100 Days (42 page)

“It’s about to start,” he replies, dropping Jake’s hand and loosening the blind­fold. “Are you ready?”

“Ready for wha—”

Bright, dawn-pale sky stretches for miles and miles, all the way to the horizon, and Jake squints against the sudden light. Then, like a blurry long-lens shot suddenly pulled into focus, the landscape resolves itself into buttes and side canyons and giant sprawls of sedimentary rock. Jake’s breath punches out in a single, disbelieving huff and a wave of dizziness overtakes him, as if every molecule of oxygen has left his body at once.

“Ready for the Grand Canyon,” Aiden says.

A sliver of sunlight appears to the east, and Jake’s eyes drink in the pink, purple and orange hues that begin to transform the rock.

“It looks like it’s breathing,” he whispers.

Aiden chuckles, wraps his arms around Jake’s waist and hooks his chin over his shoulder. “Pretty amazing, right?”

Jake turns in his arms and locates the splinters of green and gold in Aiden’s eyes that he only sees in the morning light. He presses his forehead against Aiden’s temple and tells him, “You make everything else go away.”

“Nah,” Aiden says and kisses his cheek.

“You do, though,” Jake says, pulling back and meeting his eyes. “Everything that happened last night, it… no one’s ever done anything like that for me before, and now
this…”

“I wanted you to wake up to something good today. That’s all,” Aiden says with a shrug.

Jake wants to tell Aiden that he loves him—the words are on the tip of his tongue, their taste as thick and full as when he whispered them to Aiden’s sleeping form in Colorado—but last night still weighs on him. He doesn’t want to say it when the cracks inside him still simmer with the fury of sleeping giants; he needs some measure of peace.

So he holds onto the railing and leans back to look over his shoulder at the land beneath the rising sun. Aiden drops his head to rest on Jake’s shoulder, his eyes drift closed and a smile plays about his lips when Jake tells him he’s missing everything.

“We’ve already been here for an hour or so. I came up earlier, sat for a while,” he replies around a yawn. “And we’ve got tomorrow.”

“I can’t believe you drove all night,” Jake says.

“Well, you took me to Four Corners,” Aiden points out.

“Did you stop anywhere?”

“Yeah, at about two-thirty. There was a Denny’s in Holbrook.”

“Kinda glad I wasn’t awake, in that case.”

“Mm. You needed to sleep.”

“Thank you. For last night,” Jake says, and rests his head atop Aiden’s. “And for everything else.”

“You’re welcome,” Aiden says. Another yawn, and Jake can feel the warm exhalation even through his layers.

Clearing his throat, wanting to offer something, he says, “Aiden, you—you know I’m getting there, right?”

“Hmm?”

“With us. You know I’m getting there?”

Only silence greets him, stretching so taut that Jake thinks it might snap back like an elastic band at any moment—until Aiden’s arms go limp, and Jake realizes that he’s fallen asleep. He allows himself a bone-deep sigh, and then hooks his arms underneath Aiden’s and hauls him to his feet.

“You fell asleep on me,” Jake tells him as he blinks himself awake. “Literally.”

“Did not,” Aiden grumbles, rubbing his eyes and giving him a bleary look. “Okay, maybe I did.”

“Come on, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you back to the RV,” Jake says, taking his hand and leading him away from the railing.

“Is that my Disney character?” Aiden asks.

“Actually, I’d say Rapunzel. Your hair grows fast enough,” Jake replies, and ruffles Aiden’s shaggy locks until Aiden scrunches his nose and bats his hand away. His hair isn’t really that long, just longer than Aiden has worn it since he was in single digits.

“If my hair were that long, I’d probably look like a hobo,” he says, and Jake laughs. As they reach the top of the steps, Aiden tugs on his sleeve and turns back to face the sunrise. Quietly, he asks, “Do you think we’d fly if we jumped?”

Jake glances around at Aiden, at his eyes, closing as the sun’s warmth starts to reach them, and says, “Maybe. Soon.” He doesn’t miss Aiden’s beatific smile, his skin luminous in the light of the magic hour. “Now, come on. There’s a bed with your name on it.”

“So
where
did you meet
this guy?” Aiden asks as they take a seat on one of the benches behind the campfire.

“At the store, when I went for Advil,” Jake replies, resting his head on Aiden’s shoulder and inhaling deeply.

Jake had awoken late in the afternoon, after they both slept most of the day away, with dream images still flashing in his mind: an empty dance floor littered with debris; a black gymnastic ribbon that turned to fire when he picked it up and danced with it until everything was alight; walking through the flames toward a glass door. The handle was almost within reach when Jake woke up, head throbbing, abandoned sentiments fizzling on his tongue.

At the Market Plaza store, he ran into Oscar: six-four, with broad shoulders and muscled arms barely concealed by his regulation black polo, white blond hair shot through with deep purple, subtly outlined hazel eyes and an arresting, sultry smile that, only months ago, would have driven Jake crazy.

“We got talking,” Jake continues now, “and his best friend’s dad owns the place, so they come up every Monday to hang out, spin, blow off some steam. In the summer they put on shows for the kids.”

He scans the clearing; rows of benches are set up behind the campfire as if it is a preacher’s platform. Five couples are sprawled across the benches and on blankets strewn haphazardly around the campfire, and none of them pay Jake and Aiden any attention; they are transfixed by Oscar, who is halfway through a sensuous fire poi routine set to an intense country rock song.

The poi he uses are made of steel wool so his every weave and reel results in a cascade of sparks, and as the song builds and builds toward a thumping, insane crescendo, Oscar raises his arms up over his head and spins the poi together. Sparks shower down around him, carpeting the ground and eliciting gasps from the girls sitting just in front of Jake with their arms wrapped around one another. Jake and Aiden applaud and cheer along with everyone else, laughing at Oscar’s theatrical entertainer’s bow. He unwinds the poi from his hands and tosses them to the side as they burn out, and a small, curvy girl with blue curls that bounce as she walks takes his place. She carries two five-pronged pyro fans that Jake eyes enviously, and while she works herself through a few warmups, Oscar jogs over.

“Jake! So glad you came,” he says, slightly out of breath. His vaguely Swed­ish accent melts Jake a little. Oscar shoots him an infectious smile, takes a seat and turns his attention to Aiden. “And you must be the boyfriend Jake was telling me about. I’m Oscar.”

“Aiden,” he says, shaking the hand Oscar holds out. He throws a look Jake’s way that is a mixture of confusion and surprise, and Jake finally understands what it means to wish that a chasm would open up beneath his feet. He prays for a change of subject.

“How long have you guys been together?” Oscar asks, glancing between them with an easy openness. Jake curses his luck.

“You tell him, sweetheart,” Aiden says, nudging his side.
O
h, he’s just
loving
this.

Jake sucks in a deep breath to keep from committing homicide, forces a smile and says, “We’ve been best friends since we were kids, but things didn’t change, I guess, ‘til this trip.”

“And you guys are from Maine, right?” Oscar asks. “You just got marriage there?”

Jake bristles even more, mostly at the memory of that walking-on-broken-glass night in Wisconsin, and nods with a tight smile. “You were right, by the way,” he says, finally finding the wherewithal to redirect the conversation. “That routine was incredible.”

“Ah, it’s all in finding the right music,” Oscar says, waving off the praise and gesturing to the blue-haired girl. She’s warming up with a few basic turns and sweeps, waving the fans up and down in a way that makes it look like she has wings. “Now, Hailey is something else. She’s an
artist.”

“Just like Jake,” Aiden interjects, and as he winds his arm around Jake’s waist, Jake can’t help but smile, even though it’s been a long time since he’s felt like an artist. “I filmed him for a music video once, and his routines are beautiful.”

“You’re up next, then,” Oscar says, slapping his palms on his knees in way too decisive a manner.

“No, I haven’t spun for a couple years,” Jake says.

“Not taking no for an answer,” Oscar sing-songs, and gets to his feet just as Hailey’s fans light up, bright as fireworks. Envy bites once more at Jake’s insides; he could swear they’re the Pyroterra fans he coveted for months when he was still part of his college fire club. “Come over once she’s done and we’ll get you set up.”

“Okay,” Jake says weakly, and after Oscar has left them to join a couple of his friends sitting closer to Hailey, Aiden leans over and kisses him under his jaw.

“Boyfriend, huh?” he asks.

“He was about to hit on me.” It isn’t a lie, but neither is it the truth. “I had to say
something.”

He feels rather than sees Aiden’s small, knowing smile, hears his mur­mured, “Okay,” and the electricity lingering in his bloodstream has him almost jittering with the itch to spin again, to feel every minute shift of the chains as he creates his own escape of patterns and heat and light.

“What if I’ve forgotten everything?”

“I’ll stand right in front of you, if you want. Pretty good motivation not to fuck up,” Aiden offers, but before Jake has even rolled his eyes, he adds, “Stop second-guessing yourself, and go be an artist. It’s who your mom taught you to be.”

Struck dumb by the truth of Aiden’s words, Jake lets himself relax into his embrace for the rest of Hailey’s kinetic light show. And in what seems like no time at all, she is snuffing out her fans and Oscar is beckoning him over. Aiden lightly squeezes his hand, and Jake leaves behind everything except the energy that has been bubbling inside him all day.

He flexes his fingers and rolls his wrists.
Breathe,
he reminds himself as he shakes out his shoulders and rolls his neck, striding over to Oscar. He accepts two poi from a rail-thin teenager Oscar introduces as Sean, and turns to Hailey to congratulate her on her performance.

“Thank you!” she says, bouncing on her toes and clapping her hands. She gestures to the small boom box sitting on a tree stump. “Did you bring music for your routine?”

Jake shakes his head. “I’m woefully underprepared.”

“Oh, that’s okay! Don’t even worry about it, just come with me,” she exclaims, her voice high-pitched and friendly and just oozing happiness. She grabs his wrist and leads him over to the dock, picks up her phone and starts scrolling. The screen lights up her face and casts shadows above her killer cheekbones. “What kind of stuff do you like?”

“Anything that has a good beat. Something that makes me feel.”

She looks thoughtful, and then snaps her fingers. “I have a couple friends in Vancouver, and they sent me a demo EP for this band called Belle Sigma. I’m obsessed with this one song right now, it’s called ‘Touchstone.’ Fan­tastic for spinning, especially the regular poi. You can do anything, and it just works.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jake says. He got used to improvising to whichever songs their group leader picked in college.

She waves him off with a grin, and he moves over to the makeshift perfor­mance area; as soon as he nods to her, she hits play. The song begins with almost dream­like guitars; Hailey gives him a thumbs up as she passes by on her way to a seat, and Jake is suddenly aware of all the eyes on him. He shakes off his nerves as best he can and wraps the poi handles around his hands, lighting them with one swing into the campfire. Then he steps back and takes a deep breath.

“This is the new world, a world full of sin,” the lyrics begin, and Jake spins the poi in a simple butterfly formation. “Links to my past keep on lingering. If you’ll come with me I’ll keep you safe; won’t let this go to waste.”

The sound of fire whips past him on each spin, and the familiar heat wraps around him; he picks up on the song’s instrumental interlude—a plucking of strings as chaotic and treacherous as his own heart—and sweeps up into a four-beat weave, relaxing his body and letting himself move from side to side.

“You are the reason, the past is my rhyme. Take my hand and we’ll be lost to time.”

Corkscrew reels this time: Jake shortens the chains to spin in front of him and then up over his head. These are easy moves that he could never forget. He concentrates on feeling the music and anticipating the change in beat, which explodes into the chorus: “A step for you but five for me, take everything that I don’t need. A touchstone in my shoe, my heart in your hands; we’ve lost too much but not this love unplanned.”

Energy flows through Jake’s arms and out into the poi as he leaps onto his toes and into one of his signature variations on a six-petal flower. He pushes the fire away and pulls it back, dancing with it until it feels like an extension of himself. Running the poi at vertical parallels for a transitional float, Jake feels his every nerve aflame; he’s invincible, he’s on the edge of the world, he’s a superhero. The music is for him, just for him, and he’s lightning leaping out of a glass jar as he spirals higher and higher into the stratosphere.

As he performs a simple modified alternating barrel roll, leaning back with one leg raised into the air, he catches sight of Aiden—no longer seated but standing at the end of the aisle between the benches. He’s transfixed; the weight of his gaze would normally feel heavier than Jake can bear, but this time spurs him on. He dips back as far as he can and rights himself with a scissor kick.

“Darling, we were meant for this; I’ve been asleep in a different life.”

Jake almost stops short but manages to cover with another float; the words catch him off guard and open his eyes all at once to the truth of—of everything. Every last word of encouragement spoken to him over the course of their road trip: Andrew telling him to make the mistakes first; the tour guide in Virginia and Aiden’s stepmother thinking they were a couple; Nan leaving no room for argument when informing them that they belonged to one another in North Carolina; Charlie making clear on Thanksgiving what Jake still refused to see; even April’s nudging and niggling and outright badgering throughout the first act of what he can no longer deny is a love story.