Reconnected Julia Poole

Troy slowed the car, passing row after row of trees, headlights exposing branches laden with apples. Wooden pallets lined the orchard’s edge, empty and ready to hold the harvest.

“Ever walked in an orchard at night?” said Billy.

“No,” said Troy.

“Me either.”

Troy slowed and turned onto a dirt path that accessed the orchard. Sweat from the palms of his hands made handling the steering wheel slippery. He extinguished the headlights. Weeds whacked the car’s underside. True, they were trespassing, but meant no harm, Troy told himself even as his stomach tightened. The vehicle swayed as tires traveled over bumps he couldn’t see. He crept the car a bit farther, made a sharp right, and slowed between a row of trees. A few limbs whacked the windshield—the soft thud of apples falling on the car. Troy braked, parked, and turned off the ignition switch. Keys jangled on his keychain. While the motor tinged and popped, Troy’s eyes adjusted to the dark, and his heartbeat pounded. Or perhaps it was the beating of Billy’s heart.

How random, running into Billy working at the car wash earlier in the day. The last time they were together they were eighth graders in Billy’s bedroom, one minute high-fiving after finishing a science project and the next Billy brushing his lips against his. Then Billy’s mom walked in and said, “Oh, Lord.” Billy pulled away, and he stayed away for all the days that came after.

For the last hour, Troy had driven with no destination in mind as their conversation had traveled over the past three years. He spoke about his parent’s divorce, his evolving understanding of his bisexuality, and his growing passion for environmental causes. Troy listened as Billy talked of his conversion therapy, his commitment to Christianity, and his ongoing struggle with depression. And now, the conversation details blurred, the words and meanings sucked out of the open front windows.

The silence compelled Troy to blurt out, “Your hair’s fantastic.” What a stupid thing to say.

“Not compared to your Harry Styles look.”

Billy tousled Troy’s hair. It was something Libby did all the time, and he loved it, but when Billy’s fingertips grazed his scalp, a tingle traveled down his spine.

Troy shivered.

“You didn’t mention a girlfriend or boyfriend. Are you seeing someone?” said Billy, who looked straight ahead while the fingers of his right hand glided back and forth across the open window frame. For a fleeting moment, Troy thought about how much he wanted more from his friendship with Libby, even now as his body desired Billy’s touch. “No.”

“Thank God.”

“And you...is there...”

Billy shook his head, stretched his legs, and arched his head back and over the top of the headrest while his hands brushed curls away from his face. Troy stared at the length of Billy’s body, his thin frame, and long, bony fingers. The sound of insects buzzed. Troy smelled fall’s decay, overripe apples, but the closeness of Billy’s sweaty odor overpowered him. Looking in the rearview mirror, he saw his reflection, his flushed face. He faced Billy and inched off his seat. Even though shadows darkened Billy’s features, Troy saw the bump of Billy’s Adam’s apple, the blueish vein alongside his neck pulsing, the freckles too numerous to count. Billy closed the gap, his lips connecting with Troy’s.

Troy caressed Billy’s face. Hardly a trace of stubble. He leaned his forehead against Billy’s, gently brushed Billy’s hair away from his eyes, then kissed each of his closed eyelids, the tip of his nose, his cheeks, and the sides of his neck. “Oh,” whispered Billy, the heat of his breath against Troy’s ear. Fingers fumbled around jean buttons, and the sound of unzipping displaced the hum of nature outside.

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