I spent the rest of the afternoon thinking about what Asher had said and working on sketches of him, instead of finishing the painting. Sure, I’d been through hell growing up, but to witness a heinous act like that being done by a friend must have turned Asher’s world upside down. Then to face his parents? And come out in a town that had always thought of him in a certain way and accepted him as such? That must have been scary. He could have coasted through life, gotten married to a nice local girl—they’d all been after him—and had kids. But he didn’t.
Dali snuffled in his sleep on the nearby makeshift doggy bed, legs twitching as he dreamed. Should I go to the LGBT meetup tomorrow night? I’d need to get a haircut, at least. And no, I wasn’t doing it because Asher would be there. Of course not. I could get a trim after I went to check out the spot for the proposed mural. I suppose if Asher could change and this town could change, maybe I could cut everyone some slack.