The blue earth, a splash of colour in the dark; he thought that when looking down from space, the globe must appear majestic, perfect and peaceful. It was how he imagined it as a boy, when he liked to imagine he was an astronaut, alone in a capsule, looking through a portal, wishing he could reach out to scoop a handful of the surrounding blue haze.

 

The boy felt harshness within reality when returning from his imagination. He felt trapped inside the blue bubble, as opposed to gazing upon it and imagining some magical world, a kinder world. His imagination did not correlate with his reality. To him, imagination and reality were worlds apart - hot and cold, soft and hard or tender and cruel. His perceptions and concepts of his life ahead, compared to the actual experiences that would occur, would never align. With time, occurrences had confirmed that concept for him, one incident in particular. With age, the idea he could never have what he wanted, became a belief.

 

The poster of a photo of the earth from space, which was now faded and yet still attached to the wall, could so easily hold his gaze and thrust him into the imaginings of that boy. The poster on the wall and the mattress on the floor in this room, were the only two items left in the empty shell of the deserted house.

 

As a boy he had felt like everyone was a stranger. Even now, so many years later, he still felt that way. He defined it within his mind as not belonging. He was an alien on a strange but beautiful planet, however, the problem was he was not Superman or even the mild mannered Clark Kent; he was in fact, a façade trying to be like everyone else. He was a figurative alien behind a mask of a human, always feeling out of place, a fool in a room filled with academics.

 

This old homestead had been deserted for thirty years. It was where he used to go as a boy to be truly alone. He was nine on his first visit to this house, sixteen the last time he was here. No matter his age, he always felt alone but here in this decaying structure that he believed no one ever entered, he had in those days felt alive and real within his solitude.

 

Today, two decades since he was last there, his knowledge found in his experience that had accompanied age, as well as his concepts of what to be, how to be and who to be, all remained relatively the same. Today, though, he was a man feeling like a boy, wishing he were still a boy while locked in a memory from when he was a boy. The boy was consumed by the delicious passion and sensuality of that memory while the man was consumed by an aching regret.

 

The old mattress on the floor smelled of dust but he did not care. He lay upon it, his eyes staring at the corner where two walls met the ceiling. The smooth, flat surfaces seemed to undulate and move but the truth was a conglomeration of ants were milling about for no apparent reason. Walking in circles, achieving nothing and going nowhere. He thought the futile actions of the ants were a reflection of how he felt most of the time. It was also the way he viewed the thoughts and actions of the people of the world; so many believing they were something special, that their self-absorbed beliefs, choices and endeavours were lofty and of importance, when in truth, they meant nothing.

 

He had come back to this house after all these years because he felt that in spite of life, nothing had changed. He wanted to see if the old house was still there or if, perhaps, it had changed. It was still here but it had barely changed. The only differences were more dirt, more disrepair but like life, it remained fundamentally the same.

 

“People are born, live and die. Some do what they’re told, some do what they want to and some do what they’re not allowed to do, all as if it means something. They exist like an audience watching a performance, judging, criticising and thinking they know better. We’re all just ants,” Heath thought.

 

A feeling of being chained and imprisoned in a dungeon, which he could not escape, it was a sense of isolation that was devouring him. He knew he could have been standing at the centre of a stadium filled with people and still he would have felt alone. He was stuck like a bug in a spider’s web and waiting for the spider to seal his fate of loneliness for good.

 

Standing up from the mattress, Heath walked out of the bedroom and into the kitchen. It was so skeletal; empty frames of cupboards and benches, no purpose and no reason, simply existing without cause. He thought the entire house should have been demolished, even though it was the last thing he wanted.

 

He glanced at the end of the tap that arched over the old, stainless steel sink. He could see a glistening curve of a tiny drop of water, motionless and seemingly locked in time. He moved across the floor silently and looked into the sink. It was dry and relatively clean, appearing to have not tasted water in millennia.

 

Transfixed by the flat, metal surface, his eyes became distant and his vision blurred. His mind ushered his thoughts into the empty sink, thoughts and feelings merging deep into the crevices of attitudes of pointlessness. The entire house seemed pointless in its uselessness.

 

Unexpectedly, for the first time in however long, the solitary drop of water fell from the tap and hit the sink beneath with a subtle, metallic slap. The water of the drop splashed on impact, outward in a growing circle of smaller droplets. “The big bang,” Heath thought.

 

His thoughts of uselessness and also pointless creation seemed so poignant but even if they were, still they gave no answers that meant anything. How he begged for a reason, a reason for him, a reason for his life, a reason for all of the ants and this planet. He reached down into the sink and pressed his palm flat before destroying the perfect pattern of the droplets.

 

Looking up and away from his warlord act of dictatorship, he turned his eyes to the world outside the window, a cloudy vision through a muddy pane of glass. Lush, green grass and deep, green leaves, the grass spotted occasionally with tiny, red and purple, Australian wild flowers. To the left, beautifully ripe mandarins hung like jewels within a canopy, however, beneath lay rotting corpses of the fruit, wasted food for the hungry untouched. Beyond, just past an ancient fence, Heath’s gaze froze in disbelief. A handsome, shirtless cowboy, beneath the standard cowboy hat, strode an impeccable steed proudly, his tanned muscles gleaming with sweat beneath the springtime sun, as he rode on the property across the way.

 

The memory came immediately. It had been twenty years but still he knew that body and that face, regardless of the changes of age and time. He had wanted that body naked and wrapped around him when he was sixteen. Now, at thirty-six, he wanted that stronger body once more, as well as the raw and masculine heat and desire it imbued.

 

He remembered the day the much younger cowboy had walked into this house. The cowboy had found him lying on the old mattress, in the same empty room. The cowboy, then, had been shirtless that day, too. He had been a big boy, a handsome hunk and when he had seen the way the smaller boy had looked at his strong body; the cowboy had taken him hungrily, with all the power and punch of youth.

 

“See me, Reece. Turn and look over here. Please see me again, see me the way you once saw me. Come and take me again, the way you once did, like I was born to this world for you alone. Come to me now and make my world seem real once more,” he thought while watching the cowboy needfully, his expression failing, as the cowboy turned and rode in the opposite direction.

 

Heath felt the obvious reaction of a pounding heart and the even more obvious hardness in his shorts. Leaning on the sink, he was grinding hardness against hardness before he pushed his body backwards and glanced down at the protrusion, which pushed the zipper seam out like a rolling hill. He did not need to question the ‘what’ or the ‘why’ of his body; the reactions of both body parts were a consequence of an ache and of a love of twenty years. Reece was a dream that once came true for a few hours but he was also a dream that never came true again.

 

Stepping away from the vision and the sink, Heath walked as if it were a strain, his expression filled with regret. He exited through the kitchen doorway and onto the enclosed veranda that surrounded the entire house. He circumnavigated, looking at the surrounding property, taking in the sights to each horizon, his mind never far from the previous unexpected vision of the splendid man upon a splendid horse.

 

Returning to where he had exited onto the veranda, he only needed to turn and look to see the cowboy again, however, he chose not to, preferring to retain the purity of the past in golden memories, rather than feeding the pain of regret once more.

 

Entering the house again, he headed back toward the bedroom and the mattress, back to the ghost images of a naked cowboy, crushing his naked body and kissing him with all the verve and ardour he had never felt in the same way since.

 

Heath allowed his adult body to simply topple, dropping onto the mattress onto his back, a dust storm rising and dissipating quickly. He felt so alone, such clarity of mind and yet still, so alone. He closed his eyes and his deepest feelings transformed into a monologue of verbalised words, born in boyhood but still alive today. He knew the answer to his following questions because there was only one answer and the answers name was Reece.

 

Speaking to the entity within the darkness behind his closed eyes, Heath said out loud, “To live, to work, to play and to experience, it’s what we’re all supposed to do. Create a life that means something; believe in things that mean something to us, true or not. Whether there is a point or a purpose, it’s what everyone does without question, so why can’t I? Why must I be a tortured soul? Why can I not just embrace life and smile? Why must I always feel like the guy in that dream, the one who turns up at school or work, wearing nothing but pyjamas or underwear? Why can’t I exist outside of this self-imposed solitary confinement? Why can’t I let go of this memory?”

 

The answer, a single word in response, “Reece,” silently slid painfully yet easily through his mind.

 

The silence that followed Heath’s pained words was brief. A moment later there was an unexpected response. The voice was deep and male and it said, “Well, old friend, if you’re anything like me, it’s because you’re trapped in the past, a boy in a man’s body, wishing a moment in time had never come to an end.”

 

Heath opened his eyes and gazed with both desire as well as disbelief, as Reece leaned against the doorframe, his intense eyes like daggers into Heath’s eyes, his enticing smile now the smile of a handsome, mature man, his muscular body so hard and taut and alive.

 

So many thoughts went through Heath’s mind but none would form into words. His mind seemed blank, unlike his expression. There were so many things he wanted to say in reply, however, stunned that the unrequited love of his life was even there; instead, like an uneducated fool, he said nothing as his mouth hung open.

 

“Jesus, Heath, even after twenty years, no one has ever looked at me the way you once did and still do. Only you are speechless from the sight of me. You still make me feel like a god.”

 

“I can’t believe you’re here,” Heath said.

 

“I can’t believe you came back,” Reece replied.

 

“I guess I never left that day and that’s why I had to come back. I guess that means you’re right and I’m trapped; trapped in memories of your touch, of your kiss and of you,” Heath admitted, not just to Reece but to himself as well.

 

“You couldn’t know what that means for me to hear you say that. I wanted you to always be here but I was a boy who was afraid of the consequences of being gay. I thought if I stayed with you that day, if I asked you to be mine, my life would become a stage with me in the spotlight, instead of the simple country life of a cowboy. I thought it was all I really wanted and needed until I was forced to live my life without you. Heath, you were the reason why after my parents died, I bought this house and property and left it exactly the way it was. It probably sounds strange, considering all there was between us were those few hours together in this room. Still, afterwards, on that night alone in bed, I realised it was the substance of what took place between us and not the amount of time we spent together. From then on, I always hoped that one day you’d come back and now you have,” Reece said.

 

Heath asked in stunned amazement, “You bought this place because of me?”

 

“The hope of you, yeah,” Reece replied. “I almost refurbished it but then I thought if you did come back and it wasn’t the way it had been, you wouldn’t come in. I stare across at this house everyday, always hoping I’ll see you. I knew it was you the moment I saw you on the veranda, entering through the kitchen door.”

 

Heath was stunned beyond belief. He had always believed he was just a random encounter and meant nothing more to Reece. He could not believe his cowboy felt the same. Now he realised his perceptions of that day had been wrong. His separation from Heath was not his fault, however, fault was irrelevant following the passage of twenty years. Regardless, his heart still beat so hard for Reece, even harder now.

 

Fearing if he did not act immediately, his dream could once again slip away, this time into obscurity, he said; “So, why are you still standing there on the other side of the room? You’re all I’ve ever really wanted since that day. Reece, if you want me like I’ve always wanted you, then come over here and take me and I promise I’ll never let you go.”

 

Reece smiled a smile of relief. He dragged off his boots and then moving too swiftly, he stumbled as he pulled his Wranglers inside out to remove them. He fell onto the mattress, his eyes never breaking from his gaze upon the man who had finally come back, for him.

 

Not surprisingly, Heath smiled as well, though his look of relief contained disbelief also. With one hand he dragged his shirt over his head while his other hand pushed his shorts down his legs. He knew he wanted their bodies naked and touching and he knew he wanted the natural progression of sex; however, more than anything else, he wanted tomorrow, a tomorrow that included Reece. Heath’s definition of tomorrow referred to the future and not to a single day. He thought that after twenty years, perhaps there could be a point and a purpose to his life after all.

 

From that moment, as arms embraced, as hands caressed and as lips brushed with tender desire, two boys vanished into the past, leaving the two naked men they were meant to be; no longer alone, no longer existing as distinct from the rest of the world and finally, certain of a different path ahead.