Brandon brought his Escape alongside Anthony’s Jeep and parked. They seemed to be in the parking lot of a nature trail—the kind that’s likely crowded with joggers and dog walkers in the summer, but completely abandoned in the depressing weather of early spring. He dashed off a quick text to his work friend Lydia to let her know he was on a date.  Of course, that was far from what this actually was, but he needed her to check in with him in an hour and had no other simple way to explain why. He jammed his phone into his pocket and stepped out into the raw, gray afternoon. 

Anthony was pulling a battered rucksack from behind the tailgate as Brandon crossed his arms and drew his overcoat close to fend off the wind.  It rippled the puddles in the parking lot potholes and clattered the bare branches of the black trees against each other.  They sounded like huge castanets, Brandon thought as the cold and his nerves worked at his chattering jaw. Anthony turned to look at him and chuckled. 

“What?” Brandon practically snapped.

“You. You’re not exactly outfitted for an excursion in the woods, are you?”

“I guess I forgot my emergency hiking apparel,” he said flatly. 

Anthony rummaged around in the Jeep some more. “You laugh, but…” he produced a dusty parka.  He handed it to Brandon, who stared at it disdainfully. “Yeah, I get that it doesn’t really go with your ensemble, but it will do the trick. Humor me.”  

“What exactly are we doing here?” Brandon asked as he removed his overcoat and carefully laid it across the seat of his car. 

“A little hands-on project,” Anthony replied, slamming the tailgate shut and hoisting the rucksack onto his back. “Or, I guess you could say ‘a little feet-on project.’” He laughed at his own wit. 

Brandon rolled his eyes, though Anthony’s nonchalance was somehow oddly calming. As he shrugged on the coat, he was enveloped by its redolence—earthiness, aftershave, and vulcanized rubber.  Warmth spread through him, and it wasn’t just the down filling. “What about my shoes?” 

Anthony glanced down at the soft-sole brogues. “As long as they’re good for walking in, you’ll be fine. The trail is clean—gravel and boardwalk.  And we aren’t going to go far.  Do you have your phone on you?”  Brandon was surprised at the question, but put his hand over his pants pocket.  Anthony nodded. “Let’s go.”

Brandon tried not to feel ridiculous, padding after this rugged stranger in his mismatched getup—especially after the uncomfortable conversation in the cafe—but there was nothing natural about the situation.  Nothing, that is, except for stark, damp wilderness that seemed to claw at them from either side of the path. They plodded on wordlessly for a few minutes, wending their way through the thicket when the gravel—the only thing breaking the silence—suddenly gave way to a diagonally slatted wooden walkway that spanned over low marshy expanse. 

“This is it,” Anthony claimed, swinging his rucksack to the decking.  

“What exactly are we looking at?” Brandon had been playing along, but he was beginning to reach his limit. 

Anthony caught the edge in his voice and paused digging in his bag to look up at him.  He smiled benignly. “The scene of the first video we are going to make together.” 

Brandon blinked rapidly and stepped back.  “What?” he spat. 

Anthony crouched and drew a tall pair of dirty Hunter boots from the bag, chuckling. “What else did you think I brought you here for?”

Brandon was borderline panicked. Bringing himself to set up the rendezvous at the cafe had already been a stretch. He certainly hadn’t prepared himself to stare down his fantasies as they were breathed to life before him by the same man whose media content had brought him to shameful climax more times that he could count. “I don’t know. I thought maybe you had some—what, some inspirational lookout-type thing you wanted to bring me to.” 

Anthony’s eyebrows shot up. “‘Inspirational lookout-type thing’?”

“Why not?” Brandon’s voice was climbing. “A rocky outcropping where we could see birds and shit.  Get perspective.”

Anthony knelt on the decking with his hands resting on his legs. “Brandon. You don’t need an outcropping with birds and shit. Your inspiration needs to happen here.” He nodded his head out toward the waves of dried cattails looking bedraggled after the long winter. “If you really want perspective…to get a handle on this, then you need to put yourself in the situation. You said so yourself: see the man behind the curtain. Nothing will take the mystery out of it better than this.”

Brandon ran his hand over his face. “How do you suppose this would be any different from watching on a screen?” 

Anthony cocked his head and grinned lopsidedly. “That’s the brilliant part.  You’re going to play an active role: cameraman two.”

---

Brandon was just leaving the post office when Anthony’s name was announced across his the screen of his cell. He dumped the pile of forms he had collected in the passenger seat, took a deep breath, and answered. 

“Hello?” It had been the standard, tentative greeting that was been used in age before caller ID, and one that he realized he still reserved…for strangers. 

“Brandon—god, I’m so glad you answered.”

“Why wouldn’t I?  What’s going on?” He sat poised, half in, half out of the RAV, waiting to understand why he would be calling for the first time in over three weeks.  It was mid-September.  The date rang with significance.  He could hear Anthony’s shuddering breaths as he hesitated to reply. 

“I—I don’t think I can do this,” he finally said softly. 

Brandon furrowed his brow and stared unseeingly at the bug-spattered windshield, at the beige textured block wall of the post office beyond. “Is it Katrina?  Is it time?”

“Yeah. She’s in labor.”

Brandon pulled his leg into the car and settled back into the driver seat, closing his eyes as he tried to figure out what to say…and why they were having a conversation now, of all times. 

“Okay.  Is everything—does she—?” Fuck it. “What don’t you think you can do?” Why screw around?

“Be a father.”

“And what makes you different from any other guy in the waiting room?”  A tense silence ricocheted across countless cell towers. “Anthony?”

“Because I don’t want it!” he blurted.  “Shit. There, I said it: I don’t want to be a father.”

Brandon sighed. “You say that now, but when they place that baby in your—”

“I want my life back, Brandon. The farm. The channel—” a pause. “You.”

Brandon let the sun warmed steering wheel cradle his forehead as he struggled to find words. This is what he had wanted to hear for months, but hadn’t dared hope would actually happen. Not when Anthony had determined that this is what he had to do. “I know.”  

He let the two words hang for a moment, hoping they could convey the ache he felt without him having to actually reciprocate.  There was plenty to say to try to convince him to come home.  But the fact was…Anthony was gone no matter what.  Even if he did return, he would never forgive himself, and would probably end up blaming Brandon, too. Damn. The only way was through, wasn’t it?  He could feel Anthony waiting for him on the other end. 

“This was never about doing what was right for you.  You did what you had to do because it was right for others.  You don’t do what’s easy.” He swallowed. “That’s why I fell for you. And that’s why you’re going to do this now.  And you’re going to be good at it, Anthony. I have no doubt.”

“I don’t know how.”  It was a whisper, barely audible. 

“You’re going to let go. And so am I.”  Brandon barely choked out the last words before he hung up the phone. He let hot tears squeeze out the corners of his eyes.  The silent kind. The ones that hurt that most.

---

Brandon’s heart was hammering in his throat as Anthony kicked off his battered sneakers and pointed thick black socks into the Hunters. Anthony eyed him as he tucked his pants into the rims. 

“Why are you shaking your head?”

Brandon hadn’t even realized he was doing it. “I don’t think I can do this.”

Anthony straightened, resting a booted foot on the decking rail. “Do what?”

“Watch you.”  He felt sheepish saying it, but it was nothing to the mortification he would feel if he…lost control.

Anthony cocked his head.  “You mean record me, right? You aren’t here just to watch.”

“Fine. I don’t think I can record you.”

“What are you afraid of?”

Brandon raised his eyebrows.  Wasn’t that obvious?  

Anthony was blunt. “Look, if you’re afraid of getting a boner while you’re doing this, you should let that go. It’s probably going to happen, right? But nothing ventured, nothing gained. Do you want to work on this or not?”  Okay. It was official: Brandon was mortified. Was it too late to leave?  Anthony stepped forward and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “Hey—no judgement here, bro. Remember, this is an arrangement, pure and simple. We’re helping each other. You get used to the scene, and I get content from two different angles. And if it becomes too much, you just say the word and we step back. Okay?”

Brandon stared at the decking.  And at the two rounded toes of the Hunters that were now pointing towards him. “Fine,” he exhaled after a moment. “Let’s try it and see where it goes.”