Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/270



THE DRIVING RAIN OF TUESDAY afternoon and night passed into a warm and sunny Wednesday. The yellow sun rose upon the water-soaked roofs of Cotton, Texas, and soon, the shingles began to give off steam. A thin gliding ghost rose from them, rose until it was lost in the vastness above. The large trees surrounding the dark soaked auditorium seemed fresh, clean. They swayed under the touch of some unknown hand that brushed them.

After a wonderful night's sleep, Gaylord lay back on his bed and pushed his hair from his forehead; a smile crossed and lingered on his face as the memory of the night before passed through his semiconscious mind. He had taken the world back on his shoulders, releasing his heroic twin, Gaylord Le Claire, who had run away from the one he loved last night. He had almost let the world slip through his fingers, or rather, he had drawn away from it, but thank God, it had been saved.

He turned on his side and sank his head deep into the soft pillow, his hand going under his cheek and then slowly over it, as if trying to feel its structure. Bob sure did hit me, he thought. He's sure strong. He smiled at the reflection, and after a coarse cough turned over on his back.

He imagined himself a woman and living with Blake; cooking and keeping their house. He saw the people who would come to see them. They were not of the normal world. They were sad-eyed boys that moved under the crust of a special and unique civilization. A world with its own special bars, nightclubs, languages and gestures. They all seemed transients to him now. Nothing seemed permanent in 260