Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/271

 this particular world. It was a world without normal women; a world of continuous chases and fantastic exchanges. They were all hunting, searching, wanting. The aim of conquest was constant, for that seemed the only important thing. Maybe tomorrow, the conquest would be the right one.

Gaylord muttered to himself. I shouldn't think of things like this … I should be happier'n a lark, and I'm not. I have Bob, and he understands me better than I understand myself … That should be enough for the time … Why couldn't we have normal friends? We don't have to run around with those we don't care for … sissy ones who paint their face and talk so funny …

He brought his arms up and cradled his face between his hands. "I wonder," he murmured, "if I'll turn out to be one of them? Wonder if Bob and me will go chasing after others? Will we grow tired of each other? I know I won't, but what about him?"

The moment he voiced the thought, he wanted to cry. Maybe this would clear his mind of all the whirling and spinning questions. But he had said it and the words sank deep and couldn't be uprooted.

He thought of Blake. He was above him, and Gaylord could see his face very plain. Could see the grin, his wide soft mouth. It was moving, talking to him gently, tenderly, but he could not hear the words. Then, abruptly, in a blinding flash of clairvoyance, he knew that something was wrong, horribly wrong, for the face faded, leaving only spinning objects in front of him. He was suddenly aware he was cold, his whole body bedewed with icy sweat. He sprang from the bed.

"Bob … why didn't you say you loved me? Why didn't you?" he cried, realizing suddenly, with a misery that was bottomless, Blake had never said the words. "Why did you call me a faggot?" But there was nothing so bad about that. He had been called worse. What baffled him, what he could not explain, was this icy terror that beat about his head like invisible wings. "I'll get rid of it," he cried. "I'll wash it out of my mind. I'll drown it." And like a frightened deer he ran naked towards the bathroom.

He reached for both faucets and turned them on full force. The water shot out of the shower nozzle with a tremendous sizzling, flattening his hair, making it run down his forehead in long, straight, dripping streaks. His jaw trembled and he tried to clench his teeth 261