My Boys

 

            My boys have left for the weekend.  They found a yoga retreat in the far southwest corner and hitched a ride.  I expect they will spend the weekend perfecting already perfect poses and using blue eyes to charm every yogi in the southern hemisphere.  So now it’s time for me to write about them. 

            For those who don’t know, my boys are Jack and Tristan -- two friends from the Cities.  I’ve known Tristan since freshman year. He started dating Jack about six months ago who we quickly fell in love with as he quoted Liz Lemon while sipping on a Diet Rite and vodka.  Jack has been traveling in Australia and Aotearoa for about two months.   Trissy reunited with him around three weeks ago, and we all finally linked arms in Dunedin.

              Last weekend we rented a car named Dally.  Drove over the Southern Alps, up the west coast, across sunny northland, east, and home.  We breathed it all in – mountain passes, black sand, glaciers, swimming holes, microbrews, late nights, and early mornings.

            After we returned, I thought a lot about this post.  The trip was pure and exhilarating, which isn’t easy to write about.  As usual, I didn’t want to retrace the outline of every vista.  I wanted to describe how it all felt.  How the alpine winds through Dally’s open sunroof casually changed to a cozy coastal breeze as we descended towards the ocean.  The way the boys’ hands slowly slipped towards each other every few minuets, a long time for loving hands to be apart.  How my glass of New Zealand microbrew endured sweating in the noon sun as we passed hours playing cards. The rain testing our tents when we said good night. 

            I guess what I’m getting at is that our destinations weren’t important.  What was pure and exhilarating was that we were with each other.  We saw everything together.  We shared it all.