Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/254

 things he had always dreamed of. Remembered how youthful and eager he had seemed, but now something had swept all that beauty away, leaving only a more bewildering life, and a crushing sense of intolerable shame made his shoulders sag … Why am I so confused, Gaylord wanted to scream.

"Do you?" Blake whispered. He dropped the letter on the seat and turned out the light. "Do you, Gay?" he asked again.

"Oh, Bob?" Gaylord cried, and flung himself into the arms that went around him. He tried to recall just what he had planned to say after Blake had finished, but he couldn't. He reached up and touched the bronze face, shoved back the glistening wisp of hair from the broad forehead. His whole body was one big ache and the pain inside of his head was fierce, like a tornado. His lips came apart, but he said nothing. At that moment there was nothing to be said.

"Well?" Blake whispered.

"Oh … Bob … I," he cried.

"Don't answer now if you don't want to. Go on … go on and cry … get it out of your system …"

Oh, but I do love you, Gaylord was thinking. That's the trouble … it's not right. I don't want to be like those I saw in New Orleans. I want to and I don't … I don't know what to do … our loves … oh … it'll never last … because …

Blake broke in on his thoughts with, "Guess this Paul is some fellow. Sure can write a letter. I don't like to write." Blake reached for the other's chin. "Feel better?"

"I guess you think I'm an awful baby," Gaylord choked. "I don't know what's the matter with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you, and you know I don't think you're an awful baby."

"Bob?"

"Huh?"

"Do you I think I'm a … a queer …?"

"I wouldn't call you a queer."

"What would you call me?" Gaylord heard himself asking. "A faggot?"

With this, Blake smiled. He began chuckling and then uncontrollable laughter shook his entire body. Gaylord looked at him. He