Hive Ave Fall2024 - Flipbook - Page 16
Fiction
Hive Avenue Literary Journal
already dehydrated and now you have to play catchup.”
“Damnit,” he says.
“What?” I ask.
“Now, all I want to do is fuck Macie.”
“Because I mentioned her name once? Jesus Christ, Max.
You have no o昀昀 button, do you?”
“Revved and raring to go,” he says. “How are the ladies
treating you anyway?”
“They’re not,” I say, keeping my eyes to the ground. “I told
you, I’m not ready.”
“That’s just the pressure talking. You gotta have con昀椀dence, noam sayin’?”
“That’s not the issue,” I tell him. “I’ve dated plenty of
people.”
“Then, what’s the problem?” he asks, and retreats to the
far side of the trail to kick a white dandelion.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I say, as he lifts his watch
and shows me we’ve now gone six miles. There’s a sudden glint
in his eye that tells me it only gets worse from here.
“That’s such a bullshit copout,” he says. “Is it that you’re
gay or something? I remember that shit from high school.”
“No,” I say, viciously, but Max doesn’t back down. He
wants to know and he wants to know right now. But, the truth
is…
“I don’t fucking care.”
“What?” Max asks.
“I don’t fucking care,” I say, louder, “I’ve got more important things to think about.”
“Or so you think,” he says. “Is it the time? The money?
Both?”
My feet skid to a halt. The world continues to 昀氀eet away
from me, an optical illusion.
“You know,” I begin, but stop. No sense in arguing on a
trail in the middle of nowhere when this was supposed to be an
adventure.
“Have you texted Macie to let her know where we are?”
Max grumbles.
“When did you become such a mom?”
“I’m not a mom. I’m Chutz.”
“Well, Chutz, I can’t believe it’s almost ten already,” he
says, like someone just slapped him in the face. “I have no fucking concept of time.”
I shrug, tell him, “It was your birthday two weeks ago.”
“Was it really?” he asks.
I laugh and Max laughs, too.
When the hilarity 昀椀nally leaves us, Max turns his head
my direction, like he’s going to say something, and then balks.
“I’m just looking after my buddy,” he says, when the
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gumption 昀椀nally 昀椀nds him.
“Don’t worry about me,” I say, but I understand that’s
impossible. Not just for Max, but for anybody. You can’t just
declare a person’s worries away.
He clears his throat, stares into the short distance at a
road crossing, and then says, “I can’t begin to thank you enough
for all your help.”
He looks at his watch.
“That’s seven.”
“Hey, we’re still just getting started,” I tell him. “but, you
deserve to be who you want to be. Everyone does. However, not
everyone has the right tools or the means to foster them.”
He takes a moment to consider what I’ve said. Something
strikes a chord, because he says, “I had no idea what I was doing,
Chutz. I tried so many fad diets, tried swimming, tried walking. I
didn’t understand what I understand now; that health is a commitment. Getting the surgery made me realize that. I’ve been
on forums where people who’ve gotten the surgery gained the
weight back. Can you imagine? Going through something like
surgery, a literal miracle, where you don’t have to do anything
after you’ve had it to start losing weight, and then to waste it.
Waste that gift. That’s what it is, Chutz. This surgery was a gift.”
“Hey,” I say, di昀케dently, but the words lose power in my
mouth, so I shake my head, tell him, “Never mind,” and assume
a passive demeanor.
We walk in silence for a while; me not knowing what to
say, Max punching at the air. I think about Camden again and
the choices we make and wonder why anyone would ever willingly choose anything when everything brings the potential for
heartache and failure.
“You have anything going on after the hike?” he asks.
“I’ve got a job interview at two,” I tell him. “I’ll probably
need to head home sooner than later once we 昀椀nish up. Why?”
“No reason,” he says, slyly, and grins.
“What?” I ask.
Max looks down at his watch and then up the wooded
trail at yet another road crossing. “That’s nine miles,” he bellows,
and then beats his chest one two three. “Nothing can touch us
now!”
I try to hide my smile but can’t. It’s contagious watching this formerly four-hundred-sixty-昀椀ve-pound man amble
down a paved trail (any trail really) with gusto.
I scan Max head-to-toe to make sure he isn’t pulling a
Classic Max Move and lying about his power level. His face is
beet red, his cheeks are salty, his gaze wanders, but his feet
move one after the other forward forward forward.
“I bet we could do this every day,” I say. “You working
remote, and me, well, you know.”
“You’ve got that interview today though, right?”
