Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/177

 A pimply faced boy riding a red bicycle passed them. He waved and laughed with glee. Said, "Race ya."

Gaylord grinned back but said nothing.

"So you're going to New Orleans tomorrow," broke in Rogers. "Who with?"

"Mother and Dad."

There was the boy that had grabbed him in the gym. The one who had slapped him across his naked buttocks. He was walking with some girl, his hand in hers, and a cigarette dangled from his ugly mouth.

He saw the car and screamed, "Oh, hello, Gaylord." He waved his free hand.

"Hello, Shorty," Gaylord yelled back, hoping it would remind him of personal matters. There was no shyness in the way he said it. He wanted it to hurt … If it was possible to hurt a bully's pride … He thought of last night and firm warm throbbing flesh lingered in his palm. He clutched at the wheel and squeezed his hand around its hardness.

"Do they call him Shorty?" asked Rogers.

"What …? Who …?"

"That guy you just called Shorty. Is that his name? He doesn't look very short."

"You've never seen him naked."

"Why … what difference would that … oh, I know what you mean … I get it." He smiled his affectionate smile and the dimples deepened.

Gaylord grinned back at him. What would he think if he told him about Blake … The things they had done together? He wanted to tell someone about the feeling in his heart; he was so happy he wanted to tell someone, and who better than Glenn Rogers? Would he understand? Would he think it awful he loved a man? It had never happened before, but so many things that had never happened before were happening to him, had all his life. That was the difference bebetween [sic] him and the others. He was the only boy in the whole world who had fallen in love with a man. He wondered at this now … Wondered what Rogers would think about him if he knew.

"New Orleans," dreamed Rogers. "God, I'd love to see New 167