Page 4 of The Embrace of Evergreen

I kiss Gabriel on the cheek and ruffle his hair as I pass his barstool perch. “I am happy,” I mumble against his cheek.

It’s not a lie; I truly am happy with my life. Is being a waiter my lifelong dream? No, but in truth, I’ve never been a lifelong dream kind of guy. I’ve never fantasized about being a rock star or an astronaut, never wanted to go to med school or become the next member of the supreme court. My job is easy, close to home, and it allows me the time and money to pursue my art. It’s not hard to find someone to have sex with when I’m in the mood, and Gabriel and my few other close friends easily fulfill all of my love and relationship needs. I’ve neverpined for a house with a white picket fence and six kids and two dogs and a goat. Even though my life isn’t the image kindergartners attempt to capture in their aspirational yet horrible drawings, it’s not like I sit around dreaming of change. I like who I am, and my life is enough for me.

While Gabriel sighs aggressively at my retreating back as I leave the room, I know he won’t push the issue any further. Not until next time anyway.

Twenty minutes later, when I make my way out of the apartment dressed in a long-sleeved Henley covered with scorch marks and a pair of old ripped jeans, Gabriel is no longer in the kitchen. Instead, I can’t help but laugh at the way he’s singing in the shower at the top of his lungs in the most tone-deaf fashion he can manage. I don’t know if he does that when I’m not home, but I strongly believe he does it only to make me laugh. Even though his insistence that I don’t know what happiness is bothers me more than normal today, I know he’s wrong. With one-night stands for sex and friends like him in my life, I don’t need anything else. Even if I did, I’m certainly not willing to risk yet another relationship that will only end in painful disaster.

Chapter 2

Ethan

My job might be the most boring job on earth.

So people tell me anyway. I actually like what I do, but there has yet to be one single instance in my life when I’ve told another human what I do for a living and they’ve reacted with anything other than horror, disinterest, or a glazed-over expression that says they’ve deliberately turned off enough of their brain that they won’t have to remember their conversation with me five minutes after it ends.

Honestly, I don’t blame them. The titlefinancial analyst specializing in corporate development and risk evaluationis the worst kind of mouthful. If someone were to google my title in an attempt to figure out precisely what I do, they’d likely fall asleep two pages into their research. Is combing through years of company receipts and income data fun? No. Is analyzing currenteconomic trends, conducting market research, compiling statistical reports, completing risk analysis, providing company recommendations, and employee training sexy and exciting? Definitely not.

Even I wouldn’t say that my day-to-day work is overly enjoyable, but I love the sense of accomplishment that comes with the bigger picture items. I specialize in working with small-to-medium-sized independent businesses that are looking to grow in a way that won’t put their companies at risk. Most organizations that employ me as a consultant are single individuals, mom-and-pop-style shops, and new ventures formed by friends with brilliant ideas and less-than-brilliant planning skills. Most small businesses have to fight and strategize to keep their doors open, even if their products or services are fantastic. Those that manage to stay in business usually struggle with either the inability to grow and expand or growth that comes so quickly they’re unable to keep up. That’s where I come in. Depending on the age and size of the business, completing an analysis and creating a business proposal can take anywhere from a few weeks to a few months, though my past few jobs have been quite complex, and have each taken close to a year. It’s a lot of sifting through boring numbers and spreadsheets, but in the end, I’m usually able to make recommendations that will allow the businesses to grow or change direction and still manage to thrive. I love that. I love that what I do ultimately makes people happy. The way the owners look at me when I’m able to present them with a plan to help their businesses become what they’ve been dreaming of always fills me with satisfaction.

These days, I come so highly recommended that I can pick and choose my clients. I typically try to work with those who are underrepresented in their communities, businesses with LGBTQI or BIPOC owners, or those whose products or services interest me. I love the fact that with each new job, I’m always surprised by the small industry-specific details and the ins and outs of individual business models that I’ve never thought about before. After more than a decade, I’ve definitely filed away a lot of strange and interesting facts. I would dominate at a “random useless facts” bar trivia night. Did you know chocolate ice cream was invented before vanilla, or that small jewelry stores sell fifteen times more watch batteries than pieces of jewelry, or that the average lifespan of a baseball is only seven pitches? I didn’t either until I took jobs with a family-owned ice cream parlor, an antique jewelry shop owned by three old friends, and a fifty-year-old sporting goods shop that had just been taken over by the original owner’s granddaughter who wanted to expand.

While filling my life with the satisfaction of a job well done and information about pastries and autobody shops isn’t exactly what I dreamed my life would be like when I was younger, it’s enough for me. That’s what I tell myself when I climb into bed alone each night anyway. I tell myself that if I keep researching and learning, one day, I’ll fill my head with enough facts that I won’t notice how empty my heart is. That if I fill my days with work, I won’t notice that I’m alone. Some nights, I even believe myself.

I drown myself in details so I won’t have time to remember what it feels like to know love only as a memory. So that each time I’m not attracted to the man sitting across from me at dinner, I still have something to come home to. I work endless hours to distract myself from the way every man I’ve let touch me since Jordyn has felt wrong, and every kiss has seemed empty. I hide behind my computer so I can pretend that I’m okay for long enough to finish this job. For long enough to finish the next. For one more day. For one more moment.

So what if work doesn’t make my breath hitch or my heart race? So what if it doesn’t slow time and allow me to gaze into eternity as I stare through someone’s eyes and into their soul? It’s something. Something to cling to.

It’s all I have.

I don’t drink very often, but when I do, it’s straight Japanese whiskey. There is just something about the subtle hint of delicate fruit combined with the harsh, throat-searing bite that works for me. It’s not some bright, blue or pink mixed drink swirling with sweetness so nauseating it’s impossible to taste anything more than sugar. It’s not elaborately crafted by a professional with a rose petal salted rim and bitters and citrus in a concoction so complex that it would take three glasses to fully appreciate. It’s not the cheap, pleasureless burn of a shot of vodka or the promise of revelry combined with the scent of chlorine and sweat and desert air that is somehow promised by every glass of tequila. It’s simple yet complicated. The burn of the alcohol is bracingly obvious, and yet somehow, something subtle at the end promises that if you make it through the pain, something better, something just a little lighter might exist on the other side. Clearly, I’ve already had one too many if I’m sitting here ruminating over my drink of choice as if it’s a metaphor for life. I probably shouldn’t be looking for my next job in this state, but I’m not convinced that sobriety will help me gracefully accept the fact that these job postings are all I have to fill my life in this moment.

A cattle farm in Amarillo that’s hoping to utilize government grants to procure new grazing pastures. No thanks, I’ve lived through Texas mosquitos for two years now. A small grocery store that wants to revamp itself into a trendy organic marketplace with local produce and pasture-raised meats in Nebraska. Nope, the time I spent in St. Louis worrying that a tornado was going to touch down and sweep me away, even though it was unlikely in the heart of the large city, was enough weather anxiety for a lifetime, thank you very much. An online dating service that…Nu-uh, no need to read any more about that one. An art gallery in Seattle that wants to expand and buy out a couple of local glass, ceramic, and welding studios so their artists can always have access to well-maintained equipment and a safe place to work. Hmmm…that’s an intriguing idea.

I down the rest of my whiskey and look around my sad little beige apartment. Wasn’t I just wondering where my love of the arts has disappeared to over the past decade? I push the decanter aside and make my way to the kitchen to fire up my one truly good appliance, the high-end espresso machine. Ten minutes later, I’m settled back on the couch, legs tucked up tightly, with my second cup of espresso. I drank the first one while standing in the kitchen, waiting for the second to brew.

A successful first-generation art gallery with three current owners, two of whom, according to their online bios, are queer. A deep internet dive into the gallery’s history shows strong community support, a vibrant and eclectic mix of artworks and mediums that are on exhibit at all times, plus several local artists’ solo exhibitions a year. None of the owners seem to have had any legal issues that I can find, and it doesn’t appear they’ve ever had any serious enough financial issues to file for bankruptcy or anything else of that nature. While there are no photos, the bios on the website give the impression of three thirty-to-fifty-something friends living their dreams by supporting the dreams of others. On the surface, it seems to be exactly what they’ve stated in their advertisement - a successful and well-loved small business that wants to expand.

I’ve only been to Seattle once. I was twelve or thirteen, and my parents and I flew down and spent a week or so wandering through the dense forests that clung to the edges of sandy beaches and eating at little cafés. I didn’t know anything about travel at that age. Ididn’t know anything about anything really. I’d spent my short life in a small snowy town in Alaska with parents who owned the local funeral home, of all things. It had been my first real trip. My first plane ride. My first meal at a fancy restaurant. The first time I’d dug my bare toes into cool grey sand and closed my eyes to listen as the rhythm of the waves united with the loud rush of wind whipping past me to rustle the heavy boughs of unfamiliar forests that smelled of salt and moss and warm green redwoods instead of the sharp bite of ice and pine that I’d always known.

I don’t remember it all that well; too much has happened between then and now, but I remember that I was filled with excitement and curiosity and an endless sense of wonder over the fact the world was far bigger and more interesting than I’d ever expected it to be. I'd been young and innocent and free as I'd run and jumped and laughed, reveling in adventures and exploration with wide eyes and an open heart. I'd had no idea just how much a person can lose. How much grief and loss and heartbreak can change a person’s world, dimming its colors until all that's left is grey and endless beige.

That was before.

Before I fell in love. Before my mom died. Before he didn’t want me. Before I left.

Maybe if I take a job in the first place I ever experienced true wonder, I can find some small piece ofthe boy I once was. Maybe I can find a sense of peace. Maybe this time, I’ll find what I’ve been looking for.

Blue

Stepping foot into the hot shop always brings me a sense of peace. The scent of brick and burnt glass and sweat and passion, and okay, yeah, occasionally singed hair. The sounds of steel on crystal, the whoosh of air being forced into the kiln, the hiss of the flame, strong and raging. The murmur of voices, calm yet loud enough to be heard above the din. The black scorched floors - flame-kissed cement peppered with bright greens and blues and reds. People literally breathing their creations into life. Little pieces of their souls escaping their bodies and minds, being pressed and blown and swirled into a new fragile, colorful existence. There is nowhere else in the world like this place.

When I’m here, there is nothing other than my bench and pipe and block and crimps and jacks. There is nothing other than pools of molten rock to focus on as I rush against the forces of heat and pressure and time to encourage them into the shapes that live in my mind. While I primarily work alone, I’m rarely the only one in the shop. There is a quiet comradery here, filled with upnods and soft, distant smiles, and the collective awareness that none of us are ever fully present while we’re lost in our own hearts and minds, and our art is speaking to us like an old friend. When someone does assist another artist by spinning a pipe or sprinkling down fine glass sand like magical glitter fairies, words are spoken, but only the bare minimum required to instruct the other. Nothing else is needed.

It’s not lonely here. Even without words, none of us are ever truly alone in this place. We’re surrounded by souls that understand ours even when most of the world doesn’t. There is laughter here too. Encouragement and companionship. A kind ear, a strong hand, a supportive shoulder. There are smiles shared over pictures of children and tears of lost loves wept. Soulful and easy conversations as we start the fires in the morning and snuff them out at night. Connections found in the moments before and after emotions rise and roll across the surface, leaving us raw and open in a way most aren’t outside of these walls.

Outside of these walls, I’m happy and light and personable. It’s not an act that I put on for the rest of the world; it’s genuinely who I am. It’s who I’ve always been. I like laughter and friendships. Late-night beers, dancing at clubs, and sleepover movie nights with friends even though I’m thirty-three. I like the fact that I’m quick to smile and slow to anger. I like that my life is full of joy and simplicity. I like that the darkness in my soul is so much dimmer and more manageable than it is for so many other people. It still exists, but it simmers quietly in thebackground rather than overtaking my heart and filling my mind. The glass and flame and focus help me contain it.

I don’t think anyone who’d lived my life would have made it through unscathed and without some small measure of darkness finding its way in. It’s not like I’ve had a particularly hard life, I suppose, but I’ve been through enough to have been left with scars. I’m an only child whose parents were loving and caring when I was younger and who still support me as a gay man covered in tattoos and piercings and blue hair as an adult. We don’t see each other all that often; our lives are just different, and we don’t exactly share a lot of common interests. The few times a year we get together for holidays or birthdays seem to use up all of our conversational ammo pretty quickly. Even so, we love one another, and I know if I ever needed them, they’d be there for me. I know that makes me lucky, and I’m grateful for it.

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