Date: Fri, 19 Jun 2015 10:03:50 -0400
From: Jesse Jesse <gmmac1987@hotmail.com>
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.