Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/169

 his tortured mind and he wanted to run … to flee to some dark intersection and die.

"Gay, what's wrong?" Blake asked, looking into the pale face that had pictured death the only solution.

"I'm no good, Bob," he said simply. "I have no right to live. I'm always doing the wrong thing. I always have and I guess I always will."

"Now who in the hell put that in your mind?"

"It's the truth." And with this, Gaylord caressed the other's hand. "Every thing I do is wrong … It's been that way all my life." His voice made a thin, hollow echo in the car.

"That isn't so. Joy and I were talking about you at noon. She told me you didn't come to school and she was worried. Everybody likes you Gay … I know Joy does … You don't think I'd be here if I didn't like you, do you? I was afraid you were sick too, so I came by … Had a million things to do this afternoon … that's why I'm so late." His grip was firm, yet soft, and his voice strong, understanding and soothing. "You want to tell me what's wrong? No … don't … I don't want to hear it if it makes you unhappy … Forget it."

There was so much Gaylord wanted to tell Blake, and so pitifully little he could say. Their eyes met and under Blake's compassionate and intense gaze, he felt his frustrations, his pitiful egotism wash away as the innate purity of his love for him emerged, lucid and durable. How simple it would be for him to deceive Blake by admitting illness. He tried valiantly to smile.

"No, Bob, I'm not ill," he said. "I've done something I'm ashamed of … I'm so disgusted with myself."

"We all do things we're ashamed of afterwards … That's only human."

"But this was …"

"What?"

"I can't tell you …"

"Why not … I'm broadminded."

"I wish I could … you'd hate me."

"Oh, Gay … what's the matter … were you out with this fellow, Glenn? Glenn what's his name?" 159