I went on this journey, to be sure, knowing where I was headed. The historical part wasn’t that historical to my frame of reference; the queer part contained my frame of reference; so what was I doing here, exactly? Touristing a bygone age’s homophobia, knowing it would end badly? Or listening to the gift of a story told by a person whose life was more firmly rooted in that time and place than mine? In the end, it’s a matter of semantics, distinction without difference. I went to the Wyona River and I saw the Falls, felt the way it broke the people of its town into parts. Boys and girls led very separate lives when I was growing up, too, but the river being so exclusively (in the narrator, Alden’s, mind) male rang me like a bell. The funny thing for me was seeing how open Vince, the coach’s only child, was about his love for Glen…but only by the maleness of the Wyona.