Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/42



THE NEXT MORNING GAYLORD awoke with a jump. He had been dreaming and his mind was still trapped between the dream and the early morning light coming through the blinds. He tried to remember, tried to recall the dream that had left his heart pounding, his body quivering, but he couldn't. It had vanished like the darkness. It took him several seconds to come to himself and to the reality of his surroundings. Had he really been dreaming of Blake? There had been many dreams in his life lately, and the ones about Robert Blake were so real, that even on awakening he could have sworn they had actually happened.

He ran a hand over his jaw feeling the few bristles that had sprouted in the past few days; rubbed his drowsy eyes with both hands; yawned and stretched for the ceiling. He started to worry; folded his hands under his head and stared at the visions playing tricks with him. The violent and disconnected happenings of the past evening lulled within him, and as he came to full wakefulness he felt a subtle alteration in the atmosphere of the room. Was this really his room? His storehouse of earthly possessions? His eyes gazed about the room as his fingers groped around his groin. Had that really happened or was it only a lost dream? Surely, no other boy had ever been called a girl before.

The dance, the slim vocalist, the music, even Robert Blake became a blur of nothingness, but the drunkard was vivid in his mind. He felt of his check. It was true, for the check was slightly swollen.

Why, puzzled Gaylord, had the drunk chosen him to dance with? Amazing. 32