An Older Man by Wayne Hoffman

Author:Wayne, Hoffman [Wayne, Hoffman]
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: gay fiction
Publisher: Bear Bones Books, an imprint of Lethe Press
Published: 2015-05-13T07:00:00+00:00

FRIDAY

If the Dick Dock was Moe’s favorite spot in Provincetown by night, his favorite spot by day was the breakwater. All the way in the far West End, it stretched across the bay from the edge of town to the very tip of Cape Cod, separating the harbor from the marsh. Patrick had taken Moe to the breakwater on their first trip together; he said it was the most peaceful place he’d ever been, and after a few days of parties and tea dances and Carnival craziness, it sounded like a welcome respite. Patrick was right. The broad path of flat boulders had been nearly empty, except for a few seagulls and the occasional crab, and the stretch of sand between the lighthouses at Wood End and Long Point was entirely deserted. Setting down a sheet, Patrick said, “This is the end” — of their hike, of Provincetown, of America. They sunbathed nude, went skinny-dipping, ate the sandwiches Patrick had packed, had sex on the beach, and then headed back to town. It was a perfect day.

It was also, however, a schlep. And lazy Moe didn’t like to schlep. So rather than make this whole excursion into a regular tradition, he and Patrick had reached a compromise of sorts: They came out to the beginning of the breakwater every year, to get some peace and quiet, looking at the dunes and the tidal pools and the way the sun streaked the water. But they never walked all the way out to the tip again, never made another trek across the rocks, never had sex in the shadow of a lighthouse a second time.

So it was actually the breakwater itself, the view of the rocks splitting the water, creating a short cut between the town and the remote shore, that made Moe think of Patrick. And as he sat there alone at high tide on Friday morning, the edges of the breakwater submerged, leaving just a perfect row of stones reaching toward the lighthouses so tiny on the horizon across the bay, he tried to clear his head.

I am stuck, Moe thought to himself as he sat on the wooden fence at the entrance to the breakwater, tossing crumbs from his oversized corn muffin to a sparrow hopping along the sidewalk beneath him. He squinted at the Wood End lighthouse, squat and white and so New England-perfect as to border on kitsch. He loved ritual, routine, the comfort of tradition. Even here in Provincetown: the same muffin he always got, the same part of the fence he always came to, his usual spot on the dance floor for tea. Routine had worked for so long, and even helped him endure the worst of it after Patrick died: knowing that he could still do so many of the things he’d always done.

Not anymore, though. As Moe sat there, absent-mindedly feeding the sparrow, he knew the time for change had come at last.

* * *

When Moe announced that he’d be heading to Bear Soup at the Boatslip’s pool, Gene wasn’t sure he was serious.

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