Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/38

 No, he couldn't have done that … but, but suppose … and supposition possessed him. He pressed harder on the starter. The motor started immediately and his sigh was lost to the sound of loose gravel spinning under the wheels as the car lunged backwards.

At last he was free. The car lights gave life to the rocks on the road, like spot lights on a stage, and their colors of rusts and tans were bright. They had been laid down like a mask on something formless, warm, dusty. Brought from a lost riverbed where they had been born, to remain here until their spirits were broken and shattered. Like me, thought Gaylord, like me. They, too, fought back, hitting under the fenders, fighting hard, but their efforts were lost under huge crushers that bade them lie down and be silent … like me, Gaylord thought again … just like me.

It was fight, fight, fight, all his life. Other boys felt richer than he. They didn't wear as good clothes as he did but they had something he lacked … self-assurance.

He guided his car recklessly, not even stopping for traffic lights to change their blood-like color. To his eyes it seemed they were not there at all, but the buildings on either side seemed to close about him. He changed his glance to the road, watched it stretch front of him. Danger hung in the sullen air; danger lay like an oily film across the street; danger tinted with a brassy hue the arched and silent sky. Somewhere out there was the drunken figure of Max. He pressed on the gas, impatient to be in his room, impatient for security.

His home looked as dark and blank as the rest of the street, as he parked his car in the garage. But when he stepped onto the steps of the porch he saw a low glow through a small opening in the front door. It was somehow a soothing and restful light. Gaylord pulled the front of his shirt together and shrugged. His mother was very likely in there waiting for him.

With a deep breath he turned the door knob. It was unlocked. He closed and latched it behind him. Inside, the hallway was quiet. No … there was no one waiting for him. Gosh, he was glad. He breathed a sigh of relief as he crossed the living room, turned off the lamp. Gaylord felt suddenly relieved with the familiar odor of the house and the hallway, the smell of flowers, polish and clean carpet.

"Thank God I'm home," he said. 28