Back to Where It Almost Began

Author's note:

An entry for the Valentine's Day Contest 2023. Please leave an honest score and maybe even a comment. It really helps.

All sexual activity in this story is between people over the age of eighteen. Trigger warning: story mentions pegging, pansexuality and vegetarianism.

~~~~

Always go forward, never back was one of my few life rules. So why had I returned to the sprawling port city where I went to high school, walking along Harbor Street at dusk, soaking in memories and melancholy?

I had only lived there for three years, from the second year of high school until just after graduation. Yet as the plane was landing, giving my first view of the harbor in sixteen years, my stress melted away. Gone was the pain of my failed marriage and months of job seeking. I felt eighteen again. When I got to the downtown hotel, I dumped my bag in the room and hurried into the damp February air.

Most of the buildings were the same: narrow three-story structures with storefronts on the ground level, shouldered together along the main street. For well over a century, they had held dry goods stores, chandleries, restaurants, and taverns. Lots and lots of taverns. Modern office buildings and condos had sprouted between some, grotesquely out of place.

A few fenced-off empty lots gave a view down to the harbor. The usual assortment of trawlers, freighters and bulk carriers squatted along the wharf. At the government pier sat a Coast Guard ship and I thought of Brenda. I didn't want to think about Brenda.

But what did it matter? She had left for California years ago. Over the years, everyone I had known had gone somewhere else—for work, college, or just to get away—and slowly we had all lost touch.

What a bunch of misfits we were. I had fit in perfectly. We colonized the end of the East corridor of the school, shared lunch breaks and, some days after class, trooped downtown to the sandwich shop. There we spread our books over the corner table at the back, sometimes studying but mostly goofing around. We got away with it because Heather's mom owned the place. Heather flitted between sitting with us and jumping up to help her mom and older sister serve customers.

Heather was gone too—to Belgium, so I heard. Many times, I had dreamed of visiting Europe and somehow finding her. But college, jobs, and a tortuous marriage had kept me close to home, eating the years.

Soon I found myself at the end of the street, staring at the building where the sandwich shop had been. It now housed a trendy coffee shop, the picture window fogged and dripping.

I went in to warm up. The creaking wood floor and stamped tin ceiling were the same, but the rest was a generic upscale coffee shop. Hipsters with complicated drinks hunched over laptops or leaned back, stroking precise beards. At least the place still served fresh food, judging from the chalkboard menu.

Ordering a normal coffee from the server, I shed my coat and sat warming my hands, ready to wallow and reminisce.

At first, I thought nostalgia had me imagining things when a woman stepped through from the kitchen. She set a plate of food on the counter, dinged the bell, and called a name. It couldn't be Heather, but that unruly hair, those nerdy glasses, that wry expression...

She called the name a second time and scanned the room for a response. Her eyes fell on me and narrowed, then widened as her mouth dropped open before forming that tight, playful grin that always made my heart skip.

It was her: older and thicker—it had been sixteen years—but somehow cuter than she had been in high school. More womanly, less tomboy.

She said something quickly to the woman at the cash, then rushed to my table, immediately pulling me into a hug when I rose.

"What are you doing here, Colin? I thought you were gone for good."

"I have a job offer," I said. "They flew me in for a few days to see if I wanted to live here again."

"And they sent you in mid-February? Maybe they're seeing if you're a masochist."

"I like winter here. Never gets as cold as on the prairies. Or as windy. And I love fog."

We stood, arms loose around each other, just looking. She had changed little: those sparkling eyes, her upturned nose, and every other feature I had seared into my infatuated teenage brain were still there. And just like back then, I fought an urge to kiss her.

~~~~

On my first day of high school, my family having just moved from our prairie town, Heather found me in the foyer, lost and bewildered. It was bad enough moving half-way across the continent to an unfamiliar city, but being plopped into second year at a new school was overwhelming.

She adopted me immediately, guiding me through the class scheduling, school rules and giving the low-down on the cliques and teachers.

That weekend, she showed me around the city, navigating the bewildering bus system like a wizard. We toured the malls, the city parks, and along the harbor front. Heather chatted, pointing things out, relating the city's long history, and sharing secrets only someone who had lived there all their life would know.

"And whatever you do," she said, "do not walk along Harbor Street after six on a weekend. Unless you want to get robbed by a gang of bums or knifed by a drunk dockworker."

"Hey, I've been in fights," I said. "I can handle myself."

Heather stopped walking and faced me. "No. Port cities are rough. Being stuck on a ship for months can make you, um, grouchy. Some sailors fight like they mean it. So do some of the locals. If anyone confronts you, run."

Later I showed her our new house, unpacked boxes stacked everywhere. In the still-empty living room, she set her glasses aside and faced me, hands behind her back, and grinned.

"So, mister tough guy ready-to-fight-a-longshoreman, think you can fight me?"

I didn't know what a longshoreman was, but I sure wasn't going to trade punches with a girl. Heather stepped close and grabbed my wrists. It took surprising effort to break free, then she spun behind me, kneed my leg and dropped me to the floor. She straddled me, pinning my hands beside my shoulders.

Heather was average size, but when I tried dislodging her, I discovered she was strong. Really strong. It took everything I had to break her grip and reverse our positions. She deftly evaded my attempts to capture her arms and wormed away when I nearly had her pinned.

I had never wrestled a girl before and quickly learned I didn't need to go easy with her. Heather flopped and rolled elusively and, with a laugh, bucked me off just when I had her. I worried each time my hand brushed a boob or her ass, or when she grazed my crotch, but we both understood it was unavoidable when grappling.

In the end we rested sitting against the wall, panting and sweaty, grinning at each other. I hadn't pinned her even once.

"How are you so strong?" I asked.

She shrugged. "I have two older brothers and an older sister. We fought a lot." She gave me a sideways glance. "Did it wound your ego to get beaten by a girl?"

"What? Why? I'm just amazed."

Heather regarded me for a moment, then smiled broadly.

After she went home, I was awestruck and overcome. Heather was confident, light-hearted, and level-headed, so different from girls back home. Most of those were either bulldog crude or flower-petal sweet. My parents only allowed me to date the latter: church girls with marriage their only goal. I couldn't place Heather at all.

Monday at school, she introduced me to the nerdy outcasts she hung around with. When they discovered I was just as awkward and nerdy as them, in their indifferent way, they welcomed me as part of the gang.

After school, they invited me to go with them to the sandwich shop. We joked, sipped hot chocolate, and traded snarky comments about our teachers and the popular kids, discussed Star Trek and D&D, video games and science news until we had to go home.

At school, Heather hung around with the rest of us misfits, but never paid me any particular attention. Then randomly she would invite me to go with her to the mall, or a movie or a concert, becoming outgoing and playful when it was just us. They weren't dates: she never made any moves or gave any sign she wanted me to make a move on her I could see. Each time afterward when we parted, she smiled, said thanks, and left.

Every encounter left me confused and yearning. Was I missing some sign? Or was it as I suspected—I was too geeky and gangly for someone as cute and wonderful as her? I was terrified to make any move, not that I knew how, fearing it would wreck our friendship.

One Sunday we were studying in my room—yes, studying—when she wanted to wrestle. She loved wrestling me every chance she got; I think because she always won. We thumped around on the floor of my room, twisting and laughing and straining when my dad yelled from downstairs to stop making so much damn noise. We froze, faces inches apart, looking into each other's eyes. I looked at her impish, knowing grin and knew I had to kiss her.

"Don't," she said, turning away.

"Don't what?"

"Don't kiss me."

Instantly I got to my feet and flopped face down on the bed, angry at myself, angry at her and awash in a surge of jumbled emotions.

Heather sat on the bed and touched my shoulder. After a long moment, she left without a word.

~~~~

Standing there in the clink and murmur of the coffee shop, we looked at each other exactly as we had on that Sunday long ago.

"My god," she said, "you look the same. Except your skin's cleared up. I—I thought I'd never see you again."

"And I never thought I'd see you. I heard you went to Europe. And your family closed this place when your mom died."

We sat. She looked at my cup.

"What do you mean coming in here and ordering just a plain americano?" She smiled. " No coconut milk? No cinnamon powder? Not even a pump of honey blend? The other customers will make fun of you."

"Like I ever cared what others thought," I said. "You never did, either."

Heather laughed. I hadn't realized I'd missed her laugh.

"Yes," she said, "we did close the place. And I did move to Brussels. I got married."

My eyes fell to her ring finger. Nothing there.

Heather smiled softly. "We're not together anymore."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said. "Any chance I knew him? Were you married long?"

"Her. Alya and I were together eight years. You wouldn't have met her."

Just like that, the pieces thunked together. My face burned with surprise and embarrassment.

Somehow, I managed to relate that I had also been married, for even longer.

I think I kept my face neutral as Heather explained how she met her partner while touring Europe, how they settled in Belgium because there was work and it was one of the first countries to recognize same-sex marriage. I smiled and nodded as she told me how they grew apart and when the old sandwich shop building went up for sale, she and her siblings scraped together enough to buy it. Heather moved back and renovated it, including turning the empty second floor into an apartment for herself.

"I loved Europe," she said, "but never stopped being homesick. And my French was never good enough. With the downtown revitalization project here bringing in condos and office workers, there was a market for an upscale coffee place." She looked around conspiratorially and leaned close. "And making coffee for these poseurs is a lot more profitable than serving sandwiches to dockworkers."

She made a silly face, then laughed. "I'm kidding. The regulars here are really great. Really supportive right from when we first opened. And the dockworkers still come. Everyone gets along and it's hilarious watching them interact sometimes. Oh, and I have one other location now, too."

I smiled, but barely paid attention. My mind reeled. Why in all our times together did I never once suspect Heather was gay?

She touched my arm. "Listen, how long are you here? We're closing soon. Can I take you out to dinner? Or you can join me. I'm vegetarian now, but I make a mean ratatouille if that's okay."

"I, uh, I'm here three more days. But I just landed. It was a long flight, so with the time difference and all, I think..."

"Oh. Right. Sorry, I didn't think. You must be wiped."

She ran to the counter and returned with the shop's business card. On the back, she wrote her cell number.

"Call me tomorrow? I'll show you around town again."

"Uh, I'd like that, but you have a business to run. I can get around by myself."

"Please, Colin? Let me play tour guide for you? Not a lot has changed around here, but enough."

When I got my coat on, Heather grasped my hands again. "I'm so happy to see you." She stretched up and kissed my cheek.

It was the first time she had ever kissed me in any way. Years before, even a chaste kiss like that from her would have excited me beyond measure. That time it just made me sad.

~~~~

At the hotel, I laid on the bed staring at the ceiling. How could I have been so clueless about Heather for all those years? She never had a boyfriend, or girlfriend either. Though she hung around in our gang, she was always aloof with everyone but me.

I felt stupid and... cheated. Was that it? I had carried a torch for her since the day we met, cherishing every moment she shared with me while secretly hoping for more. But that was so selfish! I should have been happy for her. She had lived in Europe and found love, even though it wasn't forever. She was doing what she wanted, running a successful business.

And really, I was happy for her. And overjoyed to see her again. But covering those feelings, thick as the city's famous fog, was a heartache I had no right to feel.

If I moved back, could I stand to be friends again, knowing there was no hope for more? Thinking back to all our times together: the malls, the concerts, cycling up to a field overlooking the city where I almost beat her wrestling, I realized nothing was different. Back then, I never seriously believed I could win her heart. All that had changed was now I knew it for certain.

~~~~

Ten in the morning is too early when you've just flown in from three time zones West. I got up, determined to explain that fact very clearly to whoever was knocking on my door so eagerly.

"Good morning," said Heather, grinning. "Did you know someone hung this 'Do Not Disturb' sign on your door?" She held it up along with a paper cup printed with her logo. "Here you go... my special high-octane jetlag-eraser blend."

I took it. "Uh, thanks. I'd say 'nice to see you again,' but it's not even dawn back home. How did you even find me?"

I ushered her in. She looked around.

"Wow, your new employers sprung for a suite? Aren't you mister important, now. I figured you'd be at a downtown hotel. I know most of the staff at all of them, especially James on the front desk here. So, you were easy to find."

"I was going to call you this afternoon," I said. "When I was awake. Instead of asleep, like I am right now." I gave her an exaggerated scowl and she laughed. "Anyway, isn't this a busy time at your shop?"

She dropped into a seat by the bay window. Fog hid the harbor from view. She looked out, then at me, nearly vibrating with energy.

"I have staff, you know. And I called someone in to help. Besides, I'm the boss. I can take a day off to show a friend around town. Try that coffee, will ya? One cup of that and you may never need to sleep again. I even snuck in a drop of honey blend, so you can pretend to be hip."

I sipped. It tasted rich and exquisite.

"Want to go to Bernie's for breakfast?" she asked.

"Bernie's is still open? I thought it burned down."

"Oh, it burns down every recession. I think that's why George gave it that name. It always comes back. And I'm really sorry for waking you up this early. I just couldn't wait to see you any longer."

~~~~

Bernie's was a greasy spoon close to the high school. Kids went there for lunch, but it also had the cheapest, greasiest breakfast in the city. It hadn't changed at all: the same sun-faded posters on the dingy walls, the same metal-rimmed tables. While we ate, Heather filled me in on the major changes in town and recent political scandals.

I listened, watching all her little expressions and mannerisms I'd forgotten but were instantly familiar. Inside, I felt light-hearted and at ease for the first time in years. I had never stopped thinking about Heather, but only then realized how much I had missed being with her.

"Geez, you're so quiet," she said, breaking me from my thoughts. "I'm doing all the talking. You used to be the one who talked all the time."

"What? Uh, I was just listening."

She smiled and looked at me with bright eyes.

"I can't tell you how happy I am to see you, Colin. I don't think I ever stopped missing you, you know?"

After we finished, we drove around the city outskirts and past our old haunts.

Our school was the same prison-like block of concrete. It shocked me to realize the kids milling around were the same age as we were back then. They seemed too young, though somehow more clued in. Still no better at fashion, though.

Heather took us to the big park where we strolled and watched the ducks. We had spent so much time there, picnicking, riding our bikes through the looping paths and chasing each other between the trees. We then visited her other coffee shop near the college and toured some of the new housing developments.

"You're going to have a hell of a time finding a place to live," she said. "Since people started moving back here, housing costs are getting crazy."

Every second space in the big mall we used to hang around in was empty, though the video game store was still there. We browsed the shelves, pleased to see that many of the console titles we had played sitting on the floor of her livingroom were still popular.

Though we weren't hungry, we found a table at the food court. They had renovated it with better food choices, serving everything on real plates with real cutlery. We sat opposite each other, sharing an order of fresh-cut fries like old times.

Around us mothers sat jiggling strollers while they ate. Groups of old timers chatted and nodded. Two men walked by holding hands—a sight unthinkable when I had lived there.

Our conversation drifted from our marriages—hers ended when they grew apart, mine when I discovered my wife couldn't stop cheating—and to Heather's adventures in Europe and my lack of adventures back home.

"That's what I liked about this place," I said. "The weather sucks, and the economy is always on the brink of collapse, but there's always something going on. Always something to do."

Heather grinned. "Remember when that Canadian submarine came in and they gave tours?"

"Yeah," I said. "It stank of diesel and old rubber, and they wouldn't let us look in the torpedo room."

She laughed. "You and the other guys groused about that for days. I paid more attention to the sailors. Yum yum."

I didn't remember any women sailors on the sub. But some crewed other navy ships that came to port.

Heather said, "Brenda came into our shop about three years ago."

"Oh, god. Did she move back here too?"

"No, no. She's still in Los Angeles, working in film. She was here scouting locations. They're filming a lot here, now. All the historic buildings and the government subsidies."

"Good. Then she's still a safe distance away. Wait... talking about sailors reminded you of her?"

Heather looked chagrined. "Sorry."

"It's all right. Seems like women cheating on me is a recurring theme. How was she?"

"Amazed to see me, like you were. Unlike you, she wasn't exactly thrilled. She looks down on this place even more than before. And on everyone who lives here."