where the sun didn't usually shine. She told him that no one really came up there, only when it was harvesting season; as beyond the hill was a large cornfield stretching miles. They sat down beneath an old fig tree, her knee bumping into his.
"Ain’t it just marvelous?” She asked him, turning towards him for confirmation.
He stared back at her, noticing the way the shade from the tree morphed into her face, showing the patterns of leaves onto her sun kissed skin. He couldn’t say he didn’t fancy her; I mean who wouldn’t? She was a kind girl, adventurous, and came from a decent family. But he just wasn’t wired that way. He silently wished he was, knowing his family would appreciate seeing him with somebody, but knowing they’d turn it against him somehow. He would try and force himself to see her in that sense, imagining kissing her while their cows mooed, and chickens clucked down on a farm they’d share. But he simply couldn’t. No matter how hard he’d try, her face in his dreams would morph and configure into someone with a blockier build, a gruff voice, and flatter chest. Instead of indulging these fantasies, he would kneel on the hardwood floors on his home-if you could call it that- and pray for hours. Bare knees on old wood floors. He always had bruised kneecaps along with splinters. He’d beg God to just make him normal and to stop those thoughts bombarding his already flawed mind. As his life usually went on, it didn’t go as planned, and he would just have to force and repress his feelings down.
He turned away from the girl and looked upon the horizon. It was almost sundown, and their view splayed across the small town of Broken Bow. You could see Dennis’ farm, along with Charlotte’s home, and all the small shops. You could see the town line and the lake cutting the village off from the rest of humanity. It was a sight and Dennis had never seen anything like it before. He was often stuck at home, shoveling the fields or mucking out a stall, so a view like this was other worldly. The beckoning rays of sun setting painted the sky all kinds of oranges and pinks.
While he watched the sky, he hadn’t realized Charlotte was inching closer to him. He didn’t notice her unbutton her blouse, nor did he notice he turn toward him and lean into him. He tore his eyes away from the sun once she grabbed his hand and placed it on her chest, where her heart would be. She tilted her head down and looked up at him.
“Have you ever touched a woman before, Dennis?” She asked, blinking slowly.
He wanted to answer, no of course he hadn’t, but his tongue wouldn’t move. It felt like it was glued to his jaw and his lips frozen in place. He wanted to tell her to let go of his hand and that he needed to get back home before his mother realized he was missing. Charlotte took his silence as a no.
“Why don’t I show you a thing or two?”
She moved his hand back to his side and straddled his hips. He didn’t know what to do. He just stared at her blankly, his body stuck. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t speak. Until a voice in the back of his head said,
This is right, Dennis. This is what you need.
His body moved without him telling it to, placing his right hand on her hip and his left on her lower back. His eyes followed her movements, analyzing her next move. She grounded her hips against his pelvis, sending a spark throughout his spine. Another voice in his head whined,
This isn’t what you want. This isn’t you.
The sun shone brightly. His memories blurred. Voices slurred. Something about moving to a more private place.
*
Bedsheets crumpled. Sweat glistened. Dennis sat in an unfamiliar home, and an unfamiliar bed. Someone lay next to him. His head spun. The past hour flooded his mind. He felt guilty. Did Charlotte know? Did she know he thought of someone else’s face when it should’ve been hers? Did she know he imagined a man in bed with him?
Wait. That’s not right. That’s not what happened. Is it?
He was with a woman in bed. He should be feeling happy. Maybe even cocky. Why did he feel like puking?
Charlotte mumbled something next to him, but he didn’t hear. He launched an excuse and stumbled out of the room, pulling his undershorts on. He ran towards the restroom, closing the door behind him and lurching towards the toilet. He gagged, throwing up anything that might have been lingering in his stomach. He was hunched over the toilet bowl, clinging onto it like a lifeboat.
What is wrong with you?
Why can’t you be like the other boys?
He shifted, leaning his back against the cold tub, reigning himself back in. He clutched the golden cross splayed on his neck, squeezing it so hard it left imprints on his palm. Why did he feel so bad about something he should feel the opposite about? He hated the fact that he wished he had found himself in bed with someone different. He hated how his mind and body always seemed to betray him no matter how much kneeling and how much praying he did. He just simply couldn’t change this part of himself no matter how much be buried it within himself. It always came back, flourishing more than ever.
His throat bobbed. Eyes strained. He slapped a hand to his mouth in an attempt to silence the sob that forced its way through his throat. His tear ducts swollen. He couldn’t stop it. The tears flowed down his sweaty cheeks, leaving imprints on his face, on his soul.
What would his mother think?
How would she feel about her youngest son fantasizing about other men? Surely, she’d never want to speak to him again. She might even kick him out. Ban him from the church. Ban him from their home. He could try to repress it more, but he didn’t know how much more of that he could do. It was taking a dangerous toll on him, and he didn’t know how to make it stop. He tried so hard, but nothing worked. He needed to find a way out. Maybe he could just curl himself into a ball and never unfold? He could drift away, never returning to his home in Broken Bow, Nebraska. Simply erase himself from existence, like he was never there. He was good at that. People didn’t normally notice him either way. He could just slip away, never show his face again, run away, far, far away, and-
Dennis.
What is that? Who was that? Who would be calling his name?
Dennis.
I don’t know you. You’re not from around here. Why are you here?
Huckleberry.
What?
Huckleberry.
What does that mean?
2026, September
“Wake up, you dingbat!”
A familiar voice lurched him awake. He blinked, the world around him spinning. He rubbed his eyes, wiping the sleep away. He glanced around, taking in the scene around him. This wasn’t his home in Nebraska. This was different. He sat up, instinctively looking over his shoulder to the bedside clock on his nightstand. It was 6:54 AM. Shit.
Shit. He was going to be late.
He leaped out of bed, scurrying across his room in search of his last pair of clean scrubs. He hopped across the room while shoving one leg in his pants, tripping in the process. He grabbed his flimsy backpack and threw it over his shoulder, pulling open his bedroom door. He plopped himself into Trinity’s banged up Honda, listening to her rant about being more timely in the mornings. Ironic, as she was usually the one making them late for their shift. He finally let himself relax, taking a breath. He found solace in Trinity’s banter, although it was a bit irritating at times. Today was going to be a good day, he thought.