A Most Wonderful, Terrible Love
by Devon Connelly
Available November 7th on Kindle, Paperback & Hardcover!
Link to purchase: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FVZM1NCM
Prologue (sample) posted below! :)
Prologue
What Kind of Life Has it Been? Part I
It’s not terrible.
Those damn three words. Words which once were full of vigor and meaning, now, somehow, penetrate even deeper with your absence. I would give anything to hear them one more time.
Another memory of DeAngelo and me came to the forefront of my mind, burning wildly like an out-of-control house fire, trapping me helplessly within the confines of my aged, decrepit space. Those three words were once strategically wielded, and came like a slap to the face.
Even though nearly a decade had passed, I still remember the conversation to this day.
It came after a long, grueling 13-hour hike—to be more accurate, a failed hike. My second failed attempt to ascend Mount Timpanogos in the last two years.
I had climbed at a record pace until I reached the penultimate ridge. That damn ridge. It beat me the first time around when it was icy. I had miscalculated the turn of the season, the spring before last, as the top of the mountain was still covered in snow, forcing me to give up and try another day.
Well, today was that day. A beautiful fall day with no chance of snow to deter me and yet, that damn ridge still found a way to humiliate me. When I was nearly halfway up the ridge, a rock gave way under my foot, and my ankle turned violently along with it. As a result, the rock and I tumbled down the steep ridge. That damn ridge.
Nearly a quarter of the day later, I was still attempting to make my way down Mount Timpanogos. I could hardly bear any weight on my ankle, and it was swollen to hell. I was dehydrated, famished, my head was throbbing, and my aching knees kept reminding me just how old these bones truly were.
Mount Timpanogos, more like Mount Tim-pain-ogos.
I was nowhere close to the trailhead and, with this mountain being a popular hike in Utah, the parking there was already full when I arrived (despite arriving hours before sunrise). The closest I was able to park was two miles down the road in a small pull-off area. Fuck! And on top of that, my phone had no cell service. Double fuck!
So, I kept walking. One painful step in front of the other. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, my phone vibrated and chirped to life. The cellular gods had granted me a sliver of hope. I cradled my phone and kissed it as if it were my firstborn. Thank you, I mouthed, and immediately messaged for a lifeline. DeAngelo got my message and was on his way. It shouldn’t be more than a few more hours, he said, and he’d make it to the trailhead just before sundown. I agreed to meet him there, and he could drive me the rest of the way to my car. I just had to keep pushing forward.
I can do this.
“Here, take a Starburst.” An outstretched hand from nowhere was cupping an orange-wrapped piece of candy.
It belonged to an older man, and though I guessed we were around the same age, time hadn’t been as kind to him. Skin was beginning to sag from his extended forearm, which was covered in light grey hair, and deep lines had formed all over his face. He wore a large straw khaki hat, and sunglasses hung from the neck of his shirt. A light blue mask perfectly matched his oceanic eyes. And despite his mouth being covered, I knew he was smiling.
“Everybody could use a little energy today, especially on this hike!”
“Thank you so much!”
Trying to hide my excitement at having something edible for the first time since earlier this morning, I reached for the piece of candy. I raised it slightly toward the kind stranger and mouthed thank you, forgetting that my own face was covered as well—a pre-pandemic habit I guessed I needed to break.
“You have no idea how much I needed this,” I said, unwrapping the candy. “You’re not making the hike this late in the day, are you?”
“Oh no!” The old man laughed at the idea. “I just do short hikes and provide energy when needed.” He patted his black fanny pack, which I assumed was packed with an endless supply of fruit chews. I let out a chuckle, tugged my royal blue mask downward, slid the sugary square into my mouth, and then covered up again. My mouth exploded with citrus—an assault on the senses in the best way. That little square from heaven gave me new life!
I thanked the old man once again, and with a tip of his hat, he turned away and shuffled up the trail, while I hobbled my way downward.
My new lease on life was short-lived. It seemed like many hours had passed, and that I’d walked multiple miles, yet it had only been a little more than an hour, and I’d barely even made it one mile. I was pathetic. Why did I think I could tackle this hike? Wasn’t last year’s failure enough of a hint that maybe I’m just too old for some activities? I was days away from my 60th birthday, and even though I had been training for a year to do this, I couldn’t practice hiking any real mountains. At least nothing like Timpanogos, because they just didn’t exist in Southern California. I had the endurance for the hike, but nothing to simulate the intensity of it.
The trail was steep, unforgivingly so, and very rough. The ground was uneven, and rocks were embedded in it at every turn. While this created nice footholds as you climbed up the trail (in my case, not so much), going down was a different story. Each step on those damn rocks was a reminder of how much pain I was in. It sent shockwaves up my knees, causing aftershocks to radiate up my spine. It was hell. Every step was pure agony, and there was no escape.
Oh, what I would give to be back home and in a warm bed with him. His arms wrapped around me. Legs intertwined. The feel of his hair against mine. The warmth. Soon. I can make it. Just one foot in front of the other. I can do this.
The air was getting cool as the sun was beginning to set, and everything appeared just a tinge less vibrant. The sky, which was once alive and unapologetically radiating with joy, was now a pale mixture of blue and grey. The surrounding trees that once filled the valley with beautiful browns, greens, yellows, oranges, and reds were now a faded shadow of their former selves. Everything was ugly now. I hated it, and wanted to be done with it.
Two towering rock formations ran parallel to each other, causing the trail to cut between them and providing a narrow gap to squeeze through. Earlier this morning, I was barely able to get through, and I cursed in the process of doing so. At least seeing these formations meant I was close to the bottom—maybe only a mile or so. I removed my pack and once again cursed my way through the slim opening. My swollen ankle snagged between the two formations, and a sharp pain shot from my ankle and sent me tumbling to the ground.
Perfect. Just. Perfect.
I slowly picked myself off the ground and brushed the dirt from my shirt. I noticed a small scrape on my forearm, and it burned with exposure to the cool air.
“Hey, handsome.” My attention was immediately redirected from my injuries at the sound of DeAngelo’s voice. “You look so good.” A slight grin on his face morphed into a wide smile as he approached me. He quickly wrapped his arms around me and embraced me, and I nearly melted on the spot. His long, curly hair smelled of an intoxicating mixture of lemons and green apples. It always smelt that way. I loved it. He held me close for a few seconds, allowing his right hand to slide up and down my back. He pulled away slightly, eying me.
Kiss me, and for once, don’t be afraid of what others would think. Just kiss me now, dammit!
DeAngelo’s eyes drifted up the trail to a group on their way down. “I brought you some water.” He pulled away completely, and extended a bottle of water toward me. Damn. If any disappointment appeared on my face, it disappeared just as quickly as the water came into view. “I thought you’d probably need some. Just in case your pack was out.”
I quickly grabbed the water from DeAngelo’s hand and uncapped it, drinking the entire thing in one go. “Never again will I take you for granted!” I said. “Thank you, DeAngelo.”
“Of course, Michael,” he replied with a glistening smile.
“Look, my shoe died,” I said, raising my left foot. The front half of my sole was completely detached and was flapping about independently, as if it had something important to say.
“Oh my goodness!” DeAngelo tried to contain his laughter. “When on earth did that happen?”
“It happened nearly halfway up,” I replied. DeAngelo moved to the side, allowing the group to pass. “And I tweaked my ankle a little.”
“I’m sorry, baby. Are you okay?” He rubbed my shoulder. I nodded quickly. “And you still made it all the way up!” he said with a slight shake of the head. “Amazing!”
“Yeah.” I smiled weakly and dipped my head to avoid his congratulatory eyes. I raised my foot and turned it to the side. The loose jaw of the sole hung agape. Even I couldn’t believe my lie. “Pretty amazing.”
DeAngelo and I continued down Mount Timpanogos, and while my pace didn’t increase, the remaining mile went relatively quickly with him in tow. He followed behind me the entire way, carefully guiding me across a descending rocky creek, bracing me as he helped me climb down two separate sets of high rocks, and just being a distraction in the best way. He talked about his day the entire way down. It meant everything. He was my true second wind, and it lasted for the entirety of our descent.
“Oh, oh, I see cars!” DeAngelo exclaimed.
We shuffled our way down the final hill and followed the trail as it zig-zagged one last time.
Moving from dirt to pavement, I quickened toward DeAngelo’s car—a 1993 Honda Accord in a hideous champagne color. He opened the passenger door for me. I took a seat and began quickly removing what remained of my shoes. Instant relief overcame me. Slipping my socks off revealed another source of soreness—not only did my poor toes have bruises under their nails, but blisters had formed all around them, a few even breaking open in the process.
DeAngelo was sitting next to me in the driver’s seat, and I could feel him watching me. He didn’t say a word.
“Hey,” I said.
“You did it, Michael. I’m so proud of you!” His smile was bigger than ever. “I never doubted you for a second. I knew you could do it!”
He had a unique way of making me feel accomplished. Though I’d feel wonderful in the moment, at the same time apprehension would creep in—like it was forced and inauthentic. But right now, it felt genuine.
“Thank you,” I said, barely able to let the words out.
“And in the glovebox, there’s another bottle of water,” I instantly reached for it, “and a chicken salad sandwich. I hope it’s kept alright—I put the bottle of water on top of it to keep it cool. I figured you’d be hungry.”
My stomach rumbled at the mere mention of the sandwich. With water in hand, I shook my head. Why on earth are you with me? I don’t deserve this kindness. This pure selflessness from anyone, let alone you. I don’t understand it—why me?
“What?” DeAngelo asked.
“Nothing.” I unwrapped the sandwich and fit as much of it into my mouth as humanly possible. Alright, I take it back—this was the best thing to grace my lips, ever. The bread was as white as could be and soft to the touch, while the salad itself had generous chunks of chicken and celery. Cranberries added a tangy sweetness to each bite, while chopped cashews gave a welcome salty crunchiness. In short, it was perfect.
“Mmmmmm,” came involuntarily from my mouth. “This,” I paused, chewing and swallowing, “is the best chicken salad sandwich I’ve ever had!”
“Good! I was worried you wouldn’t want it.” DeAngelo chuckled as he slid his keys into the ignition. I reached for his arm.
“Can we just rest here for a bit? I can eat my sandwich and just…be with you.”
We relaxed, encouraging the world to slow down, if only for an instant.
The lot was emptying quickly as more and more people completed the hike. A group of college students sat next to us, eating pepperoni pizza in a rusted, yellow Volkswagen van. Stickers, some faded and unrecognizable, covered every square inch of the large rear passenger window. One of the students was playing music—rap, I think. Kids and their rap music—I’ll never understand it.
“Such a beautiful night, isn’t it?” DeAngelo said, shifting his attention from the sky to me, as I continued devouring the sandwich.
“Yes, look at all the stars! So pretty.” I took a drink of water and continued eating. “I’m going to be so sore tomorrow!” A grin spread across DeAngelo’s face while I rubbed my shins, grimacing. “That hike killed me!”
“I’m not sure what you’re going on about, it’s not terrible.”
I immediately stopped chewing and, with my mouth full, glared at him. It’s not terrible? What did that even mean? Who says that? And with such nonchalant glee. He was even smirking, the little bastard.
“It’s not terrible?” I repeated with an upward inflection. “It’s not terrible?”
It was sinking in. I hated it. DeAngelo laughed—not because of my reaction, but because I fell right into his trap. Bastard. “It’s not terrible…I’ll show you not terrible.” I leaned his direction, as he did mine, and we kissed. His left hand gently cupped the right side of my face as we continued for a moment longer. Our lips touched, and DeAngelo pressed his forehead against mine. I gently reciprocated and we both inhaled, taking each other in.
“How was that?” DeAngelo asked. I opened my eyes and paused for a moment. Our foreheads were still against one another. I waited for him to look at me. His eyes locked with mine, and a devilish smile overcame me.
“It’s not terrible.”
Even now, as I sit here with Dave, patiently awaiting our plane’s departure to Italy, your words sting as a memory of us (along with so many more) burns in my mind. No longer do these memories carefully linger at the fringes. They’ve become careless and reckless, clamoring to the fore with little regard for the hour! Day after day, I’m reminded of what once was. What we once had. This is something I must live with but, frankly, I’m not sure if I can.
I don’t think I’m strong enough.
I just want you back, DeAngelo.
Please come back.
You once wrote me, stating our love was a most wonderful, terrible love. At the time, this hurt me deeply. Our love was one of pureness and happiness, or so I’d thought—how could such a thing ever be terrible?
Now, as I reflect upon what once was, I’m beginning to understand what you meant. And sadly, I think I agree with you.
This love of ours—it truly is a most wonderful, terrible love.