Cordiform | LGBT

Bridges

It's a Sunday in April when the two find themselves riding bikes down a dirt trail. The sun is high in the sky, spring breeze dancing through their hair. Landon leans back on his seat, arms at his sides where he pedals without steering while Dominic keeps a lazier pace a wheel behind him. The only sould between them is the crunch of dirt beneath their wheels and the methodical clicking of Landon's Jon Lester rookie card clipped in the spokes of his back wheel.

"Do you think any of that stuff is true?" Dominic breaks the silence between them, slowing their pace as he does. Landon looks over his shoulder at him with furrowed brows which is enough to egg Dominic on, "I mean—" He takes a pause, ultramarine eyes hidden beneath dark lashes as the boy looks down towards the ground, "About eternal damnation and all that?" As he speaks, he laughs, trying to play off what Landon knows to be a serious question for him.

The question is loaded and Landon doesn't know how he's supposed to answer. He thinks about the sermon earlier this morning where homosexuality was the hot topic of the week, undoubtedly bubbling over with the recent spike of states legalizing same-sex marriage. It had been the type of sermon that drudged up underlying animosity and the kind of misplaced fear that churned Landon's stomach.

The way Dominic's father spoke so vehemently reminded Landon of the time his own father had caught him playing with a doll a babysitter had let him borrow. It had been the kind of lifelike baby doll young girls fawned over and Landon had treated it like it was real: feeding it, dressing it, bathing, and loving it. While his mother had been passive in her son's exploration, his father hated it with every fiber of his being as he accused Landon of being a sissy or a queer. When Landon's father discovered the doll, he had thrown it and all of it's accessories into the garbage. As far as Landon was concerned, Dominic's father was no different with the exception that he got to use the guise of religion to hide his hatred under.

After an elongated pause, "No." He states firmly, "I don't believe in any of that shi—stuff." He catches himself, knowing that while he doesn't believe in God, Dominic does, "Why?"

Dominic diverts from the main trail and heads down toward a river, keeping pace, "What about homosexuality?" The word is poison on Dominic's tongue, as if even saying it will earn him a one-way ticket to some fiery pit in hell. Talking about it brings up an overwhelming sense of dread. He replays the first time Morgan made out with him at a middle school party. How she encouraged his hand up her shirt and he'd never been more relieved to learn that Morgan was a late bloomer.

Landon doesn't know what to make of the question and allows it to ruminate for a moment. He doesn't want to talk about it anymore than Dominic does, but he can tell the topic is eating at him, "What about it?"

When talking starts to feel like pulling teeth, Dominic slows to a stop at the river's edge, "I don't know." His voice is small, meek. Climbing off his bike, he lets it drop to its side on the grass, "Forget I said anything, it's dumb." Dominic smiles but his eyes glisten against the dipping sun.

The river in front of them stretches for miles in both directions, passing through towns and counties along the way. In the summer, the area is a hot spot for teenagers to swim or tube down when the rapids are strong from the rain season. Now, though, it's cold and the water moves gently, undisturbed. Landon has never been here before but Dominic comes here too often.

"Mike and I used to catch salamanders here." Dominic adds in a quiet after thought. Despite the cold, he removes his shoes, tucks his socks inside of them, and wades in ankle deep water.

Landon watches him. The way the sun peeks through the trees and creates shadowy patterns over him. How eyes made from the powder of lapis lazuli contrast with the dark, murky water that laps at his ankles. Dominic wears a small smile, the kind that only hints at the dimples at each corner of his mouth. He's looking down at the water as if he's a kid again, searching for salamander.

This is a moment that reminds Landon that there are too many things left unsaid between them. The last few months have been them skirting around the elephant in the room that neither are ready to address. For Landon, being with Dominic is like tasting infinity, as if the universe begins and ends with him. It is a terrifying and guilt ridden thought, but somewhere, underneath the confusion and uncertainty, it feels right.

When Dominic catches him staring, he drops his gaze off to the side and sits down on a nearby rock.

"I don't think there's anything wrong with it." Landon states tentatively, catching Dominic off guard, "And I don't think God would punish someone for being gay, bisexual, or y'know, whatever." He furrows his brows and looks at Dominic again, "But, what's this all about anyway?"

Dominic looks towards the water again, words bubbling up in his throat with the threat of escaping. Only, they never quite make it to his tongue. Instead, he sucks in air through his teeth and tells a half-truth, "My cousin, Sara, I guess."

With his hands suddenly too empty, Landon decides to skip rocks against the water's surface, "Okay, what about her?"

"When she was thirteen, my aunt caught her—kissing—a girl friend of hers during a sleepover. They didn't take it well, y'know? I mean they really didn't take it well." Dominic frowns while running fingers through his hair, "It was like this light switch. One day, she was my cousin and then the next, a total stranger. Everyone just turned their backs on her. My father helped get her into some—I don't know—camp, I guess. At the time, I didn't know what it was, but now you hear about that conversion therapy stuff—" He doesn't finish the thought, words catching in his throat. "I mean, Mike and I, we grew up listening to all of that hatred, we marinated in it and we believed it. But, fuck, it's so easy to hate something when it's invisible."

The word 'fuck' slipping from Dominic's mouth sounds unfamiliar and foreign.

"When you hear stuff like that, you start to picture something evil. A monster, something identifiable and repulsive, but she wasn't evil. She was my cousin, this awkward freckle-faced girl who dressed up as Hermione every Halloween and read The Hobbit so much the pages fell out." He laughs, a fragmented laugh and the guilt and confusion in Dominic's eyes are palpable.

Dominic steps out of the water and joins Landon on the rock. He draws his knees up to his chest and suddenly, he is small. Vulnerable. He doesn't know how to tell Landon that he's not just afraid for Sara.

Landon scoots closer to him and, instinctively, Dominic leans the side of his head against Landon's shoulder.

"Well, what do you think?" The baritone of Landon's voice vibrates down to where Dominic has his head.

"What do you mean?" Dominic closes his eyes.

"Do you think God, your God, would have your cousin burn in hell for all eternity for being a lesbian?" Landon questions carefully. Separating a God created through hatred and one created through love.

For a while, Domonic is silent. He spins the silver purity ring around his finger while arching a brow in silent contemplation.

"No." Even though the answer doesn't erase all of his looming fears, Dominic feels lighter.

Under the setting sun, they sit in the same position wordlessly until the sun finally sinks beneath the horizon line and Landon stops humming Hey Jude against the crown of Dominic's head.