By The Oak Tree

1973

Andrew’s hand clutched the fall leaves that he and Marc were atop of, he crunched them between his fist as he finished. Marc got off top of him and leaned against the oak tree they had set as a meeting point. Andrew let out an exaggerated sigh of exhaustion before joining his lover by the wood.

“I was bad,” Marc let out, stating it but also partially asking, in hopes of a rebuttal.

“You’re kidding,” Andrew said, granting Marc his wish. He was by far the more confident of the two.

“I thought it was great as always,” Andrew smiled into Marc’s eyes to emphasize his genuine satisfaction. This was only the third time they had met like this, the first time spurring out of instinct as opposed to a clear plan or logic. The second time in attempt to capture the magic of the first meeting, the third in hopes of doing this forever. The two had met in a class, History of Medicine, a class that benefited neither of their respective majors, but both had a rooted interest in. Andrew, an art major, was heavily medicated since birth, finding himself often battling sicknesses both mental and physical. Marc, an engineering major, had a pharmacist for a father and a pediatrician for a mother, and was curious to have insights into their field to impress them with.

Both young men found themselves lost in the fall semester, with the onslaught of holidays and school events, both felt extra isolated in their disinterest for large gatherings. After the first class, the professor stayed later to answer student questions, perhaps not expecting the entire room of students to line up in front of his desk. Not many students talked among themselves in the line, providing a spotlight on whatever dumb question the current student was asking. Marc noticed Andrew throughout the first class; something about him was instantly endearing, when the professor called his name, it struck Marc as a perfect label for the handsome face. The name had a poetic quality to Marc, not the name itself, but upon hearing it he knew there was something to that name that would occupy his mind for a while. Andrew didn’t notice Marc much until they were next to one another in line. The one source of conversation in the line was a talkative couple who surely signed up for the class in sync, thinking it would be a cute way to stay closer throughout the semester. Neither Marc nor Andrew found it particularly cute, causing Marc to gesture a finger gun in his mouth to Andrew.

Andrew laughed at the visual, glad his pessimism was reciprocated by somebody else in the world. As a cynic to the idea of love, any sight of a happy couple left Andrew visualizing their breakup and heartbreak. Sometimes he felt guilty for this initial line of thinking, but other times it made him feel better about his own lack of a healthy relationship. He wondered if this peer in front of him shared the same intrusive thoughts. The two began to softly talk about the first lecture, their majors, jobs. The conversation acted as a game of tennis, smacking back questions and answers rather than something free flow. This game seemed to excite something in both, each question seeming to challenge the other, both rising to the occasion to impress the other. They passed off their majors and desired jobs like business cards, then flexing their hobbies and interests. Andrew liked to swim, read, and go to the cinema. Marc liked to jog, play chess, and read. They bonded over the reading. Compared their favorite books. By the time they got to the desk Marc forgot his question for the professor. The professor laughed and wished him a good night. Andrew notified the professor he’d be absent a few weeks in October for an internship approved by the school. The professor copied this onto a small note he’d surely lose.

After Marc was dismissed, Andrew was unsure if he’d be waiting for him or if he would venture off home or to some exciting night activity. Andrew wondered what Marc did in his free time, he didn’t think Marc would be into the same nightlife he was. He often found himself asking around for local parties and get togethers, usually making friends with whoever could get him to an event to feel like he was a part of something. People seemed to gravitate to him, Marc being a prime example to him. He wondered why Marc had the intuition to know the gun in the mouth would amuse him, and he attributed such confidence to his own aura. As he hoped, Marc was waiting for him outside the classroom, a little unsure if Andrew was wanting to continue talking or if their game had fizzled in the line. Andrew’s smile proves to him the former is the case, Marc smiles back.

They wander directionless around the campus; the walking exists only as a backdrop to keep their conversation from ending. There’s an ache in both of their chests knowing they couldn’t talk like this forever. They walk in a circle around the campus, reaching where their aimless journey started; their mouths both dry and their heads light, neither have had water for hours. Marc stops at this point, Andrew looks on at him as if to ask, “this is it?” Marc didn’t have anywhere to be, nor anywhere in the morning for him to need to sleep, but he knew neither would have the initiative to end the night if they tried.

“Long day?” Andrew asked. He means to say, “please don’t leave, not yet.” but can’t afford to appear desperate to someone who clearly sees him as calm and cool.

“Always,” Marc replies with a splash of fatigue. He’s unsure why he said it but was more unsure what he could’ve said that would be appropriate to the moment.

Andrew ponders the answer, clicks his tongue to make his brainstorming audible to Marc, maybe this will imply that the idea he has had since they locked eyes was a spur of the moment idea. Maybe Marc would believe that. He suggests they go to a crop of woods on the edge of the campus; typically, where students go to smoke but there wouldn’t be any at this time. Marc looks confused as to what’s being proposed. Are they going to smoke? Are they going to have sex? Is he about to be murdered by this man he’s only known a matter of hours? How does he know the level of activity the woods had this time of day?

“It’ll be fun. I promise.” Andrew says to seal the deal.

Marc agrees to the proposal and follows Andrew to the woods. He seemed more curious than excited, Andrew laid out this plan with an air of mystery, suggesting the woods as if there was a clear activity they’d be expecting. Marc wonders if the vagueness of the situation is what makes him more excited, if he knew they were about to climb a tree, or reel in some fish, or fuck each other senseless, he wouldn’t be as turned on as he is by the mystique of this new direction of the night. Andrew takes out a pack of smokes and lights himself a cigarette, illuminating the uncertain path ahead. He offers one to Marc.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Why’s that?” The question catches Marc off guard with the harshness in his voice.

“Lost some family to cancer. They all smoked.” Andrew realizes his attempt to turn the conversation interrogative was perhaps a poor idea.

“Sorry to hear,” Andrew coughs out with genuine sorrow.

He puts out his own cigarette, in an attempt at solidarity. Marc looks up as they are now in front of the woods, having passed the last source of light from the school grounds. Marc wonders if they have a flashlight. He eyes Andrew from top to bottom seeing if there is a pocket or bulge that would have a flashlight within it. Andrew notices his effort.

“The only light we need is that of the moon,” he says it as if he’s out of an episode of the Twilight Zone.

“You’ve done this before?” Marc is more confused where this late-night adventure is going. This is one of his rare interactions with a peer outside of class. Most of the other times have been when a group project has been assigned or when a girl asked him to get coffee to study. He had thought it was an innocent meeting to improve their knowledge of the class, not being one to understand the language of flirting. This occurred during a transitional time in his life where he finally understood his place in the sexuality spectrum, but he was terrified of it. His attraction to other men was something he treated as a burden, as something that prevented him from meaningful connections with other men in his life. After reading enough books on the subject and talking to enough like-minded people, he began to accept who he was, yet sometimes the fear took control. He felt a certain level of fear around Andrew but felt an extra level of adrenaline that caused the fear to drown out.

He nodded at Marc, he had done this before, but what exactly is this? Andrew holds his hand out, Marc grabs onto it. Both take note of the warmth of the other’s palm. Andrew guides him into the woods, appearing to have some understanding of where to go in these dark woods. Marc wonders if he has an impaired vision he is just now noticing, as all he sees is total darkness and can only sense the sound of the leaves crunching beneath them. Marc finds himself laughing as they go, trusting Andrew and excited to see what the destination is. He imagines him and Andrew finding a spot to kiss in the woods, or perhaps even make love, but that seems more like a fantasy than a reality. Most likely this will just be leading to a spot where you can see the school from afar or something that would appeal to the campus loyalists that Andrew seemed to align with.

Marc starts to remember a crush he had in high school, perhaps an obsession would be the more accurate description. His father brought around a coworker named Jean, a French immigrant who looked like a movie star to Marc. Amidst his sexual confusion at the time, he was all but sure he was in love with Jean, despite him being two decades his senior and often mentioning his wife and children. Marc often dreamed about Jean, not even sexual dreams, but dreams of what Jean was like outside of the performance he put on for his friend’s dumb son. He remembered how kind Jean was to him; how gentle his touch was when he’d pat Marc on the back or shake his hand. There was something so impersonal about these gestures that made him seem even further away than he already was. Sometimes Marc drew pictures of Jean, he had a very drawable face, defined features, and an emphasized swoop in his hair. He would touch rocks sometimes and imagine they were the chisel of Jean’s chin. He never met Jean’s wife and kids, which he thought for the better, as having a visual for them would remove some of the mystique that appealed to Marc. The last thing Jean ever said to him was “you stay you Marc,” after they had discussed a film they both liked. Jean said he’d never met someone who knew the film which made Marc feel special. A couple days later Jean died in a motorcycle accident, Marc didn’t look into the details of it as they’d be too hard to hear. He somehow felt responsible, as if Marc’s subliminal crush had caused the universe to eliminate the unknowing target of these feelings. He threw out all his drawings and had to repress all these childish feelings that he felt so strongly. There’s something about those unsaid feelings that sink so deep and seem to stay forever.

Andrew begins to slow down, Marc taking note of the light ahead of them. Unclear at first due to the motion, he makes out a clearing in the wood, where the moonlight illuminates a gorgeous, large oak tree. Andrew stops, out of breath, he shows off the tree as if its beauty is an answer for why they were running towards it.

“We’re climbing it?” Marc asked.

“You’re funny.” Andrew grabs Marc’s hands and stands him in front of the tree.

“I wasn’t joking.”

“That’s why you’re funny.” He leans into kiss Marc, the kiss accepted. Andrew asks to make sure this is okay. Marc grins at the obvious answer, but also at the fact he makes sure to ask. Marc rarely experiences that level of care from a partner. The two make love on the leaves surrounding the tree, both exhilarated by the payoff to all the romantic hints of the evening. The two eventually finish, Andrew rests against the tree, his shirt still undone and now lined with sweat. Marc eventually joins him, stifling an excited giggle. Marc had wondered if anybody would come by and catch them but was also a little thrilled by the possibility. He’s learning things about himself. The two began to talk, recounting the motions of the intercourse like a replay of a sports game. Questioning their own choices and celebrating the other. Marc spearheaded this discussion, Andrew was quietly uncomfortable, he felt like he was being graded for a test. They then began to discuss their past romantic encounters, for Marc it was two names, for Andrew the list seemed endless. Andrew could tell by Marc’s reactions he was being judged for what he considered a normal number of experiences, he doesn’t count them as he goes. They trade ideologies of what they look for in sex, is it an act of discovery, enlightenment, pleasure, etc. They both laugh about the hysteria and censorship around sexual topics in culture. It’s a part of life, we should be able to discuss how it feels. Either Marc or Andrew said that their opinions blend together the more they speak. The two got dressed and walked back to the real world, as if nothing had happened behind them.

That night Marc had a dream about Jean, he sees Jean cooking him a meal, the meal itself was out of sight, but Jean looked at him as if he spent all day making the meal. Marc went into kiss him on the cheek but as he pulled his face back, he was no longer looking at Jean, the cook was now Andrew. Marc and Andrew hadn’t made plans to see one another after leaving the tree behind, they didn’t say much at all. They gave a parting kiss and Andrew said he’d see him in class next week. Marc didn’t know what to make of the inflection; would they do this all again next week or would they simply see each other in class. The week between classes was dreadfully long. Marc would sometimes count how many hours he had until the next class, then would stop after realizing the large amount that would be. He sometimes considered going to the coffee shop on campus and asking if someone knew him, but that would be desperate. It would also deflate the mystery of the connection that excited them both so greatly. Marc sometimes thought of the number of sexual partners Andrew had and how many more he may have in the week he was out of sight. Sometimes Marc wondered if he was simply a number to Andrew, a fun night, and not a meaningful partner like he was to Marc.

The next class came, and Marc arrived a quarter of an hour early. He made sure he smelled and looked good before he left. He was usually a hygienic person and took pride in his appearance, but today it was far more intentional. Every new face that entered the classroom he looked up at in hopes of Andrew, however it wasn’t the correct face until five past the classes start time. Andrew shuffled in and abruptly sat at the front of the class, all the way across from Marc. The two don’t lock eyes the entire class and Andrew doesn’t look at anyone other than the professor. Marc begins to wonder if the two of them would ever speak again and replays last week’s encounter again in his head as if it was the only interaction they’d ever have. Towards the end of the class the professor gives everyone a moment while he runs to the restroom. Most of the class open books and twiddle their thumbs, Marc tries to keep his eyes forward and far from Andrew. Breaking him from his trance a familiar voice whispers in his ear.

“Meet me by the oak tree.”

The owner of the voice steps away and out of the classroom, in a rush as if they were running late for something important. Marc feels the eyes of his peers around him, even if they aren’t pointed in his direction he feels their judgement. The professor returns and finishes the lesson, Marc finds it hard to concentrate for the remainder of the lecture, picturing Andrew waiting in the glow of the moonlight. The class gets dismissed, and the judgmental classmates filter out of the room. Marc walks out towards the end of the group to not appear suspicious, he walks into the dark cold of his college campus and starts to speed up his pace, heading closer to the familiar wood. He claws through the dark wood, unsure of the path he should be heading on. Andrew seemed so sure in his direction when guiding Marc, yet it now seems like there is no cohesion to the area. He tries to look up at the sky, but it is blocked by the tall trees, a faint moonlight that shines through doesn’t help guide him. He gets scratched by twigs and rocks, trips on a few bushes, and begins to wonder if he should give up. He finds himself desperately walking, not giving up on recapturing what he is sure is the best night of his life. After a half hour or so, he finds a bit of light illuminating his arms. He’s close. He treks through the last remaining wood and collapses in front of a patient Andrew, leaning against the tree.

“I thought you wouldn’t come.”

Marc is out of breath, perhaps on the verge of passing out, Andrew quickly realizes he might need to delay the games he was starting. Marc is covered in bruises, sweat and leaves, desperate. Andrew rummages through the pouch he carries with him, pulling out a bottle of water and passing it over. Marc snatches it and chugs it, like an animal, it seems to bring him life like liquid magic.

“Better?” Andrew asks.

“Better.”

“Quite the journey you took?”

“You know it so well.” Marc says after a last swig.

“Muscle memory at this point.” Andrew kisses Marc on the forehead, maybe to stop him from thinking further on that statement. Marc kisses him back, the kiss nursing him along with the water. He climbs onto Andrew and begins to undress him, pushing him against the tree with his limited strength. The strength carries him through the sex yet causes him to be the first to finish. He collapses again onto the tree. Kicking his feet on the leaves and watching them crush. He starts to feel guilty for it, maybe these leaves have sex and relationships. He imagines a giant foot crushing him and Andrew. The two of them begin to discuss the class they’re coming from, Andrew explaining his behavior as a means to excite Marc, which he believes worked. He jokes he should’ve provided a map for Marc or waited for him outside the wood. They then switch to talking about their parents, how they both feel inadequate in their presence and how scared they are for when their mom and dad are both gone. Marc makes an existential comment asking what the point of life is when it’s in service of death. Or a relationship when it’s in service of heartbreak. Andrew adds a comment about what’s the point of a meal when it’s in service of being eaten. This addition doesn’t track for Marc, as eating is essential for surviving. He wonders if heartbreak or dying are the same.

The next week goes a lot faster than the first, the effort involved in getting to the second meeting strained some of the magic of the sex and following conversation. He keeps up with his classes and diet, thinking of Andrew only as an exciting point in the week rather than the anchor it was before. At a coffee shop doing homework he ends up drawing Andrew’s face, finding his features easy to capture. He spills some coffee on the drawing and has to start on a new sheet of paper. He finishes the drawing and admires it, finds himself aching for the next meeting now having his likeness in front of him. Unsatisfied, he draws Jean right next to him, the first drawing he’s done since the accident. He imagines meeting Jean by the tree, wonders if that thought is disrespectful to Andrew.

The server comes to collect his dishes and asks him where she knows him from, they realize they share the same class he shares with Andrew. Marc chuckles at the coincidence of the encounter, hoping it ends the conversation, she persists. She asks if he knows Andrew a question that somehow hurts to hear, as if she’s asking how he feels about him and what he thinks of their sex, he could just answer yes but he wonders if that simple answer would be suspicious. He nods, a casual nod, convincing, barely. She smiles and covers her mouth.

“Has he mentioned us?” Marc’s heart sinks a little, confused but somehow knowing. Marc shakes his head, holding on to his composure. She laughs, says that they have been on and off for a year, currently off. They registered for the class together when they were on, thinking it was cute, but now off, they pretend the other doesn’t exist. Marc imagines her and Andrew in the woods, he wonders if he is just a place holder for his current break from the real person he loves. She awkwardly exits the conversation, leaving him with more questions than answers.

Marc dreams about Andrew that night, the two of them riding a motorcycle through the woods. Adrenaline runs through Marc’s system, overriding the overwhelming fear. The two end up by the tree and get off to begin their routine. Before they’re able to Marc turns around to see Andrew has disappeared. He looks for a puff of smoke to indicate the direction of the motorcycle but it’s as if he vanished out of thin air. Marc is now alone by the oak tree, desperately looking around for any sign of life to comfort him. His heavy breath and beating heart compete for what most occupies his ears.

Marc wakes up in a cold sweat. It’s mid-afternoon and he should probably be getting ready for class, or as he sees it, getting ready for Andrew. He wishes the two could skip the three-hour class and treat the oak tree meeting as the class. He wonders if he should ask Andrew about the girl at the coffee shop, about how he knows about the oak tree, and how many people he’s brought to this spot. It is hard to focus on the class, Marc smirks as Andrew plays the same game of ignoring him. He answers a question or two from the professor, Marc wonders if he planned these answers and worded them in a way that would satisfy Marc to hear. Andrew indeed carefully plans every moment of this class; the class became less of a history of medicine and more of a long game with this peer he could tell was growing obsessed with him. Andrew often treated his romantic and sexual counterparts as short-term flings, with the amount of medications and surgeries taking up his life he treated each partner as they may be his last. He seemed to try partners out like pairs of clothes, seeing which ones work for his current desires and discarding those that he loses the spark with. He feels a certain fire with Marc, he can see him holding onto for several months.

The two met by the oak tree after class. Marc had caught up to Andrew outside the woods and the two entered together. They walked hand in hand towards the tree, a welcome antithesis to the chaotic entrance Marc endured the previous week. They reach the lit tree and begin their exploration of the other. Marc feels sloppier this time, perhaps he feels inexperienced seeing the beauty of his other lover and feeling lesser than her and Andrew himself. He stops a few times, his heart beating from the anxiety of his inadequacy. Andrew is so caught up in the lust of the encounter he doesn’t notice these repressed feelings. The two finish after what feels like hours to Marc and what feels about normal, perhaps below average, to Andrew.

After they're done, Marc expresses his feelings to Andrew, being comforted by the reassurance Andrew provides him with. They both anticipate the subsequent conversation, both of them finding the conversation more intimate than the sex. Towards the end of the intercourse, Marc pictured Jean as opposed to Andrew, he fears that may have been what allowed him to finish. He wonders if he should mention the woman to Andrew, he wonders if this would be a viable choice of conversation in their usual vein of intimate discussions or if this would be a step too far. He ends up blurting out some sort of question about her, which elicits a laugh from Andrew. He remarks on how statistically impossible him meeting another one of his lovers would be. This makes it sound like him and the coffee shop worker were two of dozens. Andrew seemed to confirm this was the case. Marc pictured one of those medicine organizers with the pills for each day, but the medicine being replaced with the lover he meets with each day. Marc’s heart drops when he thinks of himself as one of seven options.

“I love you.” Marc said, the words slipping out involuntarily, he doesn’t even believe them as he says them. Andrew turns to him and smiles; he believes for a second that Marc was joking. He realizes there’s sincerity in the declaration.

“Marc...” the one word conveys so much. His own name conveys so much when leaving Andrew.

“I dream about you sometimes.” Marc says, more confident. More of a last-ditch effort to show himself than a useful admission. Andrew laughs, he kisses Marc on the head and stands up, the moon shines on his face in this new position. Marc admires him, wondering if he’s screwed up this thing that barely begun.

“Perhaps there we feel the same.” Andrew smiles and walks off. Marc sits against the oak tree, confused. He begins to cry into his sleeve as the crunching of leaves gets quieter, indicating Andrew’s straying further away.