Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 10:03:50 -0400 From: Jesse Jesse Subject: A Healing Love Chapter 1 I'd always believed I knew what I wanted, always believed I had a preference in the type of guy I was attracted to. Though, were I to have been honest and admitted that I knew most of the guys I found attractive in high school were the typical "jock" type, and would've never given me a second thought, I believed I knew what I wanted. Though I'd grown up in one of your typical southern small towns, I'd never had eyes for what many describe as your "country boy." The whole idea of the "southern boy" or "country boy," the rugged outdoorsy type that seemed to spend most of his life in the woods or some remote part of the county had never had any appeal to me whatsoever. But that all changed when I met Elijah. First, before I become too engrossed in telling my own story, allow me to make a few introductions and explanations. My name is Toby, Toby Montgomery to be exact. Though I've long-since left high school, in fact this story took place some ten years ago, I met Elijah when we were both in high school. In many ways I was your typical 17 year old kid. I was never the athletic type that spent my after school hours in the gym or playing sports, but I certainly wasn't out of shape. As most of my school peers, I spent more than enough effort on maintaining my appearance with the latest hairstyles, clothes, etc. But my wanting to "fit in" wasn't completely based on the typical social peer pressure. You see, I dealt with something else that saw to it that my life never completely "fit in" with the rest of my schoolmates; I was deaf. Now don't get me wrong; this isn't intended to be a sad, depressing story. No, far from it, I can't help but believe that my being deaf actually brought Elijah and myself together, but during those days of high school I wasn't so completely positive about my condition. Now as I said, I'm not here to tell a "woe-is-me" sob story, but as you might surmise from what I've already related, being deaf definitely saw to it that I spent most of my life on the proverbial "outside looking in" type deal. I don't wish to sound as though I struggled through life without support or empathy from my schoolmates and teachers. Oh no, I was quite the opposite! I was "that kid," the one who everybody felt pity for. I was the one who everyone stepped cautiously around, fearing that their sudden movements in my peripheral vision would startle me, the kid that was constantly being "offered help" or "do you need something?" And while I look back on this unusual kindness with a grateful heart, I also remember the frustration of feeling like I was treated more like a five year old child than the seventeen year old that I'd grown to be by that time. More than once I found myself giving generous offerers "a look" that said more plainly than any words, "I'm quite fine, thanks. Go about your own business!" Indeed, by the time I reached 17 I'd grown quite so fed-up with the whole "help Toby out" ideal that I began rebelling and forcing myself into difficult, sometimes dangerous, situations just to prove, or at least as I thought to prove, to everyone that I was quite capable of taking care of myself! Looking back now, I realize just how foolish those decisions and risks were. But had it not been for what some would call my "stupidity," I would never have met Elijah. As I said, there finally came the time when I was quite fed-up with the idea of "being helped" any more. And though I made several foolish choices all in the name of "being independent" and proving I could look after myself, perhaps the most foolish of all was the day I decided I was going to go camping.............Oh yes, camping! As I told you before, I am a southerner, born and bread, but being deaf, and also the fact that my grandparents who raised me thought "being in the outdoors" was sitting on the front deck watching the cars who passed our street, I'd never set foot in the woods before that day. I hadn't the faintest idea of packing supplies or setting up a tent for spending the night in the elements, yet despite my grandmother's tears and constant sign language pleas, I was determined to attempt it. Somehow I managed to convince my "Pap" to go with me to the sporting goods store and purchase the necessary equipment, to help me pick out an ideal spot on the map of the local state park land, and even drop me off at the entrance to the park. Looking back, I suppose I should've known Pap had something up his sleeve. Though Pap'd always supported the ideal of my living as close to a normal life as was possible than Nana, even I was surprised at his consent to allowing me to try this new adventure alone. Alone, there was that golden word I'd been waiting to say to myself. I was alone. As the day had finally arrived, here I stood at the edge of the park forest land that sprawled before me, the early autumn colors brilliant in the sunlight, ready to spend a weekend alone, just myself and nature, to prove to everyone that I wasn't some handicap that needed someone to constantly hold my hand. I could do this! I would do this! Were I to be honest, did I not know more of my story that I will relate to you a bit later, I would still to this day be surprised that I actually survived my first few hours in the woods. Trying to decipher directions for a tent that I'd never even had out of its pack since purchasing proved a nightmare. The pack I'd prepared, filled with food and my camp provisions grew heavier by the step into the forest, and if that weren't enough, there was the business of keeping up with directions. Did the moss only grow on the north side of the trees or south side? Had I entered the park at the designated eastern entrance, or had I entered at the northeastern gate some fifteen miles away? Then there were the mosquitoes, making their last stand or tormenting the human race before the cooler weather saw to their demise. Indeed, after dealing with all these frustrations for more hours as I trudged further into the woods, I finally threw off my pack in frustration by a small creek that I'd hiked perpendicular to my entire trek and sat down on a fallen log in frustration. This was it; this was where I intended to to stop; to heck with the rest of the hike. I was tired, my feet ached, I was hungry, and the morning sun had moved higher into the afternoon sky to shine down blisteringly, and I desperately needed to rest. As I sat down on the log I smiled to myself in a grim satisfaction; "this roughing it stuff's no joke!" And it was then that it happened; I had no more than made contact with the log's worn bark than something, though at that instant I hadn't seen what, made contact with my back with such force that I felt the breath knocked from my body as I was hurled from the log on which I'd sat and thrown several feet away. Though my lung still ached in desperation for air, I managed to twist myself on the muddy ground onto my back to face whatever had sent my flying, and at that moment a horrifying sight met my eyes. A man, tall and lean, stood towering above me; but he wasn't facing me. The man held a pistol in his had, pointed at the very log I'd been thrown from. Fire shot from the pistol's short barrel twice, and then I saw it as, in it's wriggling and convulsing, it fell from the log, having been rested not three feet from where I had sat. The tall form bent to towards the writhing, twisting horror, and to my both horror and amazement, picked the rattlesnake up as he turned to face me. I wasn't sure if I wanted to scream or faint at the sight that I beheld. Seemingly silhouetted in the afternoon sunshine that shown through the treetops, the tall figure held the still twisting form of the snake that hung from his shoulder to the ground. The figure began to move toward me, his lanky frame taking steady strides, and as his tall, lean frame left silhouetting glow of the light that shown through the trees above I had my first look at my would be, though rough savior.