The Past in Colorado

Stephen was no longer my dad, but a boyfriend with whom I was living. It was difficult thinking of him as such, but that's what he had become. The boundaries that had been established over the years were now lying in shambles. He had been the only parent I ever knew, and I the child. I had my room, my private space, and he had his. When I wanted to be alone, I simply walked to my bedroom and shut the door. Stephen knew not to bother me, though sometimes, out of parental concern, he did knock lightly. And when he was in his study, I made it a habit not to pester him – too much, anyway.

In the morning, he showered first, and then I took mine. I kept my toiletries on one side of the cabinet and his were on the other. I made dinner and he helped clean the dishes. And when I did the laundry, he would help fold.

Now suddenly everything was changing. My dad was gone, replaced by someone new. I was very likely pregnant by him, too, and the arrival of our new baby would be cause for more drastic changes within our life together. Some things might remain the same, but others wouldn't. Everything seemed to be happening so quickly, and I had no clue where it would lead or what to do next.

I suppose that's what I didn't like: working without a map. Like anyone else, I had a built-in compass directing my actions. But, just like trying to find my way through a forest without a map, not only did I have to keep my eyes looking forward at all times, I also had to be careful not to trip on any snags or become ensnared in thistles. In short, Stephen and I had to blaze our own trail.

The rules had changed, along with the distribution of duties and responsibilities. I was willing to accept this, willing to take him as my lover and mate, but I wasn't quite sure how he felt about any of this.

***

We had been home for a week, and I was in the kitchen preparing breakfast one Saturday morning, having just finished my shower and clad only in panties and a towel on my head. I heard Stephen coming down the stairs and, when he entered the kitchen, I turned and smiled. He was yawning and scratching his head.

"Mornin', sleepy," I chirped, as I scooped a pancake from the pan.

Stephen gave me a drowsy grin and scratched his chest. He came over and was quiet for a moment, as he watched me. I lifted another pancake from the pan, and then he leaned down and kissed my cheek.

"You oughta get dressed, Jessie," he whispered.

The smile on my face slowly ebbed. There was something about how he said that, which didn't sit right with me. Then he patted my back, saying he was going to take a shower. I watched him slowly walk back upstairs to the bathroom, and a minute later heard the water running.

I stood staring down at the plate of pancakes, thinking about what he'd just said. But it wasn't his actual words that struck a nerve. It was how he said them. It wasn't like he was saying, "Hey! Get dressed so we can go outside and explore this beautiful day together!" It was more like, "I'm screwing my daughter and having a hard time dealing with it, so could you please not walk around naked?"

I must have been standing there for a long time, because I didn't come out of my trance until I heard the shower shut off. I put another plate atop the one filled with pancakes to keep them warm and went upstairs to get dressed. As I stood by my dresser, having just pulled on my shorts, Stephen came into the room. With a towel around his waist, he gave me a brief smile, and stepped over to his dresser. I opened a drawer and pulled out a t-shirt, slipping my arms inside and pulling it down over my body. Then I turned and watched him step into his boxers. I smiled, but it was only half-hearted. I felt like saying something, but didn't know what.

With his back still to me, he leaned down slightly, opening another drawer, and seemed to be searching for something. Then he looked over his shoulder at me. I smiled and blindly used one hand to search for the hairbrush on my dresser, not wanting him to know I was staring. He turned back to his drawer and mumbled.

"Hey, uh... Did you... Have you seen my t-shirts? The ones I got before we left?"

I set my brush down and walked over to his closet.

"I put 'em right here," I replied, reaching up to the shelf inside. Then I turned, handing the package to him.

Stephen gave me a quick grin. "Thanks," he said.

I stood there for a moment with my hands in my back pockets watching him. When his head emerged from one of the new t-shirts, he tucked it into his shorts and asked if breakfast was ready. I smiled and nodded quickly. Then he turned to brush his hair and grinned at my reflection in the mirror.

"You didn't have to do that," he said.

I blinked, as I was pulled from yet another daydream.

"Pardon?"

"Breakfast," he said. "I coulda helped."

I shrugged. "S'ok," I replied. "No biggie. I don't mind."

***

When Stephen was ready, we walked downstairs. Our talk was small, mainly about what he wanted to do that day - mostly work around the house and yard. Our vacation pictures were ready to be picked up the day before, but both of us had forgotten, so I volunteered to get them.

He helped clean the dishes, and then went outside to start mowing the lawn. I watched from the back door, as he rolled the mower out of the garage. Stephen gave the cord a few hard jerks and it sputtered to life, spitting out a small black cloud. I could see his lips move, as he grumbled, and then slowly began the tedious task of cutting the grass.

Stephen really hated mowing the lawn, so I decided to let him do half, and then finish the remainder for him. I hated it, as much as he did, but with two of us on the job, it wouldn't be quite an irksome chore.

It would be a while before he'd finish his half, so I put on my socks and shoes and went out the back door. Stephen was walking toward me, staring down at the grass, as he pushed the lawn mower. Standing by the back porch with my arms folded, I waited for him to come closer. When the mower was next to me, he turned down the throttle and smiled.

"I'm gonna go get the pictures," I said.

"Pict-...? Oh, ok."

"I'll mow the other half, when I get back."

He nodded and said ok. Just as he turned up the throttle to start mowing again, I stepped to him and pushed up on my toes to kiss him on the lips. But as he put one arm around me, he turned so my lips would land on his cheek instead. I hesitated for a second, and then kissed him lightly.

"Back in a bit," I said, and turned to walk away.

***

I slowly moped along the sidewalk, my arms folded and weighing heavily on my chest. Something was wrong, and I noticed it all week. Our first night home, we were still riding high on a wave of emotions - elated and feeling good; feeling better than ever before. We kissed and embraced so much for those first few days, but the novelty of it all seemed to wear thin. The change I had longed for was finally mine, but I hadn't considered the aftereffects and how we would deal with them.

We still kissed and embraced, but there was a subtle change in the ambience surrounding us. Things seemed more sober now. It was as if going to Colorado had temporarily freed us; we were at recess and unshackled, free to play and explore and forget the troubles and banalities of life. But then the bell rang and recess was over. We packed our gear and drove home, trudging back to our dreary classroom. And, like the child sitting at his desk and staring at the clock, waiting for the drudgery to end, I walked along the sidewalk that morning wondering when it would end for us, too. When would we get past this annoying uneasiness?

Then I was startled by a loud honk.

I looked up and found myself in the middle of a crosswalk. A pickup truck was next to me. I must have walked out in front of it. The driver, a middle-aged man angrily waving a cigarette in one hand and wildly gesturing with the other, was yelling out his window.

"Jesus Christ, kid! What the hell ya thinkin'?! Move it!"

I quickly held up my hand, trying to apologize with a timid smile, and scooted across the street. As the truck continued on its way, the driver shouted out his window.

"Idiot!"

Walking along, I held a hand to my mouth and sniffed. A tear rolled down my cheek and I quickly wiped it away, wondering if he wasn't right: maybe I was an idiot.

I was in love with my dad. My father. I was sleeping with him, having sex with him, and now I was probably pregnant by him. On top of all that, something had changed between us, and I didn't know what, and the uncertainty of what would become of us scared the hell out of me. I sniffed again and angrily wiped away my eyes. That was the first, and only, time I ever regretted professing my love for him. But there was nothing I could do about it now. I couldn't go back to the way things had been, and I was too frightened to take a step forward.

***

"C'mon, Jessie! Don't be such a scaredy cat!"

I was standing high up on the bank of the Arkansas River, not a week and a half earlier, while my dad stood in the water down below. I was holding onto a rope that would allow me to swing out into the water. Dad was smiling, as I stood grinning nervously, my knees shaking and hands trembling.

"What if I land head-first?" I cried excitedly.

He shook his head and laughed.

"Then don't land on your head!" he called.

I stamped my feet and giggled. "Oh, God," I mumbled.

I asked if he would catch me, and he furled his eyebrows and held out his hands, looking bewildered that I had asked such a ridiculous question.

"How am I s'posed to catch you?" he laughed. "C'mon, just do it! You'll be fine!"

I tightened my grip on the rope and hopped up, clinging desperately to it. Gravity and momentum pulled me out across the water, and my eyes went wide, as I approached him. When I was at the extent of my swing, Dad yelled out.

"Now let go! C'mon, Jessie! Jump!"

I wrapped my legs around the rope and squealed. "No!" And then I slowly swung back to shore.

When my feet were once again on solid ground, I stopped and looked out at Dad. I was bent over, panting and smiling anxiously. He slowly dropped his hands and smiled.

"Scared?" he called.

I nodded nervously.

And then, in a calm voice, above the din of gurgling water, I heard him say very clearly, "Come out here, Jessie." It was as if all the sounds and distractions around me had been blocked out, my mind developing an acute sense of tunnel vision, and the only thing between us was my own fear of the unknown. My breathing became shallow, and I could hear my heart beating in my chest. I glanced at the rope in my hands, and my fingers wiggled, gripping it tightly. Then I looked out to Dad standing in the water. He was smiling and waving me to join him. He seemed to be saying something. Glancing down at my feet, they lifted on their own, and suddenly the ground was rushing past. Then I saw water moving swiftly under me.

"Well," I thought. "This isn't so bad."

Then I heard Dad's soft voice again.

"Now just let go, Jessie."

I smiled and opened my fingers, and my body began floating through the air. As I descended, I turned my head up just in time to make eye contact with him. We both smiled, and then I saw the water rapidly rising up to meet me.

"Oh, CRA-...!"

SPLASH!

I slammed face-first into the cold water and was sucked down into its murky depths. The rushing water enveloping me muffled my hearing, and I began frantically flailing my arms and legs. My mouth was opening and closing rapidly, as the frigid water chilled my tongue and teeth. I felt myself choking and started to panic, crying for my dad.

"Da-..!"

I flopped around some more and my head surfaced.

"Daddy!"

Then I felt hands on my waist, gripping me hard and pulling me upright.

"Jess!"

I choked and spit.

"Jessie, calm down! You're ok, just calm down!"

I was trying to stand, but kept losing my footing. Then I felt his hands gently shake my shoulders.

"Jessie, open your eyes. Open your eyes, honey."

I was spitting and gasping for air. Dad wiped the water and hair from my face, as I slowly opened my eyes. I was shivering and he smiled down at me, as my teeth chattered.

"Hi there," he said.

"H-hi b-back," I stammered.

He rubbed his hands along my arms, trying to calm me. I gazed around and saw I was standing in water up to my chest. I shivered again, and he hugged me close. I leaned my head against his chest, and closed my eyes.

"That wasn't so bad, was it?" he asked.

I was holding my arms together between us and slowly shook my head.

"Wanna try it again?" he asked.

I shook my head.

Dad chuckled and lifted my chin with his finger.

"Was it worth it?"

I laid my hands flat against his chest and nodded.

"Yeah," I whispered.

***

"Hey, miss?"

I turned and saw the clerk staring at me and holding out his hand.

"You want your change or is this a tip?"

A dopey smile crept across his face, and I stepped over to take my change, mumbling thanks.

Outside the drugstore, I looked down at the envelope in my hands. It was stuffed with photographs from our vacation. I looked for a place to sit and saw a spot down near a newspaper machine. I walked over and carefully lowered myself to the sidewalk and crossed my legs. Then I pulled out the pictures and, one by one, flipped through the stack.

The first was of me sleeping in the car on the drive to Colorado. Dad must have been trying to drive and take the picture at the same time, as the scene was canted at a sharp angle. I was leaning against the door with my mouth slightly open.

The next picture made me laugh. We had stopped at a gas station, and Dad was walking out of the restroom and looking down at the front of his shorts, apparently seeing if he remembered his fly.

There was another of me sitting in front of the campfire. I was smiling and my pupils were glowing bright red. I smirked, as I gazed at the image. "That seems appropriate," I muttered, quickly flipping to the next picture. It was taken the night I first had oral sex with him.

One after the next, I went through the photos - some of me, some of him, some of us together. One in particular caught my eye. It was a picture of me sitting on a large boulder watching a small herd of mountain goats. We saw them all the time not far from our campsite, either very early in the morning or late in the evening. One morning, I awoke early, determined to see them up close. While Dad slept, I quickly dressed and slipped out the tent. The campground was quiet, but for two men pulling fishing poles from the back of a car. Otherwise, everyone remained tucked inside their tents. As I walked past the two men, I smiled, and the older of the two touched a finger to his cap, saying good morning. Judging by their physical similarities, I took them to be father and son.

I walked out the gate of the campground and a short way down the gravel road. There was a bend in the road, abutting a steep, rocky hill named Ruby Mountain, where we regularly saw the goats. As I came around the bend and approached a field of large rocks and boulders, I heard the bleat of a goat. I froze in my tracks and smiled wide. Then, very cautiously, I weaved my way through the boulders and peaked between them to a patch of open ground. There in front of me, not thirty yards away, the goats were peacefully grazing. I quietly stepped behind the rocks and found one I thought I could climb. The dew on my tennis shoes caused my feet to slip a few times, but eventually I managed to haul myself up. As I made my ascent, I carefully poked my head over the top. The goats were still there. I slowly rose until I was in a comfortable sitting position. Then I pulled my knees up to my chest, wrapped my arms around them, and watched in silence.

One goat had great horns curling out from his head. I took him for a male, probably their leader. At one point, I stifled a sneeze and he held his head up sharply, stomping his front hoof. The other goats instantly stopped eating and raised their heads. They all remained motionless for a moment, and when their leader slowly lowered his head to continue grazing, the others followed suit.

I'm not sure how long I sat watching them and thinking. When I first arrived, the light of dawn was still creeping over the mountains. But since I didn't have a watch, when I felt sunlight striking my back, I figured it was time to leave. I gave the goats a little wave, and then slowly rotated in place and slid down out of view.

In front of the drugstore, I sat looking at this picture, wondering when Dad had taken it. How did he know where I was? He must have followed me. He never said anything about taking it.

After I went through all the pictures, I slipped them back into the envelope and stood, brushing myself off, and began the walk home.

***

I tried to tell myself the feelings of depression I felt were nothing new. I'd had them before, upon returning home from vacations in the past. It's like reaching the end of a party. You're laughing, having a good time, not a care in the world, and then it's all over and you have to go home. I suppose part of my depression stemmed from this. But it was also do to the abrupt change in my relationship with my father. I thought we'd come home from Colorado and the joy we found there would follow us. Well, in a way it did. I was still very much in love with him and made no secret of it. Likewise, he told me the same many times over the last week. I think the problem was, we had created a square peg, while on vacation, and were now trying to cram it into a round hole.

Walking home on that sunny Saturday morning, I started feeling a little more upbeat. The discomfort wasn't between us, but was a result of trying to shift from a familial relationship to that of a romantic inclination. Instead of trying to pry a square peg into a round hole, I reasoned, why not simply make the hole bigger? I couldn't believe I didn't figure this out sooner. This wasn't any different than the initial bumps any other relationship experiences. We merely had to adjust and grow accustomed to our new roles in each other's lives. And how bad can that be? Stephen loved me and I loved him. We'd be there for each other the whole way, and I was actually starting to look forward to this trek into the unknown with him.

A journey of a thousand miles starts with a single step, so the saying goes, and that was the answer I was looking for. Just take small steps and eventually you'll land at your destination.

When I arrived home, Stephen was mowing the front yard. I smiled when I saw him, but then quickly frowned. If he was doing the front yard, that meant he was done with the back. I ran over and grabbed his arm from behind. Startled, he jumped and whirled around. I chuckled nervously, as he shut off the mower.

"Sorry," I said trying to catch my breath.

He grinned. "No problem," he replied, wiping his hands on his t-shirt. Then he pointed to the envelope I held.

"Get the pictures?" he asked.

I handed them to him, saying, "Yep. That's what took me so long. I stopped to look at 'em."

As he opened the envelope, he turned to walk back to the house.

"You, uh... you want me to finish the yard then?" I called.

He was looking down at the pictures and tossed up a hand. "Go ahead," he replied. "And don't forget to trim."

***

Half an hour later, I pushed the mower back into the garage and shut the door. I went over to the garden hose and rinsed the grass off my feet and legs, and then walked up the back steps and into the kitchen.

"Dad?"

I stopped and closed my eyes, shaking my head. I had to stop calling him that. This was the type of little step I had to take.