The Harvest (2)

Bob had been a serious part of my world since the previous June. It was the summer I lost Jesus and found boys. He and I met in a small abandoned school in the mountains on a mission trip. While most were worshiping and doing daily devotionals, my 15 year old self was studying the way his hair parted to the left. I had figured out the exact spot his blond dye job stopped and his roots started.

I loved the way he spoke, such indifference wrapped up in simple nouns and verbs. I hung on his every word. "Lets go into town and get a pop," he would suggest everyday about 3pm as he grabbed my paint covered hand and pulled me down the hill after him. I didn't know what a "pop" was, but if he wanted it, I did too.

We spent many sun drenched hours together that summer in the mountains, listening to the creatures of the wilderness as they rustled through the trees. The days went by fast, but not fast enough to not leave an imprint in my mind. The days were long enough to give me the feeling like I had known him forever, but also to give me a false sense of security that we could be like this forever. I was naive.