Page:Jay Little - Maybe—Tomorrow.pdf/95

 "I'm sure."

He watched Blake cross the shelled earth, and thought, I'd never be able to do anything with you by my side … I've got to go but I couldn't do anything … not with you watching … damn, I wish I could … I wish I was like you, Bob … wish I could walk just like you … no one can do that … no one but you … it's part of you … only you …

And it wasn't long before he saw the familiar walk coming toward him.

"Phew, I feel better," Blake grinned. "Nothing as refreshing as a good pee." He slumped back into the seat.

"Maybe I had better go. With a hamburger and coke coming, I may need a little more room."

"Don't shake it more than twice …"

Gaylord's face flushed, and he laughed nervously. "I won't."

He was glad he was alone in the small toilet. He looked around and read the many remarks written on the walls. Men and women in grotesque positions outlined with names and dates appeared everywhere. He looked at the large drawings and wondered if people really did such things.

A man about twenty-five, wearing a bright sport shirt, came through the door and walked unsteadily toward Gaylord. He zipped his trousers quickly. His voice was young and he enunciated so poorly that he seemed to have his mouth full of mush. "Damn beer sure goes through a fellow, don't it," he continued. "I've been drinking the damn stuff all day. I got a …"

After a few words Gaylord stepped back. He didn't wait to hear the rest of the sentence. In a few steps the young man and the toilet faded into the past. Deep within him, within the secret places of him, he felt a familiar phenomenon take place—as he walked back toward the car. He had wanted to wash his hands and comb his hair … darn that fellow … why couldn't he have waited a few minutes …

The car-hop had just placed the tray on the car when he sat down beside Blake. She glanced at him and remarked, "You've sure got pretty hair … wish mine was curly."

"Thanks," Gaylord said, looking at her stringy mop. And he tried to grin like Blake.