Taylor Dusina
Patrick pulled the backpack—filled with spare clothes, food, and some water—from under his bed. Outside, the sun was only just emerging, spreading light across the sky. His parents would be up soon, his father tending to the land while his mother tended to his father’s every need. Soon, he’d be far enough north that they wouldn’t find him, so he could hide the day away.
The front door creaked as he opened it, noise ringing in the quiet of the lounge room. He jumped down the porch steps, landing softly, and followed the dirt path to the fence. Climbing over it, his heart raced. When his feet touched the other side, he finally felt free, and a smile came when he remembered what was waiting for him.
The fields along his way were different somehow, endless acres of uncultivated land that he could get lost in, cattle roaming free. As he walked, he noticed the spaces around him were different. No red earth or burnt trees, no bales of hay. Instead, there was green grass and trees covered with leaves, ripples across the surface of a lagoon. Even through the fresh wind, the smell of the country still flared in his nostrils, a reminder of what he had left behind. He didn’t ever want to go back. There were places far greater than this—the beach, the city, another country. Someday he would make it there.
Sitting on the rocks that hung slightly over the bank, he listened to the trickle of water propelling down the stream and into the lagoon. He wished he could be quite as free. The expectations weighing upon him were simple yet unfair. Had it always been this way?
He hung his feet over the edge of the rock, dangling them into the stream. The water between his toes was inviting—a calling to move forward, to jump in and feel the coolness. He admired the way the bank swelled, ripples barrelling toward land when the water was disturbed by the birds. He never knew how to swim until he taught himself in this very spot, meeting Harry for the first time. In that moment, Patrick had known what was missing from his life and why he felt so hollow for all those years.
When he closed his eyes, he remembered his childhood. He remembered his parents fighting in the kitchen late at night, barely-contained voices wondering what they could do to fix him. In the light of day, they’d never tell him anything, but he knew he was the one they argued about and that was all he needed to know. Guilt was a feeling he told himself he’d never acknowledge. He knew what his parents wanted, but to save himself, he couldn’t give it to them.
His sketchpad was heavy as he brought it from his backpack, filled with drawings and feelings he knew he could never express out loud. On a new page, he drew a boy just like him sitting next to another boy. They were holding hands on the beach, their faces smiling and showing the love they wanted to. They were happy. On another page he drew the city, imagining how tall the buildings would be while they walked hand in hand down the busy streets.
Behind him, he heard footsteps, twigs being broken beneath shoes, and knew Harry was approaching. He turned around, finding a familiar face grinning back at him, blue eyes sparkling in the light. Harry was tall like Patrick, skinny too, with dark hair and pale skin almost indistinguishable from his own when they laid together too long.
When Patrick stood, Harry moved into him and they held each other for the first time in weeks. The embrace was strong, the warmth of their bodies quickly making everything okay again despite the weeks apart. He had missed Harry so much.
Without a word, they stripped their clothes and jumped into the water wearing only their boxers. Playing and splashing beneath the surface, nothing else mattered. When they came up for air, they moved into one another, bodies touching, once again contemplating a life away from here.
‘I want to see the ocean,’ Harry said, longing on his face.
Patrick nodded, droplets shaking from the tips of his hair. They had never seen the coast, never seen the waves or smelled the salty air, only read about it in novels. It was a place they imagined visiting. It was a place they imagined living. Escaping to. Safe haven in their minds, they kissed slowly, lips pressed gently against each other’s.
But, as always, reality dawned. Patrick pulled away. They will never accept us.
He remembered the afternoon he’d snuck into his parents’ room and found his mother’s makeup. He had laughed as he applied it, feeling limitless. But then his father found him and hadn’t hesitated to call Patrick words he didn’t understand, hadn’t hesitated to lay a hand on him. He had run to his room crying, mascara streaming down his cheeks, red lipstick smudged. In a way, he had always known he’d end up here.
‘We can leave,’ Harry said, all the hope in the world behind his voice. ‘We can start a life together wherever we want.’ He reached out for Patrick, gently pushing the wet hair from his face. Sunlight broke through the layers of trees, skimming diagonal lines across their faces.
The water was cold against Patrick’s body, reaching down to his bones. But the power he felt being this close to Harry was unending, as if he’d never been more alive than in this moment, as if he was suddenly able to touch the sky.
Patrick couldn’t help but wonder if place was tied to a home or if home was tied to a place. It must be the first. He knew that his home was here, in this moment. It was wherever Harry was.
Patrick nodded, giving in to Harry. He knew why he was different and, with Harry by his side, he knew it was worth it to embrace who he was even if it meant leaving everything behind.
‘If we leave, we can’t ever come back,’ Harry said, hesitating.
Patrick nodded. He knew the consequences without having to be told. ‘I don’t want to come back.’
I’m Taylor Dusina (she/her), a Meanjin-based (Brisbane) writer in my final year at uni. My writing style centres around a mix of romance and fantasy, with twists that readers won’t see coming. Currently, I’m working on a fantasy novel centred around vampires and worldbuilding. I aspire to be a published author someday, sharing my writing and being recognised for something I love.
@taylorjanewrites
Sophie Gollant (she/her) is marked by her earnest oil paintings and photographs of earthly, isolated scenes. Sophie’s practice is steeped in metaphors and motifs that earnestly draw on her experiences of womanhood, chronic illness, and solitude.
Instagram: @soggolla