Page 27

Chapter twenty-seven

Sawyer

The lake was calm now, rippling lazily under the hazy orange glow of the early evening sun. Sawyer sat cross-legged on a blanket; his arms loosely draped over his knees. All the campers had scattered back to their tents or down the trails for their final bits of summer exploration before dinner. The clearing had an eerie silence now, as if the lake itself was holding its breath after all the camper chatter had finally gone.

Behind him, the forest whispered softly with the occasional rustle of leaves. Sawyer could smell the faint scent of pine needles in the breeze. Clayton sat beside him, legs stretched out in front, absently fiddling with a corner of the blanket.

Sawyer cleared his throat, breaking the silence between them. “So, uh,” he began, “what’s the last event tonight?” His voice sounded casual, but even he could feel the nerves peeking through. This was his last camp night, and the weight of it was settling in his chest. He looked forward to a new life with Clayton, a life filled with exciting possibilities, but the familiar comfort of the camp offered a sense of security.

Clayton leaned back on his elbows, gazing out at the lake before turning his head slightly toward Sawyer. “Dinner,” he said simply, and then paused. “But it’s not just dinner—there’s going to be a little program afterward. Three speakers sharing their coming-out stories.”

Sawyer raised his eyebrows, interest piqued. “Huh. I didn’t know we did that. Sounds…pretty cool.” He shifted on the blanket, drawing patterns in the dirt with his finger. “Who’s speaking?”

Clayton sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Well, two speakers are lined up. Both are surprise campers.” He hesitated for a moment, then added, “But we’re one short. We’ve been trying to figure that out all week.”

Sawyer bit his lip, the gears in his mind already turning. His heartbeat quickened as an idea formed—an idea that felt equal parts terrifying and thrilling. “I could do it,” he blurted out, the words tumbling out faster than he had planned.

Clayton blinked and sat up straighter. “You?” His tone was laced with surprise, but there was something else there too—genuine curiosity.

“Yeah,” Sawyer said, his voice steadier now. He forced himself to meet Clayton’s eyes, even though it made his stomach twist. “I mean, I haven’t done anything like it before, but…I want to. I want to tell my story.”

Clayton studied him for a long moment, his expression unreadable. “Sawyer,” he said slowly, “that’s…brave. Really brave. But are you sure? It’s difficult to stand up and talk about something so personal.”

Sawyer shrugged, though the gesture felt a bit forced. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while, actually. And it’s the last night of camp. I guess I want to leave something behind—something meaningful.”

Clayton’s lips quirked into a small smile, his surprise giving way to admiration. “You’re full of surprises, you know that?” he said, shaking his head slightly. “I didn’t see this coming, but…if you’re really sure, I think it’d be incredible.”

“I’m sure,” Sawyer said firmly, even as his palms began to sweat. He glanced back at the lake, the golden hues now deepening into fiery reds. “It’s not like it was easy for me. Coming out, I mean. But it’s part of who I am, and maybe…” He paused, searching for the right words. “Maybe it’ll help someone out there. You know, someone who’s where I used to be.”

Clayton nodded, his expression softening. “Yeah. I get that. And honestly? I think you’d be amazing. You’ve got a way of connecting with people.” He nudged Sawyer’s arm lightly. “I’ll make sure everything’s set for you. You’ve got my full support.”

Sawyer felt a grin tugging at his lips despite the nervousness traveling to his chest. “Thanks,” he said, “I appreciate it.”

The two of them fell into silence again, the kind that felt comfortable rather than awkward. The lake seemed to reflect their mood, its surface shifting lazily as the sky above deepened into shades of indigo and violet. Fireflies appeared, their tiny lights winking in and out along the edge of the clearing. Sawyer watched them for a while, his thoughts swirling with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

“This place,” Sawyer said eventually, his voice breaking through the stillness again, “it’s like…different. Special, you know?”

Clayton glanced at him, a knowing look in his eyes. “Yeah,” he said. “It really is.”

Sawyer nodded, his gaze fixed on the lake as he thought about the journey that had brought him here—not just to camp, but to this moment, this decision to share his story. It wasn’t something he had imagined himself doing, but now that the words were out there, it felt right. Scary, sure. But right.

The camp would always hold a special place in his heart, he realized. It was where he had learned to be himself, where he had felt seen and accepted. And now, as the summer drew to a close, he had a chance to give something back—to leave a piece of himself behind for others to find.

As the stars dotted the darkening sky, Sawyer turned to Clayton again. “Do you think…I mean, do you think anyone will care? About my story?”

Clayton’s answer was immediate, and his tone carried an unwavering confidence. “They’ll care,” he said. “Trust me, Sawyer. Stories like yours? They matter. More than you know.”

Sawyer smiled, his nerves easing just a bit. “Alright, then,” he said, leaning back and letting the cool evening air wash over him. “Let’s do this.”

The two of them sat there for a while longer, side by side, as the lake silently mirrored the stars above. It was a moment of calm, of reflection, of hushed anticipation for what lay ahead. For Sawyer, it wasn’t just the end of camp—it was the beginning of something new. Something meaningful. And he was ready to face it, one word at a time.

Dinner Time

Sawyer lingered at the mess hall entrance, feeling the faint hum of excitement from the room spilling out into the hallway. Inside, the clatter of chairs, the murmur of conversations, and the occasional burst of laughter created an oddly comforting cacophony. The Lodi Pride Camp was wrapping up its week with one last dinner, and if Sawyer knew anything, it was that these meals were where memories were made—or, at least, awkward moments to laugh about later.

He found his usual seat at the large, somewhat mismatched wooden table, surrounded by familiar faces—his friends, Clayton, Jeff, Malik, and the whole eclectic crew. Dinner was a spread of roast beef, mashed potatoes, and string beans, a meal that screamed “home” for some and “camp staple” for others. Sawyer dug in, savoring the warm flavors. Beside him, Malik made a face at the string beans, trying to hide them under his mashed potatoes.

“Nice try, dude,” Sawyer teased, poking a fork at the vegetable smuggling effort. Malik smirked but didn’t protest. It wasn’t worth the effort when Sawyer caught everything.

When everyone had cleared their plates, Clayton stood, tugging his camp hoodie to straighten it. “Alright, folks,” he said, his voice carrying easily over the din. Clayton always had that sort of commanding presence—the kind of guy who could make a group of rowdy campers quiet down without breaking a sweat. “We’ve got three short speakers tonight before we officially close out camp week. First up is Jeff.”

Sawyer watched as Jeff pushed back his chair and stood. Jeff wasn’t a man of many words—he had this air of understated strength that didn’t need flashy speeches to make an impression. But tonight, Sawyer could sense a determined glint in Jeff’s eyes as he stepped to the front of the room.

Jeff cleared his throat, letting calm settle before he spoke. “I grew up in a small town in Alabama. Rural, conservative, and deeply religious,” he began, his Southern drawl soft but steady. “To say it wasn’t easy would be an understatement.”

Sawyer leaned forward slightly, instinctively drawn to the story. Jeff had always been a bit of a mystery to him, the way he carried himself—strong, steady, yet guarded. It was rare for Jeff to open up like this, and Sawyer didn’t want to miss a word.

“My family was strict. Rules ran the house, and individuality? That was nowhere to be found. Being different wasn’t just frowned upon—it was unacceptable.” Jeff paused, his gaze sweeping the room. “I faced intolerance. Cruel intolerance. My sexuality was a point of condemnation for my family and my community. The scars it left—they weren’t just physical. They cut deeper than that.”

Sawyer felt a knot in his throat. He didn’t realize he’d clenched his fists until Malik nudged him gently, grounding him. Jeff’s words hung heavy in the air, but there was a clarity in them, as if each one had been carefully polished before being offered to the room.

Jeff exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly, as if simply sharing this was easing the weight he’d carried. “I knew I couldn’t stay,” he continued. “I had to leave. I needed to find myself, away from the whispers and the judgment.”

It wasn’t just the words—it was the way Jeff spoke them, the honesty that turned the mess hall into a bubble where time seemed to stand still. Even the clank of a spoon or the shuffle of a chair felt muffled in the background.

“I joined the army,” Jeff went on. “It wasn’t a simple choice, but it gave me something I’d never had before: independence, a sense of purpose. When my service ended, I was lost. All I had was my motorcycle and a hope—hope to find acceptance and belonging.”

Sawyer caught himself holding his breath. Jeff’s voice was calm, but beneath it, there was a storm—years of emotional struggle, self-doubt, and resilience. Jeff painted his journey not with self-pity but with the determination of someone who’d clawed his way up from the depths and refused to sink back.

Jeff smiled faintly, almost imperceptibly. “That journey led me to Clayton’s bar. I don’t know if I was looking for a destination or just a pit stop, but walking into that place…it felt different. Welcoming. Open. Like for the first time, I could breathe without worrying about who was watching.”

Clayton nodded, a subtle gesture of acknowledgment, while the room hung on every word.

“Clayton saw something in me,” Jeff continued. “He offered me a job as a bouncer. That place wasn’t just work—it was a home. A place where I could rebuild myself, piece by piece. And then…one day, Malik walked in.” Jeff’s eyes flicked to Malik, and this time, the warm smile that spread across his face was unmistakable.

The room erupted into knowing murmurs and chuckles. Malik squirmed in his seat but grinned widely.

Sawyer laughed softly, the tension lifting just a bit. Of course, it had to come back to Malik. He had become a staple of Jeff’s life story, hadn’t he? But Sawyer couldn’t blame him. If anyone could lighten up Jeff’s guarded demeanor, it was Malik.

Jeff wasn’t done yet, though. He straightened, his tone growing serious again. “What I want to say, more than anything, is thank you. To Clayton, for opening his doors. To Malik, for showing me that love doesn’t have to hurt. And to all of you here, for being part of something bigger—something that shows people like me that we’re not alone.”

Sawyer felt his chest tighten. He hadn’t expected to be this moved. Sure, he’d heard Jeff’s story in bits and pieces, but hearing it laid out whole like this? It hit differently. It reminded him of why the camp mattered, why they all showed up year after year, sharing their stories, building connections that wouldn’t fade away once the week was over.

Jeff stepped back, applause filling the mess hall, warm and sincere. Sawyer joined in, clapping until his palms stung. This wasn’t just another camp dinner—it was a moment. One Sawyer wouldn’t forget, and he knew he wasn’t the only one.

As Jeff reclaimed his seat, Sawyer exchanged a glance with Clayton. The man was beaming, his pride clear as he prepared to call the next speaker. But for Sawyer, the evening had already reached its highlight. Jeff’s story had left its mark.

“You’re next, Sawyer. Are you sure you can do this?”